It was meatloaf night. I remember it was meatloaf night. I hate meatloaf. It tastes like warm clay and dirt. We sat in the kitchen. the little portable TV was on. It's a real old TV... No flatscreen. They hooked it up to some kind of a little electric box so it would work. I hate that TV. It's like a Russia TV. I bet they have TV's like that in Russia... in Russia and our kitchen. I don't say anything. I just eat. I eat my corn and mashed potatoes. The mashed potatoes tasted like paste. I even stop picking at the meatloaf. It tastes like Ester's dead body. I hope she's in Heaven... I really do. My heart is pounding. My sister wants to go to Target. She wants my mom to take her to Target because they got a sale on blue jeans. My dad won't take her. He watches sports at night... any kind of sports. He sits in the livingroom where the big real TV is. He don't talk to nobody... just whoops and yells and curses at the TV. THEN THE NEWS COMES ON..... A lady who smiles and rolls her eyes all the time stops doing that. Her face gets real still and plain, like she's gonna say something sad or religious. I don't even move. I stare at the place on the wall where daddy threw the soup. My mom cleaned it off, but it was tomato and you can still see a little bit of the red. The TV lady says - A child's body was discovered down a desolate back driveway on 'Factory Road...' It's not really named Factory Road, but everybody calls it that 'cause of all the factories that used to be there. I don't know where the factories went. I don't care. The TV lady says more stuff, but I don't hear her. I hear my dad say - Jesus Christ! Turn that up!... My mom reaches over and turns it up. My sister just sits there waiting to see if she's gonna get taken to Target or not. I turn to stone. I wish I was dead. ..... My mommy goes - Oh my God! Ester, she said Ester! I know that girl! Her mother's a checker at ShopRite. She goes to school with Timmy. (then she looks at me) Tim, was she at school today?... I just shrug. My mom looks sad. But I just shrug... My dad watches, but he keeps on eating.... The TV lady keeps talking. They show people holding candles down the cracked up back driveway or alley or whatever it is. Mom sucks her teeth the way ladies do when something is 'a shame.' People put teddy bears and I think a stuffed dog and rabbit where Ester was. I just sit there. SOMEBODY POUNDS ON THE DOOR... I tremble inside. My dad gets up to see who it is. He's in charge of who gets in and who gets out. My sister quietly sneaks upstairs. My mom stands behind dad. I hear Patsy. She lives across the street. She says - Yeh hear?... Mom nods. They cry a little. Patsy says - We're all gone over to Donna's.... Donna is Ester's mom. It's just the two of them.... she says - You want me to wait and walk over with yeh?.... Mom says - No, that's alright. Lemme clean up .... But Patsy looks like she wants to say something, so my mom yells for my sister to come down and clean up. She knows this is serious, so she does. Mom turns around and says - I'm gone over with Patsy, OK?.... Dad nods. Then he sits on the sofa, but he doesn't watch no sports on TV. He just sits. My sister washes up. She don't pay no attention to me. She never does. Tells me I'm a weird, little, autistic bastid. But I'm not autistic. I just got nothing to say to her. Maybe I am autistic? I don't know. I'm still sittin' there, in the kitchen, I mean. I want to go out side and get run over by a car, or like a big pick-up truck. I can feel the tires squish my body and press out all the blood. I wish it would happen, but I can't move. The faded, red soup stain on the wall looks like Ester, from when she was all curled up. God, I don't want to get caught. Ca-Ca must have heard about it too. I wish I knew what she did. I wish I knew what she said. My dad yelled - What the hell are you doin' in there?..... I said - Nothing..... Five minutes later he falls asleep. I know, 'cause I hear him snoring.... fartin' too. I hold my ears, because it reminds me of Ester and all. Then I get up, sneak passed him and go upstairs. I'm real careful not to make any noise. I sneak around here a lot, so I can do that.... Even though it's only like seven thirty, it's real dark already, 'cause it's November. I get under the covers and turn out the little ship's wheel lamp. If I have to pee, I'll do it in my money jar, 'cause I can pour the coins into a shoe. My door's locked. I'm safe. I hope it stays night forever.... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ for more #vampirewonderland story arcs, click DARK ... to join me on Twitter, click AND TONIGHT'S GUESTS ARE ... please leave a COMMENT. thank you.
In fourth grade Miss Lummis gave out compasses. Not the kind that tell you where Santy Clause lives, but the kind you draw patterns with. We cut triangles in half, drew venn diagrams and big, bubble butts. Miss Lummis never said to do the bubble butts. We did that ourselves. Some kids drew tittie pictures too, but kids always draw tittie pictures, even when they got no special equipment. Max Freeman said you can blind somebody with a compass, 'cause one part's basically just a long, thick needle. And crazy bastids use 'em to blind people all the time. That's how eye doctors get all their customers. They put this new jelly back inside the eye and sew it up. The scar makes everybody look like they're swimmin' or something, but everybody likes swimmin' so who cares. Me and Ca-Ca want to kill a kid. We wanna use a compass. They don't sell 'em in stores no more, 'cause violent kids in 'bad' schools jab kids with 'em. It's true. Teacher claps her hands and goes - Stop it! Stop it! They ain't no God damned stabbing sticks!!... But violent bad kids know better. Now they sell baby stuff. Now they sell some plastic, stencil shit which is almost impossible to kill somebody with, unless you are a ninja, or like a chimpanzee or something. But I got my uncles old cigar box... his school cigar box... and it's got TWO drawing compasses in it... the metal, jabbing, killing kind, although I don't think the dollar store ever advertised them that way. You know, Ca-Ca doesn't even know her real name. People tell her it's Catherine, but she tells 'em to go to hell. I'm Timothy. My name is Timothy. That, I know, 'cause they named me after some saint. Saints are dead people who stay in the same room as God all the time. He must play games with them to keep 'em from actin' up and gettin' bored. Ester's gonna die 'cause she farts in class. She can't help it 'cause she's lactose intolerant, but she loves milk, so that creates a big problem. Her mother took her to a doctor. He said - So what? She farts. It's natural..... Her mother told him to go to hell... Everybody tells everybody to go to hell around my way. But I don't think you can 'go' to hell. I think they have to send you, like they do to a mental hospital, or something. I gave Ca-Ca a compass. First I showed her how to use it. We killed her three feet tall Barbie doll a few times. She was half bald headed anyway. But Ca-Ca said she remembered from when Miss Lummis gave out compasses in the fourth grade. So we walked home with Ester and cut behind the old Kotex factory. All's back there is broke cement, weeds and shitty stuff. Once we saw a drunk guy, but he was lying down and crying. Ca-Ca gave him a few Chicklets. She shook 'em down on him from the box. He said - Lee' me alone. Lee' me alone... We ran away. It was six days after Halloween when we did it. Half dark by three thirty, 'specially on a cold, cloudy day. The Rite-Aid store already had Christmas decorations up. That, I remember. I bought chocolate covered cherries for my mom-mom in there. She had diabetes, but she don't have it no more, 'cause she's dead. Ester wanted to fart, but she didn't 'cause we were there. I could tell by the look on her face. I said - Hey, Ester, I saw a special guy in a silvery suit who held a microphone up to his ass and farted Give My Regards To Broadway in the circus... no, not the circus... at a carnival. Maybe you could get a job like that? Like bein' a magician, 'cept you don't need no rabbits...... She hugged her books and said - Very funny. Very funny.... Ca-Ca said - That's not funny. You wanna know what's funny?.... Ester said - What?..... Ca-Ca said - This is..... And she jabbed that compass-needle right in her throat. Went in like three or four inches. Ester just stands there. Ca-Ca pulls it out. Ester falls. Ca-Ca looks at the blood drippin' off the point like nail polish. Then she kicks her a few times. Ester curls up and lays on her side. She's cryin'. I can see she's cryin'. But she grunts. That's the only noise she makes. Figure Ca-Ca ripped her voice box or something. Then she jabs her again. Ca-Ca, I mean. Once it went in her eye. Once in her ear. I jabbed her a few times too, 'cause Ca-Ca was lookin' at me and all. But I just jabbed her on her arms and legs, 'cause I figure a kid can live with that. Only thing is she didn't live. Ca-Ca said - No more farts from her.... And we ran away. Two hours after dinner they found the body... < to be continued > ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ for more Vampire Wonderland story arcs, click STRANGE TALES ... to join me on Twitter click LIKE OUR OWN TALK SHOW ... please COMMENT. thank you.
Straight out of London come tales of unimaginable crimes and the preternaturally tinged detectives who solve them. Well over one million people get lost in this world on a regular basis via the popular HYBRID SERIES... Meet operatives accidentally, or maybe even purposely 'enhanced' by the blood of night fiends.... But only enhanced, for they retain their fundamental humanity. And now they hook up with covert operatives controlled by The Pentagon. MI5 comes stateside and mates with the CIA. They're after big fish now (not that they haven't been before)...maybe real big fish... SHARKS... TERRORISTS... modern day brutal pirates out to mutilate society and destroy our world. Have a taste. Take a bite. Click on CATHARTIC INTRIGUE ...and get to know JET... Sort of like JAMES BOND and JANE BOND on steroids.... And to follow Mr. Harding on TWITTER click - TALK TO THE AUTHOR ... communicate. It's a two way street. Your view matters too. Now dive in...
Ca-Ca's mother sat in a big, old, ripped, vinyl reclining chair.... I think King Tut used it for a throne. The brown, burlap seat must of had like thirty five thousand farts in it... dog piss too, probably Ca-Ca's mother's piss too. She watch the same free TV shows every day.... Rachel Ray, The View, the local news, Meredith Viera. Steve Harvey and Ellen... No wait, she didn't watch The View. She watched The Price Is Right. She wants to spin the wheel. She wants to win a brand new, fully equipped Ford Focus. But she never will, 'cause they won't let her wheel that putrid reclining chair up on stage. Ca-Ca buys her corned beef sandwiches from Arby's... good ones... big ones with extra meat. She used to buy her ham sandwiches. But then she learned one of the reasons pork's not kosher is because it looks and tastes exactly like human flesh. Although I don't know where you're supposed to go for Barbecued Honey Lady Ass. I asked the delicatessen guy at ShopRite once. He told me to drop dead and go to hell. Then he sold me a half pound of American cheese. I keyed his car in the parking lot. Saw him go in to work once. That's how I know. My name is Shit Head. But that's just a nickname. My real name is Timothy. Once me and Lester Watson lit a little hibachi out back of his house. It was the black, wrought iron kind they give you for sitting through a ninety minute 'buy this God damned, fucking time-share, you cheap, ugly bastid' speech. Lester's mother thought she was gonna get a mink jacket. But when she asked the guy, he lungered right in her face. I think she tasted a little bit of it. The boss came over and gave her two hibachis to make up for it and a midget salami for each one, to like slice up and barbecue. We used the second one. Lester had an aquarium with little newts or salamanders or whatever it is they called themselves, in it. Half a them were dead in the stinkin' green water anyway. But half were still living. Those are the ones we killed. Poked 'em right in through the heavy grate. Used chopsticks, 'cause it was a hibachi and all. They held on with their wet, little arms, but eventually we got 'em in. Coals were real hot too, all white and powdery. They curled up and bounced... the salamanders, I mean. Smelled like shrimp. Skin split. Steam came out. They looked crispy, but we didn't eat 'em, 'cause Lester said they were related to frogs and once at the all you can eat imitation Chinese buffet he ate a frog's leg and threw up on Mrs. Tuffinetti. She died two days later. He was positive the vomit did it. But I think it was because she got hit by a bus. Eleven days later Lester got hit by a bus too... not 'hit' actually... run over... His head went POP. First there was a sharp CRACK, then a pop. Pigeons swarmed in to eat his brains. That's when I got real friendly with Ca-Ca. He was her brother. We were like ten years old. I was closer to nine. She was closer to eleven and she missed her brother real bad. Said we had to kill that bus driver and kids could do it, 'cause who's watchin' kids? So we sat on a bench at the place where the bus turns around at the end of the route and we waited. Two ladies even smiled at us. We smiled back, 'cause like you gotta be friendly. Friendly people got all kinds a weapons. Hell, kids got weapons right in their book bags... Come back tomorrow and I'll tell you. Shit, your kids prob'ly got 'em too... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ see more cool stories ... click BOO! ... join me on Twitter... click TALK ... please COMMENT. thank you.
Greco-Roman culture extended up along the north shore of the Euxine Sea, though Roman sovereignty was iffy at best. Local kings enjoyed quite a bit of leeway. Although ostensibly clients of the emperor, they worked their own rackets too. One such king was Heracles the Fifth, who ruled a small but wealthy holding just to the right of the Crimea from his snug, little capital of Pariakis. Another Siracuse it was, with all the pleasures of major Hellenistic centers, though distilled to smaller size. It had marble. It had granite... a jewel-box of an amphitheater and a slave market featuring Scythians, Radiant Alans, Circassians and all the other exotic breeds found throughout the Cimmerian world. The palace, a half scale Tivoli, though due to the opulence of the place, few noticed it's diminutive nature, was a bad boy's playland. And Heracles the Fifth was a very bad boy indeed. He had two wives, Calpurnia and MuccaFea. The former engaged in a notorious affair with her wild, centaur stable boy and the later given to staging vivid tableau vivants. The only problem was some of the slave 'actors' could not assume the necessary poses and had to be killed and cracked into position, thus negating the 'vivant' part. But you can't have everything. The king played with slaves too. Used them for fish food... hag fish and lampreys to be precise. Had a big, cement pond, down in a dim, artificial grotto. Candles in cylindrical, blue glass 'vases,' I guess they were, threw a weak, watery light across the faux cavern walls of an already damp, chilly space. Next there was the water, usually placid til they threw something in. Then it roiled with the slick, snotty, oozing bodies of primitive, snake, eel, headless fish wannabes. Like wriggling, manically mobile intestinal tracts with round, sucking, tooth-filled 'mouths' at one end. The king, Heracles the Fifth, saved the show for special guests and sometimes those he sought to intimidate. They'd come down after dinner, an obscene event in its own right. Torch bearing slaves led the way, followed by scent girls swinging silver filigree balls filled with perfumed wax. Not being 'normal' free people, they had no dignity or modesty and were kept bare, though in quite prime condition. Each guest had a small dish of raw, cut up fish. They'd laugh, toss some in and watch the loathsome, basically headless monsters go wild. Then the king would say - Care to raise the stakes a bit?..... Well born ladies giggled with delight, as their husbands and papas guffawed the way complacent big shots always do..... He'd wait a few heartbeats, the king, I mean, using the time to carefully appraise his 'stock.' Then he'd lift his hand and point a carefully manicured finger right at the victim. You. - he'd say. Go have a bath. Shoo shoo shoo, jump in.... This time the 'bather' was a scent girl. She blanched, moved not a muscle and stood there..... The king, in a low threatening voice said - The alternative is 'the griddle.'..... The pathetic girl nodded and stepped toward the edge. The king said - Any of your kinsmen bound here will be set free. Now jump before I stick a knife up your ass!.. His dinner companions loved the tension and drama almost as much as the hellish scene to come.... And she did it. She jumped. A few of the matrons actually squealed with glee. At first she tried to paddle about. Then she gave out with a tiny 'yip,' as the first hungry 'worm' grabbed hold, signaling the rest. ... One to the neck... One took an eye... Three to the buttocks, as she shrieked and rolled on an angry bed of flesh eaters..... The noble-folk watched in silence.... When it was over and her shredded, skeletal carcass sank to the bottom, a glossy, well fed gentleman said - Remarkable, Majesty. Simply remarkable....His ruler moved closer, put his arm on the man's shoulder, grinned and said - Enjoyed that, did you?.... The man nodded appreciatively. Then while his head still bobbed, the king said - Have a closer look... and pushed him in... No one made a move, or said a word, including the man's daughter, lest they join him... The fish ate very well that night, very well indeed.... And for months to come, the king and his royal family savored their exotic treats. Hag fish and lampreys have a sweet, smooth silky taste. But a slave snuck down to the underground pond one night... a yet to be freed kinsman of that unfortunate scent girl, her brother, I think... He tossed bits of fish to the 'murderers' and watched as they ate. But his gift was infected with parasites, sea-worms of a most lethal and infectious sort. Three weeks later the first little royal bastard died. They thought it was cholera, but it wasn't. Worms like human flesh too. By the time of the summer solstice it was over. Heracles the Fifth and all his closest kith and kin were gone. Rome sent another to fill his throne. For legitimacy's sake they called him Heracles the Sixth... and he was even worse. Now there were no vampires, or other night crawlers in tonight's tale. And I'm just a disembodied spirit you haven't met yet. But I know a bit about what transpired back then, for I swam with the hag fish and lampreys too. Good night. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ to see more Vampire Wonderland click NIGHT JUSTICE ... to join me on Twitter click YAKITY YAK PLEASE TALK BACK ... your comments are always welcome. thank you.
Some people mistake us for graveyard ghosts. We are not ethereal, but we do frequent cemeteries and given that we have the power of flight, it's easy to understand. It wasn't always like this. Large cemeteries have only been around since the mid nineteenth century. In Philadelphia, that means Laurel Hill, an enchanted, bucolic, thickly wooded, death-land, strewn with poignantly eerie statuary depicting weeping angels and pensive cherubs. I like it there. The caretakers' wives look out for us. One, in particular, used to knit us sweaters, hats, gloves and other winter fare. Not just us. The cherubs too. I don't think I should talk about them. We used to talk about them around here all the time... pudgy, adorable, baby 'vampires.' But they're such innocent creatures. They gurgle, clap, laugh and hug each other. One of the caretakers leaves the heavy, bronze door to a never used mausoleum open just before dawn. Filled it with piles of quilts and baby toys too. They have these little, stuffed glow worm things. The faces light up when you squeeze them. That's how they see, the cherubs, I mean. The small windows up by the eaves are blocked out with dark green paint, but every once in a while a barely perceptible, faint green 'sheen' leaks out. Sometimes the caretakers' wives buy them flamless l.e.d. candles. You can get really nice ones at Target for around six dollars. They have a little tv in there that gets 'stolen' cable, mostly SPROUT and the elferina girls make a big fuss over them. You'd think, after years and years, they'd acquire something like an adult personality. Yet they don't. Innocent babies forever... That's what they are.... Cherubs in every sense of the word. Elferinos and elferinas stay childlike too. Yes, death happens. You know that. We've talked about it before. But some people need to die, or at least be sequestered from those who don't. We appear by bedsteads, usually between the hours of one to four in the morning. They see a wann little sad faced spirit in the dark, if they can see us at all. To some we're merely shadow people. A few whisper old French or Flemish hymns... The elferino folk, I mean. Some hover up by the ceiling. Quite an eerie sight in the dark... You know how it is at that time of night. Maybe the moon sneaks in through a gap in the draperies, or ambient, outdoor illumination bounces off the clouds. Everything has a weak, shadowy nightmare wash to it. Some gasp, or make moaning sounds. Some beg and cry. We move closer, to the head, I mean and bend down low. They freeze, just like prey when resistance is futile. And then we bite them. It's a relatively easy death... a soft suffocation. Loss of blood means loss of oxygen. The body doesn't dry out. There are other fluids, lymph and such, but they're not blood... and we all need that. Still a rather terrifying death. The body goes numb. Some are still alive as their toes ignite with a 'cool' blue flame. If two share a bed and we kill one first, the temporary 'survivor' lies there next to an oddly burning corpse. Yet the flames never harm them. At times they whisper - Please, what are you going to do to me?..... We never respond. Sometimes I'll stroke their hair and go - Shhh..shhh.. shhh... Then, when they 're quiet, I kill them.... But please know these are dry, self-proud miserable souls who deserve to die. We can sniff them out.... Good sniffers. We got good sniffers, just like bloodhounds ... And we don't do it often, but we do it... Then we retreat to our dark, mossy necropolis and dance like elves. One of the caretakers plays a concertina. His wife sings old Basque folk songs. And thus we pass the nights. I am the elferino, Albion and I whole heartedly approve of this ongoing, nocturnal communication. You can't imagine how liberating this for us... for all of us... ( the keyboard cools and he is gone...) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ to explore more Vampire Wonderland secrets, click PUCK ... to join me on Twitter, click NIGHT TALK... please COMMENT... thank you.
Don't be afraid to feel things. I see the public entertainments... the movies and joke tellers and television shows. Your's is an era of latex suits and cruel, heartless jokes. Slap the other guy down before he slaps you. They claim they're breaking barriers in an effort to get to the truth. But mostly they're just breaking barriers. But sometimes fences allow the grass to grow.
I am a vampire and yet I feel things very deeply. I'll sit and stare at a pot in the small garden behind our Philadelphia townhouse for hours. Moonlight makes everything beautiful. I'll share stories with the elferinos and elferinas... beautiful tales about knights and their ladies in Old Al Andalus. Chivalry, you know, began in The Caliphate of Cordoba, among aristocratic Muslim and Hebrew families in your ninth century and from there spread to colder lands. I remember those times. Fountains sprayed rosewater against the dry, Iberian heat. Traveling bards sang songs in MosArabique, a mescla (mixture) of Arabic and early Spanish that grew and matured into the classical Lingua de Andalucia we have today. I still know those songs and play them on the oud. Regular visitors to this... whatever it is, know that. Listen, when it comes to 'vampires' you ain't never had a friend like me.
I picked that song from Pinocchio because our Billy (Kravitz) likes it. It's special to him. Pinocchio was his first movie. He was eighteen months old. His mother had to flip the seat up and hold him on the edge so he could see. I like Pinocchio too. It resonates with night-folk... 'real' humans... almost real 'artificial' humans. Indeed, some narrow minded, self-limiting mortal beings call elferinos 'Pinocchios.' But the elf-folk don't mind. they barely even notice.... Why?... Because they feel things. They taste the world and the life they live and savor it.
I run through the night with them. How quick and silent we are. It's all here, in the blog, I mean... Not this episode, but somewhere. He types it all out. Billy, I mean. Sometimes he doesn't even know he's doing it. I send it through him. Night- Folk- Puppetry we call it. Some are true masters. I'm only fair to middling.
Thing is, Billy has other stories too... that Mars one... the crooked bingo hall... The Little Match Boy... Marianne In Britches.. It's not all 'us.' And he works so hard. And he wants it so bad. ... I know a lot of you work hard and want 'it' too. The only trouble is you can wish on a million stars. But unless one of those 'stars' actually looks at your stuff, likes it and talks it up, ain't nothing gonna happen.
Sure, you say - Screw them big names. Who needs them?.. Like that's gonna work... What's that AMY SHUMER girl doing? I see her name all over. Maybe she'll say something?
Listen, Jiminy Cricket's a good singer, but he knows nothing about realizing our dreams...
And night-folk have them too.
Help each other. Retweet each other. Talk each other up. And if you know any big names... you know... be subtle, but push a little.
Now let me go do something with the elferinos and elferinas.
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