Edith came back from the pines. The witchy-woman had two families, her first and the night-folk. She parked the car outside and went into the townhouse. Everything was quiet and dim. On gray drizzly mornings the interior stayed dark a long, long time. But she heard a sound, soft snoring from the little library and carefully opened the door and slipped inside. The shutters were specially made to shut tight, the better to seal in the dark. Vampires need that, especially Jonathon, who often falls asleep in there. Even though she couldn't see him, the pattern on inhalations and exhalations was familiar, so she switched on the little 'China trade' lamp.... The vampire, Jonathon, opened an eye and in a thick, sleepy voice said - Edith, what time did you get back?..... Just now - she said.... What time is it? - He yawned..... Eight thirty. You have the whole day yet. Still dark in the hallway, if you want to run up stairs and tuck yourself in? - she asked..... No - he said. I'll stretch out here. I like it in here..... Are you sure? Are you warm enough?.... I have two afghans. I'll be all right - he said. And stretched out on the sofa under his covers..... But Edith didn't leave. She just stood there..... What is it? - he said..... Oh, you know how it is. I always get this way after Christmas. It's like why does it have to be over? - she said..... I know - he whispered. You know how I get around holidays. Jerusalem Fever is a chronic condition, my dear and we both have it. Was it nice in The Pines?..... It's always nice in The Pines - she said. I take out all her little toys and all her little outfits. She had some storybooks about two little kewpie dolls who escaped from a souvenir cart at the circus. I don't know if she understood all the words, but she loved when we read to her. I'd show her all the pictures. Mister Edith would read to her too. Then I'd tuck her into her little crib and wind up the jewelry box. It was mine when I was a little girl. My father bought it for me in Cape May. She'd hear the tinkling song. A tiny celluloid ballerina danced around - Edith's voice trailed off.... Jonathon knew about her loss. He knew about the little girl, a baby actually, barely ten months old. Sometimes Edith wanted to talk about her. Sometimes she didn't. He understood. So he said nothing and waited for her to continue.....Edith sat down in a chair... I saw her. I saw her little spirit - she said. I blew her a kiss and she waved. You know how babies wave? They raise both arms over their heads and open and close their little hands. She was right there on the braided rug. I moved to get down on the floor and sit next to her, but she disappeared. I could smell her. I could smell her baby smell, but she was gone. Something's going to happen. I just have that feeling. I get real melancholy. You know how I get.... I know - he whispered. I was that way last night too. Started preaching. I don't think I went overboard, but Billy picked up on it. He channeled it and typed it into the blog. It went out. It's published. I got a couple hundred 'hits.' Is that what they call them, 'hits?'..... That's what they call them - she said. Come on. After all this time, you don't think they know about us? They know everything. He blogs about us almost every night. And don't tell me you don't like it.... He nodded.... A few minutes later he fell asleep. Edith quietly got up, turned off the little lamp and carefully went out so as not to let much of the weak gray light in the hall wash in.... Sarah, Jonathon's consort was upstairs in their chamber. She didn't snore, but Edith, as a witchy-woman, knew she was there. Sometimes Conrad turned up, but not that day. So she went into the kitchen, brewed herself a mug of tea and sat down in the den to watch her 'morning shows.' She turned the sound down, but Edith was used to that. Living with nocturnal vampires, you just know.
She still had the feeling something was going to happen. At least she hoped it would.
Jonathon had that feeling too... She drank her tea and he dreamt of Old Cordoba in the rich, orange eleventh century sunshine.....
Thus the day began....
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Jonathon, our vampire hero is back in the townhouse, sitting before the little hearth in his cozy library, lit only by the small, crackling fire and a small, 'China trade' table lamp ----
Readers sometimes ask me what I believe. Oh, I gloss on it all the time, but now I'll give you my 'tenants of the faith' so to speak.
I believe with a most perfect faith that the righteous of all groups will share in The World To Come.... When my time comes and even vampires face physical extinction... When I wait for my turn to climb Jacob's Ladder and face The Divine Presence.... old Mrs. Patel might go before me... Even if I speak up and say - But I have lived a reverent life. I've borne my burdens well (being night-folk and all) . Please let me ascend.... The angel will say - You will get your turn. This is hers.... And when that woman, the owner of a blameless, loving life sees God, she may very well say - Krishna? Is it You?..... And God will embrace her shining soul and say - Yes, It is I... For what would it serve Him to do any less?... I really believe that.... with a 'most perfect faith,' as I was taught to say. For besides all the varieties of Jews, whether Christian, Hasidic, Muslim, Reformed, or Orthodox, we will also meet the followers of Buddah, Hindus and sincere members of other faith families, not to mention souls from other worlds... And they have every right to make the climb. My faith gives me no priority. This might sound strange, coming from a vampire, but to me, it is merely the easiest way to be truly 'human.' ....... You know How bad I get 'Jerusalem Fever,' so please allow me a moment to compose myself....... Faith never dies. My 'translation' to this form changed nothing. I believed in - Love all Humanity ('thy neighbors' translation was an error) as thyself... and I believe in it now.... To judgmental souls who insist on seeing 'strangers and outsiders' we say - Then do even more for them than one of your own, since they expect so very much less..... Charity? There was no such thing as charity, It is Zedakah. It is righteousness. It is sharing. It is natural and right. Souls knew their worth since Sinai and all may join the march.
I'm going to stop now, because I could go on for hours. Just know that at this spiritual time of year, it is incumbent on all to 'go and do good things.'..... And as they say in The Rocky Horror Show - Don't just dream it. Be it.
Well, that's how it is, or at least that's how I see it. If you follow a different path, but walk in a reverent and sincere manner, your journey is just as worthy as mine or anyone else's.
If you're familiar with the early part of my tale, you know that I, while still mortal, was almost killed with the Martyrs of Provencal during the First Crusade. They herded us into a synagogue, four hundred years old even then, and set it ablaze. Hundreds died. Had not a vampire walked the smoldering ruins, later that night and found me clinging to life, I would not be among you know.... But I am... And I have tried to do the best I can.
May this Season of Miracles be real for you... all of you.....
Who am I to tell you such things?..... I am Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea. I am night-folk. I am vampire. And I believe with a most perfect faith.
What more can I say?
(He turns off the lamp and sits there staring at the fire)
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Jonathon picks up where he left off Monday night~~~
Not all the gold coins are given to homeless people. Believe me. Center City is not over run by them. I just know where they hide. I just know who they are. But sometimes I share with working people. I'll walk through a hospital and slip one of the velvet, drawstring sacks (actually, my Hanukah-'Gelt' bags. I've been giving them out for weeks now) into the pocket of a hardworking orderly.. or a practical nurse... the overlooked people. They don't make that much. I can help them. They rarely see me. Vampires can effect people that way. It's more instinct than art. Cats can do it too. If I really 'feel' for a mortal they get a few sacks... each with the carefully folded note inside telling them where to go to sell the coins and also that I meant them to have them. I learned. I have to put that line in, because one recipient put an ad in the papers trying to find the rightful owner. I'm sure he's in the presence of God. He died young. Where else would he be?.... a saint.
Though not all are saints. There are other things out there too. Not vampires. Not other vampires, or ghouls, or witches... nothing like that. These have no preternatural identity. They sit... hidden in plain sight... Maybe in a bus shelter, or on a bench. They mumble to themselves, emitting evil, little giggles. Their eyes glow orange in the night. Some smell like stale, wet ashes. I'm not talking about mentally disturbed people. These are different. Many times the mouth never moves, yet words, or what passes for words, comes out. And the trickle of blood from a nostril is not a trickle of blood, but a greasy, red worm. I hate them. They trick people. They grab people. A feverish hand flies out, locking on a wrist. Then the language... a low, guttural barrage of words. 'Soul thieves' they are. Oh, the victims still move and talk and work and go about their lives... or what used to be their lives. And it can go on for decades... until the mortal dies.... I've seen human babies, snatched early on, exist as shells of what they might have been for the better part of a century. Puppets, they are... and sorely used. Eleven are on 'death row' right now.
Lesser fiends I'd just kill. I'd sublimate [when a vampire passes into and out of living tissue, the cellular and molecular structure is destroyed, leaving naught but a viscous, oozing puddle]through them and that would be it. But, just as you, I am a soul too and I don't want to lose it.
So I stroll back toward the townhouse. Quite a distance really. I'm walking through a cunning, little gothic courtyard of The Wharton School now, The University of Pennsylvania's famous nursery for titans of industry and powerful money barons and that's in the 'thirties.' Our place in Society Hill is over three miles away. So I walk and I think and I communicate..... Billy types it all up... brightens the vocabulary a bit... deepens the atmosphere... He's good at that.
And please don't believe him when he tells you we give him 'looks' because he hasn't made us famous yet. He reads it all wrong. We know how hard he works. It's he who craves the spotlight. Every writer is an actor. Every writer is a 'ham.' They perform on the page ( or lap top screen ) instead of the stage. That's all.
Now permit me some privacy. I'd like to distribute a coin sack or two to some troubled undergrad. They wander around now. The night can be quite attractive. I'm sure I'll find one soon.
Peace of The Season to you all.
(with that he turns and walks away)
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Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays. Joyous New Year to all.
Jonathon loves the Solstice. He dresses carefully.. new underwear (he does) ... two white, long sleeved t-shirts... black wool socks... black jeans... crisp, meticulously pressed white shirt, topped with black rather form fitting, cashmere sweater, if the night was cold enough, or a fine, cream colored, wool muffler if it was not. On bitter nights he wore both. Then his tailored, quilted, black leather, three quarter length zippered coat. It looks like a medieval tunic. Indeed, he had one like it in his mortal days, but minus the zipper. The dapper night-lord, with only a bit of muffler showing up under his chin. And, of course the carefully crafted leather gloves, plus maybe a warm, knit hat, pulled on just right.
He studied his reflection in an antique cheval mirror. Sarah, finished arranging her own outfit... rather like his and said - This is it. From here on in they get shorter, the nights, I mean..... He struck a three-quarter pose and sighed... She asked - What are you doing tonight?..... Distributing alms. I always give alms tonight. See? - he answered and showed her a small, zipped leather case, resembling a Bible, filled with little, dark blue, velvet, drawstring sacks holding bright, shiny Krugerrands, each heavy coin fashioned from a full ounce of solid gold. Three or four to a sack meant every recipient hurried away with at least five thousand dollars.... He had about fourteen sacks..... Sarah didn't go with him. She went her own way. Vampire couples are like that. They come together to rest during the day. They couple. They bathe. They sleep. But panthers are an independent breed. Everyone knows that.
Jonathon left the townhouse and wandered through a night that was actually quite mild. He sought out the darkest streets... little byways, alleys really, for small trucks to make deliveries, or pick up refuse. You or I, provided we're mortal, would be blind in such places. There were few security lights. The doors, leading to commercial establishments and office buildings were thick, heavy, steel affairs, impossible to open from the outside. I think the fire department had special tools to get in, but no one else did. During business hours they opened from the inside and even then just to accept shipments or throw something into a dumpster.
Night was another thing. People crawled in with their blankets, their meager belongings and their hungers. Some want food and drift in early, the better to peruse the dumpsters. Not to many vermin. New generation dumpsters shut tight. People can get in (maybe two... the lids are heavy) dig around... find stuff... thrown out doughnuts from the staff room... food from the cafeteria (banks have the best). Sometimes they fight. Others snuggle under blankets and satisfy other needs.
Jonathon looks for certain types. His eyes are different. He can see in the dark. Everything looks gray... dark grays... charcoal grays... powdery blacks... no colors. Just enough contrast and demarcation to provide a bit of information. He studies the shapes till he finds a certain type... quiet... away from the others.... happy for a place to just curl up and sleep... Some are women. Some have children.
He'll walk by. They tense. He'll unzip his little, black case, take out a drawstring bag and toss in on the blankets. Hands crawl out to explore the strange, new thing. Gold has a 'feel.' There's a heft. You can almost taste it with your fingertips.
They hold it tight, snug, up under their chins. And in the first weak light of dawn, or almost dawn, they look at it. There's a little note folded into each sack, telling them where to go to sell the coins. Everything's arranged. Jonathon's 'familiars' know what to do.
Five or six thousand dollars, depending on the market, can do a lot...
Look, we were going to tell you more, but 3:30AM came up real fast. And whoever it is we got typing this tonight has to get some sleep. So think of this as part one. Tomorrow evening we'll do part two... hopefully early.
We're sorry, but the trash and recycling trucks come by and they make a real big racket.
We hope you understand...
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The cold has finally reached us. They say it still hasn't settled in for good, but we have it for a few evenings. Thin, brittle, candy coatings of ice reflect moonlight up from still rivers, really little more than misnamed streams. I like The Pines in winter. You've been here with me before. It's Edith, the housekeeper from the city. I come back for Christmas. It's only a ninety minute ride. They all come out here, Jonathon, Sarah, all of them. The Jersey Pine Barrens is a special place. Magic lives here. It always has. I sit on the porch and watch the ghosts. They trace through the trees like deer. Some nod. Some don't. Little more than eyes in the dark. Raccoons scurry right through them. The cold gives everything a different aura. It all looks so focused, even in the weak, silvery beams. But I see it in daylight. I had a child, you know, a daughter.... a perfect little thing. She was ten months old... a dumpling in every way. I gave her pudding... plain, vanilla pudding. It made her happy.... It was April and already warm. I washed the sheets and took out the spring testers (light quilts). Not that there wouldn't be cool nights. We'd use two testers then. But that day was blue and clear and bright. I could smell the 'river' and the grass and the soil. We lived away from the village, in a little clearing. Thirty feet from the porch was The Pines. If Jersey Devils dwelt there, they were our Jersey Devils, more friends then monsters. Those of you familiar with Horsey Skeezix understand. Such a dear little soul he is. But the world knows what the world knows, or rather what it wants to know. I put the baby in an old varnished, wicker basket, quite smooth and lined with layer after layer of soft-with-use faded, Turkish towels. Then I took her outside and laid her down on the grass, so I might hang out the wash, carefully draping a towel over one end to shade her from the sun. She gurgled and played with a rubber elephant. I still love that sound. When I was done I spread a coverlet next to the baby and laid down to rest. Her breath was so even and so fine. I didn't mean to fall asleep... but I did... Mister Edith was out clamming. We were all alone. The wind kicked up. It does that. Warm days often change. I felt the breeze and woke up. That's when I saw it. The basket was upended... towels all over the grass... her little rubber elephant..... We have big snapping turtles in that 'river.' I've seen them take apart a rabbit.... They say I was crazy for three weeks. Even then, I rarely spoke. But when you read about me in this tale... when you hear them refer to Edith, the housekeeper... Edith the Jersey Pines witchy-woman, please know that I too have a history. There are things that you don't know. Please excuse me for commandeering the screen, but we've shared the ride for more than five years and I thought it only right to tell you. If the voice I've used tonight sounds strange, blame the gravity of my tale... The details never leave me.... <more next time> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ click - THE AKOSHIC RECORDS ... to browse all episodes of Vampire Wonderland. click - WHERE WE MEET ... to join me on Twitter. please comment. thank you.
The vampire, Jonathon, speaks~~~ My first observation concerns not vampires, or night-folk, but the cinema. I see what they say. I watch television and go to the movies too. In fact, as a soul born to an elemental, simple time, movies are like magic to me. They are dreams made manifest. No, they are not 'like' magic. They ARE magic. I saw The Thief Of Baghdad... the silent Douglas Fairbanks version. And did they 'get' life in that culture right? No, not if you count every little detail. But to those not miserly in a cultural sense it beams with truth. I know. My Al-Andaluz homeland was like that. I can smell the almond trees and taste the marzipan. Even now after one thousand years as a life-eater, I can feel those things. I can hear the finger cymbals and castanets and the tinkling fountains of a hundred courtyards. But I digress..... I saw STAR WARS ... You can click on it if you like. I saw the first 'dream' in nineteen seventy seven. I heard the music and it took me back thirty seven years to a vast movie palace on Market Street... back to a warm, summer night... a time when artificially cooled air was only found in such places. I went in to escape the heat. And I heard a score that's been embroidered into the very fibers of my heart since then. It's my music. I listen to it all the time. It represents life and struggling and triumph. Listen to it. You'll see. It's haunting. They say the basic plot points, not to mention the score, actually influenced STAR WARS.... three friends.... two young men and a special young woman confront evil and power in a closed 'society.'... A bit like Luke and Han and Leyah. You don't need space craft to reach the stars. So see the new Space Opera. Absorb STAR WARS. Enjoy... But if you're just a little bit curious, look up an earlier film. Look up KINGS ROW on You Tube. Listen to the various 'takes' on the music. I think the whole film is up there too.... Black and white. Beautifully shot.... I have a copy here at the town house. I listen to it on cold, winter nights... all snug under two afghans... dim light from a small lamp... and there on the screen, the silvery perfection of long ago. Imagery means a lot to a vampire. Can you visualize the films we'd have if they could record my memories? Remember, I sat in the Globe Theater... two rows from Good Queen Bess to be exact. I heard bards sing in Old Provencal and American Indian poets in noble long houses not far from the outskirts of baby Philadelphia. How fast the city rose. Penn brought the blue print... the first planned city since Roman times... not counting the vast metropolises of MesoAmerica. All of brick it was. London had just burned and it's New World offspring never did. I was there. They had fire eaters and sword swallowers on Head House Square... street performers of every type... faces whitened... eyes smudged with kohl... red lips .... yellow teeth.... Please forgive me. I could not resist. Vampires notice teeth and until recently, you mortals really had some specimens. Look, I talk about all this to distract myself. Soon I'll leave here, enter a black, chauffeur driven car ( the driver a 'familiar,' naturally) go to a little street in the Northern Liberties and park 'round the corner from a small apartment house. Then I'll sublimate up to the third floor bedroom of a young man... a self-centered, more or less uncaring, evil young man, (you met him a few nights ago) scoop him up, blankets and all (vampire breath is a soporific... he'll sleep through the whole thing)... and sublimate back down to the waiting car. My 'aura' is more than adequate to carry him along with me. We'll drive in through a little known gate. Laurel Hill Cemetery is large, a medieval fiefdom in its own right. Then wind our way to a forgotten quarter of old, moldering, family crypts. Most haven't been opened since Victoria's son was on the throne ... sealed time capsules of physical corruption and unending darkness. That's where he'll wake up. The young man, I mean. And he'll have no idea where he is, or how he got there.... alone amidst the horror of sharp, shattered bones and desiccated, splintery coffins. In former times they heaved them in like cordwood. Imagine waking up on a razor sharp bed of ancient, broken bones. Might as well be shattered glass... wearing your underwear, wrapped in your blankets..... No, not wrapped in your blankets. I'm not going to let him keep his blankets. That would be too comforting. He'd just curl up in a cocoon and die. People do that. They just 'stop.' They curl up in one place and don't eat and don't drink. They just breath and think, or simply entertain thoughts, till they die. Well, I don't want him to die. I'll wait till he sleeps. Maybe not the first time he drifts off. Maybe the second. Maybe the third. Sometimes I can read minds. I can feel every jot and tittle. Even when I can't, I feel the high points. I'll know. I'll wait till he sleeps. When he does sleep it'll be from pure exhaustion. I don't think he's the curl up and die type. He'll fight. He'll search. He'll feel through the darkness. He'll bleed. He'll cry. Not that it will do him any good. Then I'll sublimate in, take him out and return him to his bed. If he's picked up an infection or two, a few drops of my blood will fix that. He'll wake up with a note, written on a scrap of ancient parchment, on the side table listing his sins... the bone dust of the grave still upon him. A Scrooge for our time. I am a ghost. Not really, but I can be. Now permit me to end this conversation. I must prepare for tonight's performance... an invisible role, but a pivotal one none the less. Be careful what sees you while you sleep... Be careful who watches in the dark... None are safe.... Every 'thing' is everywhere... But you who browse the paranormal archives already know that. <more next time> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ click on - THE ETERNAL EGG ... to see all Vampire Wonderland episodes. click on - OUR TIMELINES MEET TO FORM A NODE ... to join me and by extension, everyone else too. please leave comments. thank you.
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