Then there came the moment when the born-witch stood before him, heaving and spiting in all her evil glory. Billy closed his eyes and waited. But the ghost from the cellar, the ghost of the little boy who did not quite survive polio stayed by him. The tiny fellow raised his chin, looked into her eyes and said - No!... That was it... just 'No!' ... And she was gone. The house was restored. All was quiet. The little spirit boy whispered in Billy's ear - It's alright. You can look now.... Billy did. He blinked, rubbed his eyes and started to laugh... She's a liar. That big dumb slob is a liar....
What the ghost boy didn't know was that HE stopped her, for no 'magic thief' can prevail against the innocent soul of a martyred child. Billy didn't know that either. Nor did the vampires. That's why they ran away with Doctor Franklin and went to 'Baby Philadelphia.'...
A few heartbeats later, Billy set the little boy up in front of the 'basement' flat screen so he could watch a monster movie marathon on the SyFy channel. Then he went upstairs to fix himself up and go out for food. Before he left, he checked the house. All was as it should be. The small, cozy library was safe. Every room was safe. Even the noxious born-witch stink was gone. He grabbed a rustic looking lanyard from the junk drawer in the kitchen and put it over his head. Edith claimed it was a hoo-doo meant to keep away all manner of evil. Maybe it was?
From the street, the house looked OK too... just a tasteful pre-Revolutionary, red brick, Philadelphia townhouse. Except for the updated kitchen, baths and family room, it was still rather authentic... gleaming hardwoods... wool area rugs... antiques... crown molding... yadda yadda yadda. Billy saw the nosy neo- yuppie-hipster couple from across the street open their door, tip-tap down the steps and disappear into an Uber car. They didn't act like anything was wrong either. Hard to tell with them. You know who should have been the vampires? They should have been the vampires. Reality is never like TV. That's just how it is.
So Billy walked down to the South Street Deli for an omelet, home fries, whole wheat toast and iced tea. That was his 'thing.' Sometimes he varied the omelet, but just that part. I don't know if it was breakfast time or dinner time. I don't know how long the ordeal with the born-witch was. I'm just a disembodied narrator... not Mister Never You Mind, or Zebulon. I'm a different one. Hello, nice to meet you. You want me to go outside and see what time it is? I will. I'll pay attention this time. I promise. But really, WHAT difference does it make? There IS no day. There IS no night. There's just sunlight and shadows. The 'day' is always there. The 'night' is always there. You face one way or you face the other. Call it what you want. The world is like that. Where YOU are and HOW you THINK about it is what counts. Schedules are for slaves.
But before I go, let me tell you something. Pig-Blood-Annie would have killed Billy, if she could. The little ghost boy prevented her from doing that... innocent essence and all. She would have ripped him limb from limb... flesh, muscle, skin, gristle, everything.
Still, the evil virago didn't leave empty handed. She 'read' the aura of the place. She felt the vibrations. She knew their past, up to a point. She knew their future. She knew where they were headed. Didn't know it was called 'Baby Philadelphia.' Didn't know the historic details, but she sensed it. Her mind and body recorded it.... And she'd do everything she could to follow them there...
Born-witches have lots of tools. Look, you know how Doctor Franklin is always experimenting with harmonics? Well, it's like her whole being 'reads' harmonics.... an extra sense few others have.
After he ate, Billy went into the CVS to get some magazines for himself and the ghost boy. On the way home, he ran into @phillyjesus (yeah, you can click it) and stopped to talk. This is the best 'Jesus' in Center City, even Saturday Night Live knows him. Billy doesn't care who's a Christian or a Jew or a Muslim. He just likes to talk and spiritual people are among the most interesting. At least that's what he thinks. You might have your own opinions. I don't care.
Now let me drift into that little shop over there and watch clueless bastards try and stuff themselves into black, leather, skinny pants. I like that. It tickles me. Wonder if shoppers realize some of the people who tried on that crap peed a little?
Pig-Blood-Annie has like a divining rod. She's walking around the city with it now, trying to find their point of departure... the vampires and Doctor Franklin and all. Ain't wearing no diarrhea stained house dress now. Looks like the stone hearted teacher, or principal, or whatever she was from Matilda. Folks jump out of her way real fast. Nobody wants to go to the 'Chokie' and who knows what kind of Chokie she imagines.
Good bye. I'm done. Damp spring days in the magical city.... That's how it is....
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Billy got left behind when the others fled to 'Baby Philadelphia.' He was all alone in the Townhouse cellar with the ghost of the little boy who did not quite survive polio. Well not exactly all alone. I don't know if spirits count, but the born-witch, Pig Blood Annie does and boy was she angry. Every bit of glass was shattered. Even the granite counter tops in the kitchen cracked like The Tablets of The Law. The mouse family in the attic crumbled to dust, but they were still alive when their spines fractured.
She screamed like an army of hormonal banshees. Floors buckled. Walls came down and two hundred and fifty year old rafters that put railroad ties to shame splintered and fell. The inside of the house was gutted and cleaned like a chicken. The virago-born-witch hung from a beam that was once part of the attic floor. A thin, cheesy, putrid stream of shit escaped from her bowels.
Where the hell are they!? Where'd them assholes go?! - she railed ..... Billy hid under all the rubble, cut from shards of wood and choking from the dust and fecal matter. Water sprayed from the broken bones of showers, tubs and sinks. You've seen the like in old cartoons... BOOM!!! The double door refrigerator slid down what was left of the kitchen floor and jumped to its death, followed by the heavy, commercial grade stove (apparently they were lovers) and sundry other appliances that decided life wasn't worth living anymore. Billy trembled under what was left of the mudroom. Nothing heavy up there so he was OK, save for what came down from the bedrooms. But he was pinned against a wall, curled up and jammed into a space like a contortionist's trunk...After a bit the dust settled. The water leaking down helped that.
Then, a near silence..... just the water and the sound of creaking wood, as Pig Blood Annie swung back and forth up above.... All the books in the cozy, little library... gone... All the fine antiques... destroyed. God knows what happened to Little Annie's toys, Sarah's things and Jonathon's fine clothes. God knows what happened to his venerable, hand illuminated copy of La Ciencia Vampirismo, or his thousand year old journal.
Billy wondered - Why wasn't the fire department there? Where were the police, especially the paranormal unit? Will I ever straighten up and walk again? When will the bleeding stop? Will I live? Will I die?... He wanted to yell for help, but the born-witch was still there. Where? He didn't know, but he could smell her.
Then, there was one last crash, as she let go and plummeted down onto the rubble. He saw her gross form, clad only in a soaked, shit stained housedress, clamber to get up. She farted. She belched. She cursed.
Billy held his breath, praying she couldn't see him buried under all the wreckage. But she had other talents...
She snorted. She sneezed and in a low, sand-paper whisper said - I smell my dinner... Billy moaned. The born-witched chuckled. What was all that rubble to her, she, with her thick, beefy arms? Could she throw a hoo-doo and make it disappear?... Sure, but liftin' and throwin' was more fun. Made Billy groan and whine a little. Added some spice. She'd lift him up and bite the meat right off his ribs. Maybe suck his tongue out and rip that off too. Tongues is like appetizers.
Now it was mighty dark in that ruin, but he could see the gleam off that shit soaked dress plastered to her belly, as she cleared a path and moved in for the kill.
He closed his eyes and waited.
Then the ghost of the little boy who didn't quite survive polio whispered - Don't worry. I'm here...
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No one said a word. They sat and they looked, as the carriage took them through the streets of eighteenth century Philadelphia. The red brick sidewalks were thick with people. Young girls sold heather brought down from the forest meadows of Bucks County. Indians sold beadwork. Ladies of leisure stepped down from their own conveyances and were helped up the steps and into the very chic, Old City Tavern, which was much more than a mere tavern. Indeed, that's where the term 'Ladies Who Lunch' was coined. I believe Doctor Franklin himself wrote it in Poor Richard's Almanac. Philadelphia Lawyers plied their trade from townhouse-offices fronting Washington Square. Crowds exited Wednesday matinees from theaters lining Chestnut Street and although our amazed refugees couldn't see it from their rarified seats, crowds also exited theaters two or three blocks to the north on Arch Street. Dulcimer players regaled appreciative throngs on various corners in return for copper and silver coins. Indeed, this was the premiere New World metropolis , north of Mexico City. In little more than a month, wealthier citizens would trade their town homes for the country resort of Germantown, or sylvan estates out to the west along the new Pennsylvania Turnpike. And Doctor Franklin, in a sense, orchestrated the whole thing. Look, he did it in Real Philadelphia, so why not in this 'Baby Philadelphia?' But Jonathon was the first to notice.... Doctor - he said - how is it we're able to be out and about in broad daylight with no ill effects?..... Harmonics, my boy - answered Franklin. You know the basics. We've experimented with it before. Every street lamp contains a small oscillator, not out in the open, but hidden in the iron poles. They vibrate with a specially tuned frequency forming a net, if you will, over the city. Step out of the city and all bets are off..... Sarah thought for a moment and asked - How is that possible? I thought 'science' had nothing to do with this. I thought we were products of a vast, universal, spiritual construct. That's what Jonathon says..... And maybe he's right - said the Doctor. But perhaps 'God' shares his recipe? All I know is it works. Where did all these bastids come from? How'd you get all the people? - asked Little Annie.... Most were here when I found them, already speaking what was more or less English, already living what we would call an eighteenth century life - said the Doctor....Is this part of a whole planet, or what? - asked Conrad..... Truthfully, I don't know. I've only been a few miles beyond the city limits. Seen a few Indians. The people talk of a mother land across the sea. The docks are active. But I don't know - answered Franklin..... Where are we? - asked Jonathon.... Another dimension, I'd say another dimension, whatever that means. You know, they're like frequencies on a radio dial. That's all they are - said Franklin. But you're safe here. That born-witch creature can't touch you..... I hope - went Edith...... They rode on a ways in silence, till Edith said - Jesus Christ! Where the hell is Billy?!... Little Annie laughed. She thought it was funny.... No one else did. Though back in our dimension, Pig Blood Annie, the born-witch, knew exactly where he was... <more next time> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ click BRIGADOON ... to see everything we have up... click WONDERLAND ... to join me on Twitter... please comment. thank you. Look, I thought this was going to be a real long post, but it's 4:45AM here and besides, Pig Blood Annie is after me....
The next morning Edith, the housekeeper, found a dead body laying out on the sidewalk, right by the front steps. Though resting on its stomach, the head stared up at the sky and the neck didn't seem at all twisted. The man looked made that way. The police were already out there... no yellow tape... no chalk outline... just a few whispers, a body bag and an unmarked car. These cops belonged to a special unit, the paranormal unit... and they did their job very well. Within a few minutes the body was gone, safe in the trunk of a navy blue sedan. His black, nineteenth century suit turned out to be the real deal. The nosy, young couple across the street didn't notice a thing. That's how it was. In an old city, like Philadelphia, the constabulary had to be prepared for anything and ordinary officers never knew a thing
Later, when the vampires awoke during the last, purple twinge of dusk, Doctor Franklin was there waiting for them. He put down his fork (Edith put out a good feed), wiped his mouth and said - Good morning, my friends. I see you've been challenged?.... Jonathon and the others already knew. They had an 'intercom' system, to use an old term. Edith already told them...... A 'snappy Jack, the backward looking man, it means 'watch yourself.' I know - said Jonathon. I expected it..... Edith handed him a chilled lemon-water and he sat down. Sarah had a green tea. Little Annie had weak iced coffee in a Flintstones jelly glass. Conrad, always the weird one, whined - No, I don't want it! when offered his cup. Vampires are a very individualistic breed.
Although he tried to hide it, Jonathon was very concerned. Pig Blood Annie was a canker sore on the paranormal world. They all knew that. She killed babies. She burned churches (all types). She threw hula dancers off the decks of cruise ships and whistled for the sharks. Born-witches, especially bad ones, can be quite spontaneous and unimaginably evil. Ebenezer of Rock Meadow once turned thirty one hundred homesteaders into mice, which the owls tore apart for dinner. A trapper passing through said he heard the tiny screams.
Franklin said - What do you think she'll do next, boy?.... Jonathon just shrugged.... Conrad said - Oh, who are we kidding? Anything she wants. She'll do anything she wants. Oh, my God! Didn't you ever see the movie, Freaks? [ Google -Todd Browning's Freaks... you won't sleep] You wanna end up like that? Well, do you?! ..... Little Annie said - I LOVE that movie!.... Edith mumbled - You would... Little Annie hissed at her. Edith flashed a hex sign to shut her up. She ain't no born-witch, but just plain witchy-women can do plenty.
Then they heard someone, or something, jiggling the skylight two stories up. The frantic sound echoed down the stairwell. The lights flickered and went out. Little Annie whispered - Eww, what's that shitty smell?..... Conrad moaned - Oh, God. I'm gonna be rooster-boy...
Doctor Franklin whipped an ornate, baroque tuning fork out of his sweatpants pocket ( you know how he always wears Kelly green, Eagles sweat suits?), held it above his head and brought it down against the granite breakfast bar, bathing all in a weak, green electric hum. He yelled - Quick, everyone, form a chain. Hold hands!.... They did. A heartbeat later, just as their (mostly Jonathon's, actually) sworn enemy, the virago, born-witch, crashed through the skylight and stomped down the stairs, they snaked through the ether, passing through walls, buses and automobiles, as they streaked toward the medieval castle-close forming the open-air heart of City Hall, skimming just above street level and invisible to all manner of creatures.
Then they stopped, hovering over the large, inlaid, bronze, compass rose marking the one-time heart of Center City Philadelphia. Few pedestrians passed through after dark. They had the eerily, authentic dimly lit, gray, shadowy space to themselves.
Doctor Franklin said - Form a circle... Conrad grabbed hold.... Doctor Franklin yelled - No, not me, Conrad! Let go! I have to do something!..... Then he broke away. Jonathon linked up with nerdy vampire. The doctor stepped down onto the smooth, stone and bronze paving, moved to the 'sweet spot' at the center, kneeled down ('harmonics' preserved him very well) and rapped his tuning fork on the bronze bulls eye... A strange chord, inaudible to others, filled the ears of his companions, as he screamed - Now! Now! Reach toward the heavens! Reach!... The circle began to rotate, like a carousel going ever faster, till the unusual assortment of vampires and their Jersey Pines, witchy-woman housekeeper dissolved into a translucent green globe, that crackled a bit before it almost instantaneously winked out of sight.
After a few harrowing, inter-dimensional seconds, they stepped down onto the streets of 'Baby Philadelphia.' Doctor Franklin, dressed in sumptuous eighteenth century attire and reclining on the seat of a fine, lacquered brougham, was already there to greet them. They climbed in. The coachman cracked his whip and four matched chestnuts sped them through the narrow thoroughfares of an idealized version of Old Philadelphia....
Pig Blood Annie screamed in frustration, as Billy cowered in the cellar with the ghost of the little boy who didn't quite survive his bout of polio....
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Jonathon said - I moved toward the entity, or rather my soul did. My body continued to shake violently and tear apart, but not in any observable way. Tiny breaks and ruptures ripped through every cell. Blood oozed from my pores and from under my fingernails and toenails. Yet that didn't bother me, for I wasn't in that thing, but somewhere between 'it' and the cold, dead, terrible maw of the soul eater.
First I felt no pain. Then I didn't care. I didn't know. I couldn't focus... no longer in a lost urban tunnel, but speeding through an infinite darkness toward a huge, circular mouth and an ever more sinister darkness beyond....
I heard breathing... the raspy sound of labored breathing. A long, thin 'tongue' undulated out from that mouth and snaked its way toward my spirit face. I saw huge taste buds and ulcers shimmering under a white, sticky film.... It 'kissed' me. It licked my face. I retched, but how could I retch? I had no gut, not a real gut. I was only spirit... if 'only' is the right way to say it.
Then the tongue-thing wrapped itself around my head, covering my eyes and pulled me forward.... I screamed.. But how could I scream, for I had no voice-box?
And then I cried. Aura cried too. I heard her, for I was back in my body, reunited with my flesh and the born-witch, Pig Blood Annie stood over us both, her sloppy, gross body exposed by an old, unbuttoned 'house dress.' How she cackled, as she soaked us both in swine blood that shot from her mouth like hot, steaming, projectile vomit.
Seconds later she said something in an old witch language that was unknown to me and disappeared. Just like that, she snapped out of that time and place and went somewhere else.
I helped Aura get up. We felt our way through the darkness (the Sterno lights were gone) and went into a space that was once meant to be a restroom, where we bathed each other in the weak dribbling stream from an old, overhead, broken pipe.
Neither of us said a word.
When we were ready, she went back to her people and I sublimated, moving through the city and passing through walls, an unseen wraith, lost on the wind, till I entered the townhouse.
Edith (the witchy-woman housekeeper) saw me climb the stairs. Though not a born-witch, she knows a lot...
Pig Blood Annie was back...
What was death, or the appearance of death, to a thing like her?
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I saw something tonight. It was under the city. I was in the deep, never-used subway tunnels of the mole people. I had sunglasses. I had new sunglasses for Aura and Sylvia, for when they come up to the surface. Their father, the current 'mole king' doesn't want them to live hobbled lives. He wants them to come up every once in a while... to see the decorations around Christmastime, or the cherry blossoms along the drives coming into Center City. Some mole folk never come up. They see fuzzy images on little old, dusty television sets hooked up to converter boxes so they can get the 'new' sharper signals.... Picture, sitting on a pile of old quilts shoved into the end of a small, side, storage tunnel, filching a bit of current from ancient wires that are incredibly still 'live.' Contorted coat hangers and wadded up tin foil decorating the rabbit ears.... tiny little specks of light flickering out of greasy, Sterno cans. They wear old hospital gowns. Maybe four or five tied around their bodies every which way you could imagine. Aura has a smidge of style sense, so she doesn't look crazy, like her sister... strange, but not crazy. They are beautiful girls though. I used to mush up with them, but Sarah began to resent it, so I stopped. I told her vampires don't have to worry about fidelity. It's not like we have to worry about offspring. She didn't agree. You know how essentially mortal she is in her thoughts and ways. It can take decades, even centuries for those patterns to go away. We 'patrol the territory.' There are miles and miles of tunnels down there, originally meant for a multilayered subway line, but they never used them. One layer, in a few places two, was enough. Mole folk, as many of you know, leach a living tapping a little current out of long forgotten power lines and gathering drip-drip-drips from ancient corroded pipes. They grow mushrooms in carefully tended dirt patches. Most of the floors are plain dirt. They were never finished. They raise pigeons (minus flight feathers) and rats too in little pens. By now, after generations, both meat sources are 'domesticated' and essentially 'clean.' Everything's down there. It's another world. In winter homeless people often stumble onto entrances and find ways in, but they're not part of the 'tribe.' Most die in knife fights. They have ossuaries for the victims, piles of bones collected over I don't know how many years. I've seen them, meticulously sorted bones... skulls... femurs... pelvises... like disassembled Tinker Toys... We navigate the passages with tiny Sterno lights. Ghosts are nothing. We see ghosts all the time. Well, not 'all' the time, but often enough. Most walk passed like we're not even there. Some are from before the subways were ever built... A few died in construction accidents. But considering the safety standards of the day and working class rights, they weren't accidents. They were 'acceptable losses.' Others moan continuously. A few crawl on all fours and never straighten up. One's just a severed head that rolls and laughs maniacally. In rare instances something will focus on us and mumble, but that's very rare. Mole folk never address them. They're afraid of the soul catchers. That's what they call them. Some you see. Some you feel. But they're out there... not a lot. They're very rare. Maybe they trace out a territory but just aren't here that much? Edith and the Piney Folk call them Ho-Ho's. Nobody likes them. Word is they open their mouths and suck you right in, just like the vapor in a hookah. I don't know if that's the end, or if you continue to exist somewhere else. In the Pines, they whisper about 'the gray mist,' an infinite space where souls just float eternally. Sometimes lucky ones drift together and manage to hold on to each other, but you can go a star's age and never see a thing like that. The universe, both in our world and the next, is a very mysterious place. The thing I saw looked like the remnants of a person after they had a few meaty layers soaked off in acid. Just stood there at the end of a little passage. No ears... no eye lids... no clothes... skeletal hands... ravaged sex parts... all pearly-gray-swirls like the ghost of a lava lamp. That's what I thought it was at first, a ghost, I mean. then I felt the 'pull,' as it stared with dead eyes and 'inhaled.' I was swept off my feet. The force was that strong. Aura screamed. (she was with me). I dropped my tiny, Sterno lamp. The weak orange light was gone. I prayed. I cried. I dug my nails into the dirt. My ribs vibrated and trembled, as every fiber of my body flew apart. Aura laid there, speaking in tongues and convulsing in the clammy gloom radiating out from the creature's body. Pulled in like an unfortunate bit of matter toward the maw of a black hole. Putting it into scientific terms make it seem less frightening.... The spirit world is a strong, unbending place... <more next time> click GHOSTLY ENTITIES ... to float through every episode we have up (close to 2,000) click ETERNAL CONVERSATION ... to join me on Twitter... please comment. thank you.
No video. No song. Just me, Jonathon ben Macabi. And I never realized how much I patterned my contemporary persona after a certain ( really rather 'elferino' in his own way) artist from Milwaukee till he left us. 'See you standing in the purple rain'--- Ever wonder what that means? Well, I'm gonna tell you.... Old sky is blue. New sky is purple. Rain is cleansing. Thus a new clean start.... That's it. Marianne and Celeste and Albion and Roland know that. How could they not? Elferinos and elferinas are even more Princerians than I am.... I saw him performs once. It was about twenty years ago, at the legendary Electric Factory, an old tire warehouse in the Callowhill district of Center City. I loved that place. They left some of the old tire bins along the back wall and show-goers would lay in them like coffins, or mummy cases. I stood right by the stage. You could do that there. It was a stand and dance kind of room. Tokers milled around toward the mummy cases. Dancers filled the middle. True fans, or maybe just those desperate to feel the starlight mobbed the stage. And the lights were low. 'Vampire lights,' I called them. How the place throbbed with sound. We were as microbes on a giant ear drum and the mortals streaming out after it was over were deaf for at least three quarters of an hour. They thought it was magic. Waitresses in nearby coffee shops thought it was torture and more than a few contemplated scalding some of the giddy bastards with the bitter, over cooked, brew such places are famous for. But I met Prince that night.... Oh, what a vampire he would have been, or rather what a vampire the character he played would have been. Yet that's as it should be. We all have our 'stage' face. And maybe the 'stage' face is who we really are, though we're scared to admit it. Freedom costs... Don't you know? It was in a rather better class of coffee shop. Forget what I said a paragraph or two above. The Four Seasons Hotel, I think it was, just off the Parkway, at the entrance to the quarter where all the museums (or most of them) are. They had a real cultured clientele. Came into town to see the art and the history and the oddities. Shopped in the oh so tasteful museum gift shops offering everything from gruesome ersatz medieval relics to Andy Warhol playing cards and little tins of potpourri made from cremated saints. Prince ordered a grilled Portobello mushroom sandwich ( a vegan, you know). His companion-bodyguards had bowls of tabouli and raspberry iced tea. I tipped my imaginary hat and toasted him with my own goblet of raspberry iced tea. His tabouli-eaters eyed me suspiciously, but he gestured for me to join him.... So I did.... He glanced at my trim, leather bootkins. I glanced at his.... We spoke of many sundry things, from ceiling wax to long dead kings. Did he know, shall we say, that I was paranormally inclined?... Come on... this is Prince we're talking about. He knew everything. I suspect he still does. So now you know what purple rain means. Could I tell you more?.... Of course... But he was a very private individual and as a being who 'lives' poised between two worlds I am still bound to respect certain things. That's all..... Now let me put on a fresh, stand-up collar, fine, white shirt, zip up my trim, leather bootkins and strike sparks on the concrete as I prowl the after midnight streets... May the purple rain fall on you...... Jonathon ben Macabi ... a.k.a. Tomas de Macabea <more next time> click VEGAN ... to see all episodes I have up now... click ARTIST ... to join me on Twitter. please comment. thank you...
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