Sometimes you have those days when you answer the door and it is someone you used to know and he seems shocked to see you.
He’ll say, “What are you doing here?”
And I’ll say, “What are YOU doing here?”
Then he’ll say, “Time travel.”
Then I’ll say, “I live here. This is my home.”
Then he’ll look confused because the last time I saw him was 1893. And no, I’m not going to tell him I’m a Vampire. I’ll just screw with him and let him wonder. A little mystery never hurt anyone. OK maybe it has, but that isn’t this post.
When my daughter was about five or six years old she said that one day she was going to build a time machine. She said it would be red. She said it would fold up flat, about the size of a book, so she could take it with her so nobody could steal it while she was in another time.
My old friend (the one I just mentioned) jumps into the future, then jumps into the past. I asked him if he ever lives in the present. He looked confused, then sort of sad. Like a drug, one can find time travel an easy way out to not deal with anything. Of course, like most Time Travelers, he was sort of a jerk to begin with.
When you’re a Vampire you need to remember your past, look forward, but engage in the present for survival. I suppose we’re all like that. Too much past and we all end up like Miss Havisham. Too much future… I don’t know too many people who live too much in the future, except those who keep saying, “I’ll do that tomorrow.” But that is just procrastination (something I know nothing about.) We need to plan. We need to look forward. I have to admit there is nothing I like more than planning a trip, or a party.
More coffee and more sleep is also on my list.
I told my old friend, “You need to get off of that machine and stay for a while. Aren’t you lonely?”
“No,” he tells me.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Why are you still here?” He asks.
“I’m a Vampire,” I tell him.
He laughs. HA HA big joke. I don’t show him my fangs. I just stand there in my pajama pants and bath robe, and ask him if he wants coffee.
We talk for a while then he decides to go back to 1893, then realizes he can’t go back. He’d be out of place, aside from a lot of other things. So he stays for another cup of coffee. And I tell him I have a single friend I think I’ll introduce him to.
He asks, “What’s her name?”
“Miss Havisham,” I say.
He laughed. “David Copperfield.”
I didn’t. “Great Expectations.”
He shrugged. “So seriously Juliette, what are you doing here? I know it isn’t suspended animation because that won’t be safe for another thirty years. Do you time travel too? What’s up?”
I remembered his blood type was O+. All I could think of was lunch. A long lunch at that considering nobody would miss him – at least not this year.
Don’t forget to warn your children about Time Travelers, people who don’t read, and other pot holes in the road of life. And as always, talk with your kids every chance you get.
Sometimes you have those days when you answer the door and it is someone you used to know and he seems shocked to see you.
He’ll say, “What are you doing here?”
And I’ll say, “What are YOU doing here?”
Then he’ll say, “Time travel.”
Then I’ll say, “I live here. This is my home.”
Then he’ll look confused because the last time I saw him was 1893. And no, I’m not going to tell him I’m a Vampire. I’ll just screw with him and let him wonder. A little mystery never hurt anyone. OK maybe it has, but that isn’t this post.
When my daughter was about five or six years old she said that one day she was going to build a time machine. She said it would be red. She said it would fold up flat, about the size of a book, so she could take it with her so nobody could steal it while she was in another time.
My old friend (the one I just mentioned) jumps into the future, then jumps into the past. I asked him if he ever lives in the present. He looked confused, then sort of sad. Like a drug, one can find time travel an easy way out to not deal with anything. Of course, like most Time Travelers, he was sort of a jerk to begin with.
When you’re a Vampire you need to remember your past, look forward, but engage in the present for survival. I suppose we’re all like that. Too much past and we all end up like Miss Havisham. Too much future… I don’t know too many people who live too much in the future, except those who keep saying, “I’ll do that tomorrow.” But that is just procrastination (something I know nothing about.) We need to plan. We need to look forward. I have to admit there is nothing I like more than planning a trip, or a party.
More coffee and more sleep is also on my list.
I told my old friend, “You need to get off of that machine and stay for a while. Aren’t you lonely?”
“No,” he tells me.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Why are you still here?” He asks.
“I’m a Vampire,” I tell him.
He laughs. HA HA big joke. I don’t show him my fangs. I just stand there in my pajama pants and bath robe, and ask him if he wants coffee.
We talk for a while then he decides to go back to 1893, then realizes he can’t go back. He’d be out of place, aside from a lot of other things. So he stays for another cup of coffee. And I tell him I have a single friend I think I’ll introduce him to.
He asks, “What’s her name?”
“Miss Havisham,” I say.
He laughed. “David Copperfield.”
I didn’t. “Great Expectations.”
He shrugged. “So seriously Juliette, what are you doing here? I know it isn’t suspended animation because that won’t be safe for another thirty years. Do you time travel too? What’s up?”
I remembered his blood type was O+. All I could think of was lunch. A long lunch at that considering nobody would miss him – at least not this year.
Don’t forget to warn your children about Time Travelers, people who don’t read, and other pot holes in the road of life. And as always, talk with your kids every chance you get.
I missed the entire 18th, 19th and 20th centuries.
I missed the Industrial Revolution. I missed the American Revolution. I missed the advent of electricity, flight, recorded sound, the telegraph, moving pictures, smooth jazz, photography, the Wild West, Art Deco, and most of all I missed the Victorian era. Yes, it seems that there was a period in which a great small sour looking Queen named Victoria ruled the world, told people not to make love, and then had many children herself. I do not understand that logic, but rulers are not often driven by logic.
Before I came into this modern world I now call home, I was living in a period now which is now called Baroque. I thought we would never change. I could not have been better. I loved the clothing. I loved the music. Life was good, especially if one was a Vampire. My world was by candle light in the dark, under skies of millions of stars.
And that fated evening, my last evening in my own time, I went out for the night, my hair curled and flowing around my shoulders and down my back, a silk and wool coat hung perfectly, with wide sleeves, and lace, and … then, then it went black with a pointed stake that grazed my heart, and then… then I was locked away for three hundred years.
It was 1714 when I was stabbed in the heart and locked away. And when I was rescued centuries later by my dear friends I found myself in a strange horrifying science fiction landscape that I could have never imagined in my wildest Vampire nightmares.
All things had changed.
The night my love Gillian and friend Randolpho broke into the crypt and rescued me is still a dark cloud in my mind.
I remember Randolpho’s voice, “Oh my God his hair is full of bugs. Rats have eaten his clothes.”
I awoke on an airplane, flying high in the sky to a country which did not exist in my world before. I was wearing a black tee-shirt, a button down charcoal colored Oxford shirt, and blue jeans. My hair was now to my shirt collar. It is what everyone wears they told me. And so it was. I was also extremely clean. Everyone is clean now. That is one thing that makes life as a Vampire easier in this modern world.
Tonight I was driving in my car and turned on the radio. At the touch of a finger I can hear any music of any era, even Baroque music. A song came on. I listened in wonder.
Love bites, love bleeds It’s bringin’ me to my knees Love lives, love dies It’s no surprise Love begs, love pleads It’s what I need
It was by a band called “Def Leppard.” Why they call themselves after cats who cannot hear I do not know. The song reminded me of when my wife left, and it made me think of those years alone in the crypt. Yes, love bites. It bleeds. I wonder if that song was written by a Vampire. It must have been. I bite. I bleed. I am not yet at my knees.
It is Yule time. I must not be so melancholy.
My two cats who can hear all too well crawled into my lap and started to purr. There is even comfort in this world for a sad Vampire.
~ Vlad
Dear Diary,
I missed the 19th Century. I missed the waltz. I missed the waltz when it was new. I missed that first time when one could dance close in a ballroom, a hand on a woman’s waist, close and touching. So close I could put my lips on her neck and nobody would notice as I scraped my fangs across her neck.
Gillian has told me that we have been invited to three Victorian themed events.
“What do you mean?” I asked her.
“We dress up in Victorian clothing and go back in history,” she tells me.
“I was never there,” I tell her. “And how do you expect us to go back into history. If I want back it would be to the eighteenth century and I would…”
“Stop it Vlad,” she said almost growling at me. She almost growled like an angry animal. “We do it for the fun. It is all pretend. We do it because it is Christmas.”
“What does wearing those ridiculous top hats and huge skirted dresses, and following the prudish morals of a pinched nosed British queen have to do with Christmas? Tell me.”
She went to the shelf and grabbed a book and threw it at me. “Read this Vlad,” she demanded.
I poured myself a goblet of mulled blood and read the damn book by a man called Charles Dickens.
The book reminded me of one night four hundred years ago.
It had been a night of violence and blood. Back in my castle, in my private chambers I stripped off my clothing and washed the blood off of my hands, and out of my hair. My hair which was down to the middle of my back at that time like a river of honey gold. I could still feel their fire in my eyes, and anger in my soul.
The window blew open, and in flew an apparition, a large ghostly man with no head. He carried what seemed to be a black velvet bag. He stood silent in front of me.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” I asked the ghostly figure.
He slowly opened the bag and pulled out a head. Then he put the head in the crook of his arm turning the face towards me. It was Fabio, the former leader of the Vampires who lived to the south of my lands. We had gone into battle together. We had plotted against our enemies together. We had loved women together. We drank blood together, and bonded as an impenetrable force of Vampire power.
“Fabio, my brother, what brings you here on this Yule night?”
“Silence,” he cried in a voice like a banshee. “I was foolish and lost my head. I lusted after blood, and power, and never gave a thought to anything except my own desires.”
“I am sorry to hear that Fabio,” I said.
“Silence Vald, King of Vampires, Ruler of the People of the Night. You must listen to me,” he said, then he began to howl like the hounds of Hell.
“Stop,” I yelled at him.
“All of the Vampires in the world believe Vampire Hunters killed me, but YOU Vlad cut off my head and threw it in the moat of your castle.”
“You slept with my wife, and then you killed my dog. What was I supposed to do?” I said.
“It was her idea,” said Fabio.
“What about my dog Fabio? My wolfhound Princess?” I responded. “Was it her idea too?”
He waved his head in front of my face. “You, Vlad are a good Vampire, but you are a bad man.” he said, “Today you will be visited by your past, your present, and your future.”
“No, Fabio,” I told him. “As usual you make no sense at all. You are insane. The sun will be up in an hour and I will sleep. Be gone and stay away from my wife, and my dogs.”
He screamed at me and flew out the window. I slammed the window closed, drew the curtains, locked the door, then crawled into my bed and fell into a deep Vampire sleep.
I had a dream. It was a dream of Yule Time when I was a young Vampire. My sister and I were traveling home along the mountain roads. We stopped at a village. Village people danced around a fire while we listen to the screams of those who were tied to poles and burning in the center.
My sister grabbed my arm and asked, “Why Vlad, why do they do such horrible things to their own kind.”
“Why are you burning these people?” I asked a man standing next to us.
“The priest said they were evil so they must burn.”
“Were they evil?” I asked.
“I never really thought about it,” said the man. “They said women should be treated equally as men. They said that people should question what the priest says.”
My sister and I went to the Priest. We burned his hands off, then cut off his feet. We drained his body of blood.
My sister said, “I need to go home but father does not want to see you.”
Then my dream vanished like smoke in a dark moonless night.
I was awakened by the sweet voice of a woman, with her hand on my bare chest. It was Yule of present time.
“Vlad,” she whispered. “Wake up.”
It was my wife, the beautiful Aloisia. I put my arms around her and pulled her into a kiss. She looked into my eye and locked them on mine.
“Vlad, I am leaving you. I am done with you.”
“Aloisia, why?”
“I am sick of you,” she said. I can not even write down what else she said to me that night. Then she was gone. I never saw her again. She is out there somewhere but I know not where that somewhere is.
I fell back asleep after several hours. At around 2:30 p.m. a pale white man in a silver robe came into the room. He opened the curtains and nearly blinded me with the light.
“Who are you?” I said, sitting up and showing him my fangs.
He just pointed at me and laughed. I could not see his face due to a large hat and a mask like the beak of a ghostly white bird.
“Special Delivery,” he hissed as he dropped an envelope on my bed. Then he closed the curtains and vanished into thin air. Another ghost maybe or some sort of demon. I hate ghosts.
I cracked the unfamiliar seal on the envelope and found a book with blank pages. What did that mean? A blank book? Was it magic? Was it printed with invisible ink? Was it meant to be a threat.
It was a diary.
My life changed after that night. I did not send a turkey to any family or meet a small limping boy, but my life as a Vampire did change forever.
I was no Scrooge but I too have strange things happen to me when I sleep.
~ Vlad
Dear Diary,
My lover Gillian informed me AGAIN that we must dress up and pretend to be Victorians. I asked her if that is what they call Cosplay with much sarcasm in my voice. Gillian told me not to be stupid, whereas a heated argument ensued.
~ Vlad
Dear Diary,
This evening I was out for a walk and saw my neighbor Helen, a glorious woman of seventy.
I remember a time when most people did not live to be seventy, especially woman. Those who lived for a long time were either those with great luck, or vampires.
Helen, of the beautiful face, and flowing gray hair, was out with her dog, a large yellowish best. At one time she had been a dancer. She is still a dancer.
“Helen teach me how to dance the waltz,” I said to her.
And so in the street, under the light of the waning moon, and multicolored Christmas lights she trained me in the waltz.
What a joy it was.
She sang the music as I held her with one hand in her hand, and the other hand on her waist. I could smell her blood in her veins, along with the slight scent of roses and gardenia in her hair. I was exhilarated.
When we were done she laughed and said, “Vlad, you did great. You are so cute.”
This cute I do not understand, but I do now understand the waltz.
~ Vlad
Dear Diary,
I am exhilarated. Tonight I waltzed with Gillian all night long at a “Dickens Party.” I will admit I enjoyed the clothing, though Gillian and Randolpho said I cannot wear it all of the time.
All of the women there called Randolpho “Randy.” I asked if he was randy and he just smiled and winked. What do they say about naughty or nice? Depending on who is asking I suppose Randolpho could be both.
After the party, alone in our room, I helped Gillian unlace her corset. That Dear Diary is my favorite part of Victorian clothing. Gillian calls it gift wrap. It is a wonderful gift indeed.
Unlike the cowboys in the Wild West (I have seen movies and read about that time in history which I missed) I did not leave my hat or my boots on.
And, what else do they say? Yes. And to all a good night.
Sometimes you have those days when you answer the door and it is someone you used to know and he seems shocked to see you.
He’ll say, “What are you doing here?”
And I’ll say, “What are YOU doing here?”
Then he’ll say, “Time travel.”
Then I’ll say, “I live here. This is my home.”
Then he’ll look confused because the last time I saw him was 1893. And no, I’m not going to tell him I’m a Vampire. I’ll just screw with him and let him wonder. A little mystery never hurt anyone. OK maybe it has, but that isn’t this post.
When my daughter was about five or six years old she said that one day she was going to build a time machine. She said it would be red. She said it would fold up flat, about the size of a book, so she could take it with her so nobody could steal it while she was in another time.
My old friend (the one I just mentioned) jumps into the future, then jumps into the past. I asked him if he ever lives in the present. He looked confused, then sort of sad. Like a drug, one can find time travel an easy way out to not deal with anything. Of course, like most Time Travelers, he was sort of a jerk to begin with.
When you’re a Vampire you need to remember your past, look forward, but engage in the present for survival. I suppose we’re all like that. Too much past and we all end up like Miss Havisham. Too much future… I don’t know too many people who live too much in the future, except those who keep saying, “I’ll do that tomorrow.” But that is just procrastination (something I know nothing about.) We need to plan. We need to look forward. I have to admit there is nothing I like more than planning a trip, or a party.
More coffee and more sleep is also on my list.
I told my old friend, “You need to get off of that machine and stay for a while. Aren’t you lonely?”
“No,” he tells me.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Why are you still here?” He asks.
“I’m a Vampire,” I tell him.
He laughs. HA HA big joke. I don’t show him my fangs. I just stand there in my pajama pants and bath robe, and ask him if he wants coffee.
We talk for a while then he decides to go back to 1893, then realizes he can’t go back. He’d be out of place, aside from a lot of other things. So he stays for another cup of coffee. And I tell him I have a single friend I think I’ll introduce him to.
He asks, “What’s her name?”
“Miss Havisham,” I say.
He laughed. “David Copperfield.”
I didn’t. “Great Expectations.”
He shrugged. “So seriously Juliette, what are you doing here? I know it isn’t suspended animation because that won’t be safe for another thirty years. Do you time travel too? What’s up?”
I remembered his blood type was O+. All I could think of was lunch. A long lunch at that considering nobody would miss him – at least not this year.
Don’t forget to warn your children about Time Travelers, people who don’t read, and other pot holes in the road of life. And as always, talk with your kids every chance you get.
The one thing that bothers my mother more than Ghosts are Time Travelers.
Time Travelers are like those pretentious fools who show up at a Civil War reenactment or a Dickens’ Christmas Fair dressed in their Star Fleet Command uniforms (Spock and Kirk) expecting everyone to ohhhhh and ahhhh over them and tell them “You’re so smart. Your mother must be proud of you.” It is only fun for those in the wrong costumes.
For Vampire teens the curiosity for Time Travelers is great. This has to do with the fact that they know they’re not supposed to talk to them and that they, the Time Travelers are both foolish and dangerous. And seeking out Time Travelers for any other purpose than to stop them (as only a Vampire can) is also foolish and dangerous.
They are usually dishonest and traveling with stolen technology. Honestly do you believe a man born in 1959 could have invented a time machine that works? He’ll tell you he did but he more than likely killed the original owner or obtained the machine through other dishonest means. More than likely the time machine wasn’t even from this solar system (most aren’t).
I know this sounds far fetched, and it is, but hey, H. G. Wells was laughing all the way to the bank on that one.
There has always been a fascination with time travel. Who wouldn’t want to go back into the past or know what the future holds?
Vampires don’t have a problems with the concept of time travel. It is the Time Travelers we don’t like.
They come along never clean or dirty enough for the period, their costume and language always wrong, trying to blend in and trying to make things better or worse. Time Travelers think they have high moral compass and know what is right for everyone. They have no idea. There are the few honest historians of the lot…I take that back…the honest ones are only in fiction. The real Time Travelers are sick and twisted individuals who go where they aren’t invited and don’t care who they screw with.
They think they can meet Queen Victorian or Hitler or Cleopatra and change the world, or gain riches or power or whatever it is they’re after.
As Vampires it is our job to screw with Time Travelers.
My mother is the best at that. She is the best at spotting Time Travelers. She can literally smell them
She’ll tell them “Meet me at Gold Beach in 50 years.” Then she’ll show up unchanged. Then the hunt begins. They might as well be chased by dinosaurs. At least with dinosaurs they’d have a chance.
Mom is no cold-blooded killer. This is done for the good of all mankind. My mom is amazing that way. I love my mom.
Last week, when I was so busy I thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown, my mom calls me and says “Darling daughter I’m in town, meet me at the house.” The house is the Victorian house my family built in 1870. We still own it and use it when we’re in downtown Sacramento. My parents live in San Francisco (90 miles to the West) and I wasn’t expecting a visit.
“What’s this about” I asked knowing it was something. It is always something with mom.
“I have a Time Traveler and it is his time.” I could hear the glee in her voice. By saying it was “his time” means that he isn’t time traveling, he is back in his OWN time. Always the best time to catch one of the sneaky little bastards.
But there was a problem. “Mom I have Clara with me.”
“Bring her along. It’s about time she learned about these vermin.”
“She’s only 13.” I said knowing Cara would want to come along, but I wasn’t ready to expose my daughter to this yet.
“Don’t be late Juliette.”
My mom is one of the most successful Vampires I’ve ever met. She is charming and lovely, cunning and deadly. Born in the early 1600’s she has been through hundreds of years of human history and still enjoys the company of all sorts of people.
With that said she also sees herself as an avenging angel against the forces that regular humans know nothing of (they only imagine it). That includes Time Travelers.
So I show up at the house only to come up the walk the same time as a nice looking guy with gray temples and the smile of a man expecting to get laid.
He looks at me as if surprised. Mom opens the door and welcomes us in.
I could go into the witty dialog and clever conversations, but what it came down to was that we all had a lovely lunch. Mom’s friend won’t be doing much time traveling anytime in the future…or in the past.
