The Story of Jack-O-Lantern (as told by an Ancient Vampire)

I stopped by the home of the Ancient Vampires Tellias and Eleora. They are dear to me beyond anything I could ever describe. Today I brought some Pumpkin Spice Blood, and some of their friend Druce’s famous nut cakes.

Tellias and Eleora look like they are only nineteen or twenty years old, but they are over two thousand years old. Nobody really knows how old Eleroa is.

Tellias was on the porch wearing overalls with no shirt. His pale blonde hair was pulled back with a piece of red string. Eleora was wearing a red flowers dress with a pink and yellow striped cardigan that must have been from the 80’s due to the shoulder pads. They were carving Jack-O-Lanterns.

“Juliette, do you know the story of Jack-O-Lantern and why we carve pumpkins, turnips and other vegetables each year at Halloween time?”

“Please tell me why we have Jack-O-Lanterns,” I said.

Tellias started to tell the tale. “There was a man named Jack.”

“Did I know him? Was it that one who became a priest?” Asked Eleora.

“No, dear Eleora it wasn’t that Jack. He became a priest and a Werewolf, but that isn’t the story I’m telling today. This Jack of my story lived in Ireland around the time that St. Patrick brought his god to the island.

Jack was a man who like to drink, make too many bad jokes, seduce women, and gamble.

One day he was playing cards in the woods with some of his buddies. But his buddies were frightened that the Demons in the woods would grab their souls so they left running after Jack won the game, and all of their money.

Jack yelled into the woods, “Do you think you can beat me Demons? Show yourself if you’re there.”

Three Demons came out of the woods. Two were males with curved horns and tall leathery wings. The third was a woman who, despite her pointed teeth and spiked tail,  was beautiful beyond anything Jack had ever seen.

Jack won all of the gold off of the two male Demons, but he could not win from the female. She laughed at him. This made Jack angry but he had a plan. He gave the Demons wine that he’d laced with poison. When the female fell asleep he took all of her money, her clothing, then burned a cross into her chest. He was going to take more from her but the male Demons woke and chased Jack through the woods. Jack was too fast for them and got away with the gold, laughing all the way.

What Jack didn’t know was that the female Demon was the Devil’s own favorite. When she returned back to Hell the Devil could no longer touch her because of the cross burned into her chest.

A few months later Jack was at home with his wife. The poor woman had just given birth to their ninth child a few days before. Jack was tired of the noise of crying babies and screaming children. He was tired of his wife always with a child at her chest, and his dinner being late. He looked over at the new child and noticed how beautiful she was. Grabbing the new baby away from his wife he told her he was going to show the child off to his friends at the pub.

Only Jack didn’t go to the pub. He took the child to the wife of nobleman who’d recently lost her own baby and was sick with grief. Jack told the woman to let him have his way with her, and give her 20 pieces of gold and the child would be hers. Her husband had been away for several weeks and was due to return home soon. He would never know the child was not his. Before he left with his gold he told her that he’d come back each and every week to roll in her bed with her, or else he’d tell her husband that she’d killed his ugly child and replaced it with a prettier one.

Jack laughed all the way home, or at least that is what he planned on.

He was attached by wolves who tore he heart out and left his body for others to find. Jack’s heart was so foul and so rank that the wolves spit it out and left it next to Jack’s body.

Jack’s wife got the gold pieces, and everyone assumed the wolf had eaten her baby. She mourned her child but not her husband Jack. Jack’s children were only happy to soon forgot about him, and all memories of Jack were forever lost. Eventually she met a good man who treated her with respect.

Jack went up to heaven. St. Peter took one look at him and told him that there was no place for him among those who spent their lives being good to others.

So Jack went down to Hell. He figured it wouldn’t be that bad. He could play cards by the fire and cheat the Demons out of their favors. Jack was in for a surprise when he got to the Gates of Hell.

The Devil told him that he didn’t want him, and recited a long list of pranks Jack had play upon the Demon’s of Hell. Suddenly Jack, who always had a party, a pub, or a pretty girl to go to had no place to go.

The female Demon who’d had the cross burned into her chest threw Jack a large turnip and a candle. The turnip had been carved into a face with a grin full of broken teeth that mocked Jack.

Jack was made to wander the Earth forever with his Jack-O-Lantern, never able to rest, except on Halloween night. But if Jack stops at a place and finds another vegetable l carved with a face on it  Jack is not allowed to stay.”

“Is he still wandering the Earth with his Jack-O-Lantern?” I asked.

Tellias smiled at me with just a hint of his Vampire fangs. “On windy nights you can hear howling and banging on the windows. Sometimes that isn’t the wind. It is Jack trying to get into a nice warm house and sit by the fire with a pint of beer. It will never happen. The wind takes Jack off again to the next storm, throwing him around the globe, with his heinous grinning turnip lamp.”

And there, from Tellias, Eleora, and me is the story of Jack-O-Lantern.

Happy Halloween.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

 

 

Dawn of the Undead – A Very Short Vampire Story

Dawn of the Undead – A Very Short Vampire Story

It had been a long night of love and blood and fun. So many Halloween parties. It was a good night to be a Vampire.

Jon pulled up to his house and sat in the driveway for a few minutes as he checked his messages. The sky grew lighter in the distance. Soon the sun would be up and he’d be in bed, shutters closed, dreaming sweet dreams of the night skies and warm women with long necks.

As he stepped out of the car something grabbed him and slammed him down in the driveway. Flat on his back he looked up into the face of a Vampire Hunter. Damn it.

“We’re going to hold you here until the sun comes up and you fry,” said a man dressed in black.

“Honestly Dude you’re going to have to cut out my heart or cut my head off to kill me. i guess you could burn me to a crisp but that takes forever. You might want to reconsider. Come on in and we’ll talk about this over a beer or something…” Jon was trying to stall them. The sun wasn’t going to hurt him much.

Turning his head Jon could see the thin ribbon of pink coming up over the hills. Dawn. It was his best hour. It was the time he’d write his best work. It was the time he’d relax and gather his thoughts. It is his time and they were not going to take it from him.

“Guys, I have a deadline on an article for Vampire Review. I have to get it done this morning. You’re making a mistake.”

The Vampire Hunters raised their knives.

A few hours later the sun was in the sky, the birds singing, squirrels ran through the trees. Jon took off his work gloves and put away his shovels. This wasn’t the way he’d planned on spending his morning, but when you’re a Vampire… sometimes you have to face the sun and do what you have to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From ghoulies and ghosties

And long-leggedy beasties
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!

Short Story Sunday: Witching

Sophia hated October. The closer Halloween came the more all of the wanna-be witches came out of the woodwork like so many Stevie Nicks fans dancing around in their long flowing black frocks. It made Sophia cringe.

Being a real witch wasn’t always easy these days, especially with all of the misinformation, myths, and stereotypes.

“Thinking about Stevie Nicks again?”

Sophia looked over at her cat. “Unfortunately yes.”

“I know how her music gives you headaches dear. Try not to think about it, or her witchy wanna-be fans,” said Virgil the cat.

“Thanks Virg. It isn’t just the stupid music connection and the flowing black dresses. It is the way they try to do spells and act like we’re all in some goddess infused mania. I’m an individual damn it. I’m not a cliché. I can do magic. I AM magic.”

“They’re just having fun,” said Virgil the cat. “Deep breath Sophia, deep breath.”

That cat licked his forearm rubbed his face then continued. “Just think of cats this time of the year. Every other girl is trying to be a sexy kitty with silly cat ears and tails. And those poor zombies. They’ve got a serious medical condition and people are making fun of them by dressing up in rags and staggering around like drunks. Don’t even get me started on the bull shit vampires have to deal with. The fake blood is enough to make them want to go on a feeding frenzy just to make it stop.”

Sophia rubbed Virgil under his neck. “Thanks sweetie. I know. I know. I shouldn’t be so sensitive. It is all just for fun. It still bugs me.”

“On a good note,” said Virgil, “people are going to dress up as something really scary.”

“What is that?” Sophia couldn’t imagine what the cat would say now.

“Politicians. Big elections coming up right after Halloween.”

Sophia felt a cold chill that gave her the shivers right down to her bones. “You have a point there Virg. Awwww man, I can deal with witches. I don’t even want to imagine those political ghouls.”

Virgil rubbed his head against Sophia’s arm.

“It isn’t easy being different baby,” said Virgil. “But you’re doing great. It’s Halloween. We’ll have fun tonight.”

Sophia poured a big bag of candy into the pumpkin shaped bowl. The neighborhood streets would be full of tiny monsters, princesses, kitties, and witches. That was a good thing. She’d make sure to send them all home with a safety spell and good dreams of a safe world and a future where they could make a difference for good.

~ end

Tangled Tales

Dawn of the Undead – A Very Short Vampire Story

Tangled Tales

Dawn of the Undead – A Very Short Vampire Story

It had been a long night of love and blood and fun. So many Halloween parties. It was a good night to be a Vampire.

Jon pulled up to his house and sat in the driveway for a few minutes as he checked his messages. The sky grew lighter in the distance. Soon the sun would be up and he’d be in bed, shutters closed, dreaming sweet dreams of the night skies and warm women with long necks.

As he stepped out of the car something grabbed him and slammed him down in the driveway. Flat on his back he looked up into the face of a Vampire Hunter. Damn it.

“We’re going to hold you here until the sun comes up and you fry,” said a man dressed in black.

“Honestly Dude you’re going to have to cut out my heart or cut my head off to kill me. I guess you could burn me to a crisp but that takes forever. You might want to reconsider. Come on in and we’ll talk about this over a beer or something…” Jon was trying to stall them. The sun wasn’t going to hurt him much.

Turning his head Jon could see the thin ribbon of pink coming up over the hills. Dawn. It was his best hour. It was the time he’d write his best work. It was the time he’d relax and gather his thoughts. It is his time and they were not going to take it from him.

“Guys, I have a deadline on an article for Vampire Review. I have to get it done this morning. You’re making a mistake.”

The Vampire Hunters raised their knives.

A few hours later the sun was in the sky, the birds singing, squirrels ran through the trees. Jon took off his work gloves and put away his shovels. This wasn’t the way he’d planned on spending his morning, but when you’re a Vampire… sometimes you have to face the sun and do what you have to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From ghoulies and ghosties

And long-leggedy beasties
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!

 

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

 

Vampire Maman

My mom blogs about vampires

A Halloween Short Story. ‘Sunsets and Ginger Ale’ by Jade M. Phillips

I love this story from Jade M. Phillips. Make sure you read all of it. You’ll thank me for it later.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

JADE M PHILLIPS

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Sunsets and Ginger Ale

“What do you miss most about life, June?”

I turned to look at Harold, his face an exact replica of how I’d always remembered him: kind, loyal, trusting. I played with the hem of my dress in thought.

“I’m not sure. That was so long ago. I hardly remember what it was like to be alive. But I guess I’d have to say the sunsets.”

Harold nodded.

“I remember sitting on the veranda and watching the sun sink below the mountains. How the clouds would turn into soft vermillion and rose-petal pink and the air would become still. I miss the calm and the purity of that moment. I guess I’d have to say sunsets is what I miss most about life.”

I turned again to my husband. He was perched on his favorite stuffed chair in our living room staring out into the darkness. His…

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Short Story Sunday: Sunsets and Ginger Ale

I’m delighted and honored today to feature a story from my friend and fellow WPaD author Jade M. Phillips. Enjoy! 

 

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Sunsets and Ginger Ale

“What do you miss most about life, June?”

I turned to look at Harold, his face an exact replica of how I’d always remembered him: kind, loyal, trusting. I played with the hem of my dress in thought.

“I’m not sure. That was so long ago. I hardly remember what it was like to be alive. But I guess I’d have to say the sunsets.”

Harold nodded.

“I remember sitting on the veranda and watching the sun sink below the mountains. How the clouds would turn into soft vermillion and rose-petal pink and the air would become still. I miss the calm and the purity of that moment. I guess I’d have to say sunsets is what I miss most about life.”

I turned again to my husband. He was perched on his favorite stuffed chair in our living room staring out into the darkness. His wrinkled hand laid lax on the arm rest.

“Why is it that we cannot see the sun anymore Harold? Like we only exist in perpetual darkness? It is as if we just cease to exist during the daylight hours. I find myself sitting in this same spot as though I’d always been here. But I know that cannot be. I know that day turns to night and night to day. Why do you think that is Harold?”

“I don’t know June. Probably because we are dead.”

“Mmm,” I mused.

I tried my hardest to think of how it used to be. I knew that there was more than the omnipresent blackness. I knew that we used to have a life, children, and friends. I knew that I used to cook and clean and do other common household duties. But the harder I strained to recall those details, the harder it was to remember. I sighed and looked to my love. “You?”

“What?” Harold asked.

“What do you miss about life?”

“Ginger ale,” he answered without hesitation.

I snorted. “Ginger ale?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I miss the first sip of a cold Ginger ale over ice. The way the bubbles would tingle my tongue and the fizz would make my eyes water.”

“Yes. That was lovely,” I agreed. “I miss that too.”

“Harold?”

“Yes, my love.”

“Would you mind turning on the light? I get so sick of the darkness sometimes.”

Harold weighed my request and stretched his neck. “You know I cannot always do it. But I can try.”

“Please?” I asked.

“Of course.”

I watched Harold’s face. I could tell he was concentrating very hard, his eyes burning straight into the brass lamp that sat on the side table. The light flickered but did not fully turn on. Harold dropped his head.

“I’m too tired tonight honey,” he said as he glanced my way. I knew he could see the disappointment in my face.

“Why don’t you give it a try, June?”

I flinched. Wow. I’d never thought of that. I just always assumed that I could not turn it on. I wondered why that was.

“Okay,” I agreed. “But… how?”

Harold crossed one leg over the other and adjusted himself in the seat next to mine. “I suppose it has something to do with energy,” he replied. “Just try to direct yourself into the light. Focus all of your thoughts, memories, everything straight into the lamp. That’s what I do.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I leaned forward a bit and locked my eyes on the lamp. I took everything that was in my mind and imagined all of my thoughts, dreams and memories combining into a white ball. It took all I had to keep them there together. I strained to focus, my body tense. Once I felt confident enough I gave one, hard, mental shove and sent that ball to the lamp. To my wonderment the light flickered on and stayed that way.

“Righto!” Harold exclaimed. “Great job! See. I knew you could do it my June bug.”

I giggled with excitement and gazed around the room, enjoying my accomplishment.

“Harold?” I asked, my nose wrinkled in confusion.

“Yes, my love.”

“Where did my mother’s chaise lounge go? I don’t see it anywhere.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“And that piano? It has moved places. It used to be against that wall over there.” I pointed across the room.

I could feel myself getting upset. I loved that chaise longue. My mother would turn in her grave if she knew it had gone missing. And the piano. It looked much better where it had originally been.

“Probably the living,” Harold guessed.

I leaned back in my chair and rested my head against the back. “I suppose.”

“Honey!”

Harold and I froze at the deep male voice that echoed down the hall.

“That darned lamp has turned itself on again.”

A tall man entered the room in a long grey robe. Harold and I exchanged glances as the man leaned over and clicked off the light.

“We’ve got to get rid of that thing,” he mumbled as he exited the room, leaving us in pitch black again.

Harold leaned over his chair and grabbed my hand, sensing my sadness.

“It’s okay. You can try again tomorrow night.”

“I suppose,” I sighed. “I suppose.”

***

“What do you miss most about living, June?”

Harold was sitting in his same favorite chair that he always sat. His eyes wide in thought.

“Gosh, I’m not sure, Harold. That was so long ago, I hardly remember a thing. But I guess I’d have to say sunsets. I miss the way the sky would turn to different shades of orange and golden yellow. The way the pastel clouds would dust the tops of the mountains. That’s what I miss most.”

Harold humphed in agreement.

“Harold, why is it that we cannot see those sunsets anymore? Why have we been in darkness for so long?”

“Probably because we are dead my June bug.”

“Yes,” I nodded. “I guess that would be it.”

I tried to recall anything other than the darkness and Harold and sunsets, but it was like a long forgotten memory that I could not grasp. I sighed and let it go.

“What do you miss most about being alive, Harold?”

“Ginger ale,” he replied.

“Ginger ale?”

“Yes. I miss how the bubbles burn my tongue with the first sip and the fizz that goes down my throat. Delicious.”

“Yes. Ginger ale was nice,” I agreed.

“Harold?”

“Yes?”

“Could you open the window? It gets so stuffy in here sometimes.”

Harold adjusted himself in his seat and uncrossed his legs. “I can try. But you know it does not always work.”

“Thank you, darling.”

I watched Harold concentrate his eyes across the room to the window. His face was strained and focused. The wooden window panes creaked but it did not budge. Harold collapsed against the back of his chair. “I’m sorry June. I’m too tired tonight. Why don’t you give it a try?”

“Really?” I looked at Harold in surprise. I’d never thought of doing it myself. I guess I’d always just assumed that I wouldn’t be able to. “But… how?” I queried.

Harold shrugged. “I just focus myself, everything that is in my mind and soul and I direct it at the window.”

“Okay…” I wriggled my toes and leaned forward, directing my eyes to the window. I pulled every thought and memory from my mind, all of my emotions and dreams and pushed them together. I mentally shoved them towards the window, hard. To my astonishment, the panes creaked and the glass slid open just a few inches.

“Good one, June! I knew you could do it!” Harold smiled.

I leaned back, pleased, and watched the curtains ruffle in the breeze coming through the now opened window.

I sighed. “That’s better.”

“Yes,” Harold agreed. “Very nice.”

“Honey?”

Harold and I froze at the male voice that rang down the hall. “Did you open the window?”

“No!” A female voice replied from what sounded to be upstairs.

A tall man in a robe trudged through the room and closed the window. “If I wasn’t mistaken, I’d think we weren’t alone in this house,” he muttered and then left the room in haste.

I huffed my annoyance, but Harold reached over and squeezed my hand.

“It’s okay, my love,” he soothed. “We’ll try again tomorrow night.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “We will.”

***

“Harold?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What do you miss most about life?” I asked my lovely husband.

“Ginger ale,” he replied without missing a beat.

“Ginger ale?” I asked.

Harold was staring out into space, a concerned look upon his face.

“What is it Harold? Are you alright?”

“Yes, my love. It’s just… I heard the living talking the other night.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. They want us to leave.”

“Now why would they want to do that?” I scoffed. “This is our house!”

“Probably because we are dead.”

“Oh yes. I must’ve forgotten.”

“They said they will be sending in a priest.”

“A priest?”

“To exorcise us.”

“Now what in the world does that mean?”

“From my understanding it means that the priest will set us free.”

“Oh,” I mused. “But where will we go Harold? This is our home. The only place I’ve ever known.”

Harold sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know, June. I don’t know.”

“What will they do with all of our things? Our furniture?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Don’t you think we should’ve been acknowledged in this decision? They can’t just kick us out. Why wouldn’t they ask us first?”

“Probably because we are dead,” Harold replied dryly.

“Yes. I suppose.”

“When do you think it will happen?”

Harold shrugged again.

Just then the tall man entered the room and Harold and I froze. But he was not wearing his grey robe as usual. He was dressed in a sweater and slacks. A man in a black robe followed closely behind him.

“The priest,” I whispered in horror. Harold nodded.

“This is the room,” the tall man said, gesturing around to all four walls.

“Yes, I can sense it,” the priest said. “Now if you and the misses will please leave me with the house, I will make sure everything is right before the time you get back.”

“Thank you.” The tall man left.

“Harold, what is going on?”

“I believe this would be our exorcism,” Harold said.

The priest opened a fat book that he had been holding in his hand. The bible, I assumed.

He withdrew a folded piece of paper, cleared his throat, and began speaking.

“In the name of Jesus Christ by His blood, I declare His dominion over all base entities. I humbly request that you appoint sacred angels to keep me from any tactics of the adversary created to oppose this petition for release.”

At the priest’s words, I began to feel numb, my transparent body tingling and buzzing.

“Harold,” I rasped. “I don’t like this.”

I watched the holy man pace the floor. He now held a small vial and sprinkled the wet contents about the room.

I looked to my love for reassurance. The place where my heart would’ve been thumped wildly with panic. “Harold. Where will we go? Will we be together always? I don’t know what I would do without you.”

But Harold could not reply before the priest began again.

“I ask you to order all those demons and diabolical angels appointed in opposition to me to vacate the premise.”

“But Harold. We are not demons, nor diabolical.”

Harold locked eyes with mine.

“No June. No we are not.”

I studied my husband’s kind face. He looked tired. So very tired. But he smiled at me reassuringly. Just like Harold. He was always calm and soothing in the face of the unknown.

I gasped as the priest raised his voice to a higher pitch, his words ringing out through the room loudly. “Dear God, I request that you erect a prohibition to all loitering spirits to end their duties and be banished.”

I looked down at my hand on the arm rest of my chair. And where it used to be pure white, I could see the quilting of the chair through it. I was fading. And Harold was fading.

“Harold. I cannot lose you,” I moaned, feeling my words drawl more slowly than usual from my mouth.

The priest was preaching and flinging his hands up in the air excitedly. It made me all the more nervous.

“Harold. Hold my hand. Please. I’m scared.”

Harold reached over and grasped my hand in his cold one. It was not like holding hands with the living, but more of a dim sensation, an unseen connection between the two of us. We sat there, holding each other, watching the priest pace and shout as though being at a movie theatre unable to control the actors on the film. I whimpered helplessly.

“I’m here, my love,” Harold cooed. “It’s going to be alright.”

My mind became foggy and I could hardly remember my own name as the priest continued his ritual.

“Jesus Christ, I beg you to banish them where they cannot vex me. I submit to all of the plans you have in this spiritual warfare I am surrounded by.”

“Harold!” I cried out. I could feel my husband fading from my side, my heart breaking to pieces and floating away with him. If I had been alive enough to form tears, they would’ve been pouring down my face.

Harold’s voice echoed out from far away. It was as if he was at the end of a long dark tunnel. “It’s alright June bug. I love you. Always.”

“Through Jesus Christ I pray, who was crucified for us so that we may have an opportunity to live. Amen.”

Darkness again. Always darkness.

I closed my eyes and was blinded by the bright lights behind my lids. My body felt soft and light and calm. Nonexistent. I was floating. I drifted into the pastel clouds dusting the mountain. I became golden yellow and rose-petal pink. I became vermillion. I became the sunset.

And I supposed, just for a moment, that Harold was out there somewhere sipping happily at his cold, fizzy Ginger ale, the bubbles tickling his tongue.

 

___________________________

For more of Jade’s work visit her blog at jademphillips.com

Jade is the author of the wonderful Mer series. Check it out (CLICK HERE.)

 

q9er

 ~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman