Strange Strangers on a Full Moon Night (Werewolf Week Continues)

Werewolf Week Continues on Vampiremaman.com!

Strange Strangers on a Full Moon Night

Mars was exceptionally bright in the sky last night. The moon was less than full but still exceptionally bright.

This morning I dropped the kids off to school. Garret’s car is in the shop so mom gets to drive. Anyway, I drop them off behind some temporary classrooms (that have been there for 45 years) because Clara doesn’t want to have to walk by the large group of “Stoners” who hang out every morning at the logical drop off point. So this morning she tells me she over heard one of the Stoners saying “That woman stops and turns around every morning. Weird. I guess she doesn’t want to stay here.” They had no idea I was dropping off kids. Sigh.

So the moon, teens, clueless thoughts… what does that all lead to? It made me think of a distant memory of when my brothers Val, Aaron and I were teens.

Go back to 1873. We lived in a city that had regulairly flooded, burned down, flooded again and survived illness and lawlessness and all sorts of disasters (Sacramento of course.) It was enough to make anyone want to leave, but instead people thrived and it grew. Railroads made kings. Agriculture was starting to boom. It was a city with growing art and culture and the new capitol building was almost finished. But to us it was home and our concerns were not those of adults or even most people. We were teens, comfortable in our own skin, a little less Victorian than most our age, a little more independent than most. My brothers and I lived in a tight knit community of Vampires, part of the Modern Vampire Movement. But you already know that.

One night, under a full moon, my brothers Aaron (age 17), Valentine (age 14) and I (age 13) were taking a stroll along the Sacramento River. We were always out looking for vagrants and activity from any riverboats. We were on the prowl, three well heeled Vampire kids who could use our innocence and charm to get in and out of any situation before our prey ever knew we were there.

With our stomachs full and our dark little souls throughly amused we walked home through a grove of trees on the edge of the riverbank. There we came upon a camp. Two figures were hunched over half a dozen large fish, I believe stripers or maybe steelhead. They grunted and tore at the fish. At first glance we thought they were coyotes or large dogs, but then we realized they were something else.

“Werewolves,” whispered Aaron holding his hand out to signal us to stay still.

We watched in fascination, with a bit of disgust, as the two turned back into their human form – a young man and a young woman. They were about our age and completely naked. He was skinny, unlike my muscular brothers. His skin was pale under the moonlight like the bellies of the fish he’d just devoured. She was also thin with ribs sticking out and knobby joints. Her grayish unhealthy looking skin was covered with red welts. Long dark hair hung below her waist. But what surprised us most was the hairless tail that hung down about 6 inches on the end of her spine.

I elbowed Aaron and he gave me a quick look that said “don’t move.”

“She has a tail,” Val whispered a little too loud. Aaron put his hand over his younger brother’s mouth.

The Werewolves put on their clothes, plain and worn compared to our fashionable togs. We had a home and parents. These two were obviously strays just trying to survive their miserable condition.

Val and I wanted to approach the Werewolves but Aaron was against it. He said we should just let them be and they’d be dead more sooner than later. There was a prominent pack of well-heeled Werewolves in town but we had little to do with them and it was obvious that these strays were not part of their pack.

Occasionally my parents would deal with the Werewolves, but always held them at a distance and with considerable contempt. One thing that stood out about the well to do Werewolves was their fondness for velvet. No kidding. Those Werewolves loved their velvet.

This isn’t going to be a moral story where we went back and helped the young Werewolves. We went back and they were gone. None of our friends had ever seen them. We told our parents about them. In turn they mentioned the strays to the pack leader in town and he had never heard of the young Werewolves.

It was just one of those weird things. Ships that pass in the night.

I asked my friend Adam, who is a Werewolf, about the pair when I stopped by his studio this morning (he is a photographer by trade.) He’d never heard of them. The tail on the girl turned out to be something extremely rare, just like a tail on anyone who is remotely human like.

“Why didn’t you help them?” Of course he had to ask.

“I don’t know. We were just kids. We thought they were dangerous. Beside that, maybe they didn’t need or want help. My parents asked around. Nobody knew anything, or if they did they weren’t telling us about it. I’m talking both Werewolves and Vampires. Nobody knew anything.”

I knew there would be nothing online about them but I after I left Adam I checked anyway. There was nothing.

This story has no moral or reason behind it. Just a story of something that happened a long time ago that I’ll tell my kids about and maybe they can find a moral in it.

It might be a mystery forever. But I have a knack for finding people and things so you never know. You never know about anything, not really.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

This was first posted in 2014.

 

Werewolf Moon

Werewolf Moon

The Very Sight of You

This morning I spoke with my son Garrett (age 20, in college, six-hour dive from here.) I’m always so proud at how confident he is. In fact I’m proud of all of his friends, and my nephew Logan, for being so confident, especially when it comes to interacting with women. Straight or Gay they all are so grounded.

Maybe it is the rain, and warnings about high water, but it made me think of a less fortunate man I once knew, when I was about Garrett’s age.

His name was Bernard. He was a family friend, and like us, he was a Vampire.

When he was a young man of astounding business success. At the age of twenty-five he was already wealthy. Despite the fact that he was a personable, and somewhat attractive man, Bernard was alone. This is because when he would have interactions with young women, or even older women, he would start to tremble. Many women found this trembling endearing, like they found trembling in small lap dogs endearing. To Bernard this was mortifying, so he stayed away from what he considered the fairer sex.

Eventually he went to a successful college friend, who was a bit more worldly than Bernard and asked for advice. What Bernard didn’t know what that his friend, whom we shall call William, was a Vampire.

William knew exactly how to cure Bernard. He turned Bernard into a Vampire.

Bernard would still tremble at the sight of a woman, but he learned if he put the woman into a trance, then drank about a half pint of her blood that he would stop shaking. Then he found that if he snapped her out of the trance, then made love to her, that he wouldn’t tremble for at least three days. All the women would remember was the most amazing experience they’d ever had with a man. Married or single, they all wanted to be with dear, sweet, trembling Bernard.

Soon Bernard grew tired of the friends-with-benefits and he found himself a wife. Estella was a lovely girl from a good family. She was quiet with very little personality, but Bernard loved her with all of his heart. She never knew he was a Vampire, and he never planned on telling her.

On the morning of their wedding day he went to visit all of his former female friends of good standing so that he would not tremble when he saw his bride. It was enough activity to keep him calm for a week. That night he was married and off to a glorious wedding night and honeymoon with his darling Estella.

Every other day he would take some blood from Estella and make love to her. She was happy and passionate in response, but soon her health began to fail. After a few years of constant blood taking Bernard realized that he was killing the woman he loved.

He purchased an elaborate crypt in the local cemetery for finer folks, then stopped his heart and turned cold (all Vampires can do this.) Estella thought he was dead. The doctors thought he was dead. Hundreds showed up at the funeral. Estella eventually regained her health, remarried another fine man, and had four lovely children and led a long and happy life.

Bernard escaped from the crypt (he had a key) and headed out West to seek his fortune.

Upon arriving in California he introduced himself to the Vampire community in Sacramento. It was February 1879. I’d turn twenty that October.

Bernard was successful in his new home, but he would still tremble when he was in the company of a woman. Swearing that he would never marry again, he quickly knew he’d have to find a network of women he could take blood from, and then seduce in order to keep himself calm.

My brother Aaron became good friends with Bernard. Whenever Bernard would be invited to visit Aaron and his wife Verity, he would ALWAYS make sure he would go to one of the local ladies of the night first so he wouldn’t kill himself in the presence of Verity. You see, Verity, who is like all of us, a Vampire, looks almost exactly like Botticelli’s Venus, in the Birth of Venus painting. The first time Bernard ever saw her he almost passed out from trembling. It was so bad that the floor shook and a vase of flowers fell over onto the table and spilled out on the floor.

One night before a party Bernard arrived early. He came upstairs looking for Aaron. Verity and I were upstairs getting ready, and not expecting anyone.

When Bernard entered the room he found me standing in just a petticoat and corset. His mouth opened and he started to shake. Then Verity stepped out from behind a screen completely naked, like Venus in the painting. Bernard trembled so violently that I thought he’d pass out, but then…THEN he trembled so hard that something amazing and quite disturbing happened as he turned gray starting at the top of his head and slowly went all the way down to his toes. He turned to dust and fell into a gray pile of powder on the floor. Verity grabbed her robe and got Aaron. The three of us stood and stared at the pile of what was once Bernard for at least five minutes. Then Aaron got the dust pan and swept poor Bernard into a Chinese vase and that was the last I ever saw of Bernard.

I called Aaron this morning and asked him what became of Bernard. My brother said he put the vase on the mantel in his office, but it would start to shake whenever Verity would walk into the room. After a few months it became too distracting so he took the vase to the river and shook the contents out into the current. When he told me the exact location I wasn’t surprised. The water constantly trembles at that spot, no matter what the level of the river is.

Now there are drugs, and other things like music, and therapy for those with social anxiety. For Bernard it was blood and sex, but unfortunately that isn’t always available when one accidentally runs into an extreme situation. Yes, poor Bernard, we knew him well.

By the way, this is a true story.

Have a good night everyone, and stay safe out in the winter weather.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

venus-verity

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/tremble/

You never know about anything, not really.

“Nothing is certain aside from the fact that we are Vampires, and we are not like the rest of everybody else.”

So my father used to tell us when we were children.

He gave his brood of five (four boys and me) this advice, but also tried to keep us from being clannish, and prevent us from being closed minded when it came to everybody else, be they Vampires, or others. There were more “others” than I ever imagined.

I remember as a child watching in fascination and disgust at the Werewolves who’d walk along the river front in their garish but expensive clothing. They’d smirk and look as if they were going to eat everyone they saw. That was far from the truth. Despite their arrogance they rarely killed anyone while in their wolf form. I later learned that they were sort of pathetic, and sad creatures.

But enough of that. A lot has changed since the 1860’s. Most Werewolves blend in to the point where nobody notices that they’re never around on full moon nights. I mean, really, who would notice?

I’m full of busy today, but I thought I’d take a few moments to re-share a story (first shared her in 2014) of my childhood, about strangers, those who aren’t like us, and Werewolves.

 

Strange Strangers on a Full Moon Night

Mars was exceptionally bright in the sky last night. The moon was less than full but still exceptionally bright.

This morning I dropped the kids off to school. Garret’s car is in the shop so mom gets to drive. Anyway, I drop them off behind some temporary classrooms (that have been there for 45 years) because Clara doesn’t want to have to walk by the large group of “Stoners” who hang out every morning at the logical drop off point. So this morning she tells me she over heard one of the Stoners saying “That woman stops and turns around every morning. Weird. I guess she doesn’t want to stay here.” They had no idea I was dropping off kids. Sigh.

So the moon, teens, clueless thoughts… what does that all lead to? It made me think of a distant memory of when my brothers Val, Aaron and I were teens.

Go back to 1873. We lived in a city that had regulairly flooded, burned down, flooded again and survived illness and lawlessness and all sorts of disasters (Sacramento of course.) It was enough to make anyone want to leave, but instead people thrived and it grew. Railroads made kings. Agriculture was starting to boom. It was a city with growing art and culture and the new capitol building was almost finished. But to us it was home and our concerns were not those of adults or even most people. We were teens, comfortable in our own skin, a little less Victorian than most our age, a little more independent than most. My brothers and I lived in a tight knit community of Vampires, part of the Modern Vampire Movement. But you already know that.

One night, under a full moon, my brothers Aaron (age 17), Valentine (age 14) and I (age 13) were taking a stroll along the Sacramento River. We were always out looking for vagrants and activity from any riverboats. We were on the prowl, three well heeled Vampire kids who could use our innocence and charm to get in and out of any situation before our prey ever knew we were there.

With our stomachs full and our dark little souls throughly amused we walked home through a grove of trees on the edge of the riverbank. There we came upon a camp. Two figures were hunched over half a dozen large fish, I believe stripers or maybe steelhead. They grunted and tore at the fish. At first glance we thought they were coyotes or large dogs, but then we realized they were something else.

“Werewolves,” whispered Aaron holding his hand out to signal us to stay still.

We watched in fascination, with a bit of disgust, as the two turned back into their human form – a young man and a young woman. They were about our age and completely naked. He was skinny, unlike my muscular brothers. His skin was pale under the moonlight like the bellies of the fish he’d just devoured. She was also thin with ribs sticking out and knobby joints. Her grayish unhealthy looking skin was covered with red welts. Long dark hair hung below her waist. But what surprised us most was the hairless tail that hung down about 6 inches on the end of her spine.

I elbowed Aaron and he gave me a quick look that said “don’t move.”

“She has a tail,” Val whispered a little too loud. Aaron put his hand over his younger brother’s mouth.

The Werewolves put on their clothes, plain and worn compared to our fashionable togs. We had a home and parents. These two were obviously strays just trying to survive their miserable condition.

Val and I wanted to approach the Werewolves but Aaron was against it. He said we should just let them be and they’d be dead more sooner than later. There was a prominent pack of well-heeled Werewolves in town but we had little to do with them and it was obvious that these strays were not part of their pack.

Occasionally my parents would deal with the Werewolves, but always held them at a distance and with considerable contempt. One thing that stood out about the well to do Werewolves was their fondness for velvet. No kidding. Those Werewolves loved their velvet.

This isn’t going to be a moral story where we went back and helped the young Werewolves. We went back and they were gone. None of our friends had ever seen them. We told our parents about them. In turn they mentioned the strays to the pack leader in town and he had never heard of the young Werewolves.

It was just one of those weird things. Ships that pass in the night.

I asked my friend Adam, who is a Werewolf, about the pair when I stopped by his studio this morning (he is a photographer by trade.) He’d never heard of them. The tail on the girl turned out to be something extremely rare, just like a tail on anyone who is remotely human like.

“Why didn’t you help them?” Of course he had to ask.

“I don’t know. We were just kids. We thought they were dangerous. Beside that, maybe they didn’t need or want help. My parents asked around. Nobody knew anything, or if they did they weren’t telling us about it. I’m talking both Werewolves and Vampires. Nobody knew anything.”

I knew there would be nothing online about them but I after I left Adam I checked anyway. There was nothing.

This story has no moral or reason behind it. Just a story of something that happened a long time ago that I’ll tell my kids about and maybe they can find a moral in it.

It might be a mystery forever. But I have a knack for finding people and things so you never know. You never know about anything, not really.

 

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

 

 

 

Innocenzio D’Antonio

Innocenzio D’Antonio came to Sacramento in the 1850’s with a troupe of actors to make his fortune. He’d started as an opera singer in his native Italy and unfortunately did not make it into the famous opera houses in Europe, fell in love with an Austrian actress and ended up with her talking him into joining an American theater company touring California during the Gold Rush.

Innocenzio D’Antonio had the voice of an avenging angel, rich and strong. He could certainly sing the corset off of any woman but he was pure of heart and a true and honest lover to his dear Austrian maid. Well at least until she left him high and dry in San Francisco, leaving him for a dashing gambler.

Upon reaching Sacramento Innocenzio D’Antonio noticed a young man singing one night at a party held by a well-known business man. It was odd to him that a child so young should be up so late into the night. But that was put aside when he heard the child’s beautiful voice. The voice was precious beyond compare. It was the voice of heaven and the angels above. It was the voice of all that was good and pure in the world. It brought Innocenzio D’Antonio to tears. And yet, there was something strong and dark about the voice. There was something about the voice that brought the opera singer both to tears and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

A well dressed man stood next to Innocenzio D’Antonio and said “I noticed you were moved by the sound of the my son Andrew’s singing. Amazing considering he is only nine years old. However, my child could use formal music lessons from a master, such as you. If you’re interested I will pay you well. I have four other children as well. The eldest three could all benefit from your talents Mr. D’Antonio.”

The next evening Innocenzio (as we shall now call him by his first name only) showed up at the elegant home of the child Andrew. He was met warmly by the father and met the rest of the family. The oldest boy was 10-year-old Maxwell, followed by 9-year-old Andrew, then 7-year-old Aaron, then 16 month old Valentine and the infant Juliette. Their mother was a vision of beauty and all that was good and pure. Such elegance in movement in style he had rarely encountered in his lifetime.

Over the next few months he came to look forward to music lessons for the three eldest boys. Maxwell and Aaron had uncommonly beautiful voice, but it was young Andrew who had the voice of an angel sent straight from heaven. Innocenzio thought of how many churches, even those in Rome would give anything to have this voice in their stables of singers. He thought of the great opera houses in Europe that would be mobbed with patrons trying to hear Andrew sing.

Before meeting this most wonderful family Innocenzio had suffered deep waves of melancholia. He’d blame it on heart-break, disappointment or even being cursed, but now, every time he left the home of Andrew’s family, Innocenzio felt as if he were the most content and happy man alive.

After a time the father announced that they would have a party and invite all of their closest friends. Andrew would sing at midnight. Innocenzio thought that was too late for such a young child but the parents brushed it off with a gentle smile. It was difficult for Innocenzio to disagree.

The night of the party was filled with excitement. The large mansion was filled with the most elegant people he’d ever seen. Some he’d met before while out in the evenings around the city and some were stranger. But they all had a certain quiet about them and calm that he had never seen anywhere else, not even in a church or monestary.

The mother, the beautiful mother who still took his breath away when he saw her, asked him to sing. Innocenzio was feeling happy and light so he sang the drinking song from the fairly new opera La Traviata and to his delight the group joined in. They all had good voices. Afterwards they gathered around Innocenzio and congratulated him on his success and welcomed him into their society.

While he was delighted and honored there was a certain sense of unease about him. Innocenzio had a sense that something was about to happen, as if he was a lamb facing the hungry jaws of a lion. A strong sense of fear started to creep into his soul. He was confused and ashamed. After all, he was in the home of people who had become dear friends, a second family almost.

The mother, pulled him aside and put her arm in his. “My dear Innocenzio, my love, do not fear. I know what is in your heart and soul. You know us so you sense that we are different. We are different you know. We’re very different from you.”

Her eyes were the color of a fantasy seascape, her lips perfect, her chestnut hair was loose around her shoulders. He lost himself and took her into his arms and kissed her. His head went light. She stepped back and smiled. It was as if he’d lost his entire heart and more so his soul to her.

“I could take your soul if I wished, but dear Innocenzio, I must tell you a story of my life and of my people.” Then she sat him down and told him the most fantastic and horrific tale he’d ever heard in his life. He was both seduced and repulsed. His senses were confused, his emotions out of control, his body yearning for everything she had to offer.

—————————————————-

2013

Sometimes being a mom is everything, but sometimes I like to have my time with my friends.  I heard the knock on my door and standing there was my dear friend  back from a trip to Europe.

“Juliette” he said with his gorgeous voice, “you are still more beautiful than Venus herself”.

“And you’re still full of crap Innocenzio D’Antonio ” I said with a smile.

“Never,” he said taking my hands and kissing my cheek.

We don’t keep many friends so long, but when we do it is worth it. Every time I see my mother I want to thank her for talking Innocenzio into being one of us.

As Vampires we don’t bring just anyone into our world, but when we do it is magic.

On the other hand, anytime a true friendship forms, even if nobody changes, it is magic and a true joy.

_____________________________________________

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

dashing man

Random thoughts on Biology, Parenting, Lunch, Vampires and Guys I Used to Know…

Fridays are usually my “lunch date” days…that is the one day of the week this busy working mom can meet with her usual donors. Yes, for those of you who are new here, this is about Vampires. And for all of you busy Vampires, especially parents or other caretakers, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I don’t lurk out into the night and crawl through bedroom windows. Yuck. I meet with people for a civilized exchange. They don’t know I’m a Vampire but everyone goes away happy. It’s a win win for everyone concerned.

That said, this past Friday EVERYONE needed something. I swear I was about to scream. My husband, my daughter, a client, the elders, and my son. Garrett, a high school senior, needed some papers dropped off for a science internship he is going to participate in over the Spring Break and maybe this summer (depending on where he is accepted into college). It is a great opportunity BUT he had another event going on and needed someone (me) to drop off his paperwork.

I called the professor in charge who teaches at the fine state university in our town. He was home and asked if I could just drop the papers off at his house. Fine by me. I’d avoid the confusing parking at the college.

As I drove down to the East Sacramento neighborhood Dr. Morgan (the professor) lived in I had to pass the cemetery where Nigel the ghost is buried. I still haven’t stopped there or found out his last name. I feel my pushing invaded his privacy. I’ve learned that despite how much I dislike ghosts in general that I have to respect them. It isn’t easy being a ghost. Anyway, I could feel chilled to the bone as I drove by the graves and could feel some lingering presence of misplaced souls who had found themselves trapped on Earth. The cemetery (which I will not name today) is a beautiful place, but not someplace I’d want to spend forever in.

Dr. Gerard Morgan lived in a charming 1920’s brick cottage so prized in this area of town. A lemon tree full of fruit was in the front yard. Primroses bloomed up the walk way. The rounded front door held a wreath of bay leaves. A nice touch for a single man living alone. But hey, just because a guy is single doesn’t mean he has to live like an uncomfortable slob.

The door was answered by a pleasant looking middle aged man with striking brown eyes. You know those beautiful deep eyes that bring on both wonder and envy (as in I wish my eyes were that pretty.) He showed me in and we went over the papers in a home office. I glanced at impressive diplomas on the wall.

The house was comfortable in an arts and crafts sort of style mixed with a good heap of modern. Sort of like my house. Then again, it is a popular style around these parts. Gerard asked me if I’d like to stay for a cup of tea. Sure, why not. I like tea. No sugar. Yes, lemon would be lovely.

We talked about our citrus trees and then about the science program he ran for high school seniors. Then he said something quite unexpected.

He said “I teach biological science, including cellular biology, but…” he paused then started up again, “I understand you know something about Vampires and local lore.”

“And ghost lore as well. I’m a history buff, you know, just for fun. Especially the weird stuff.”

“Tell me about the Vampire lore around here.” He looked so intense.

So I told him a standard story. “There is said to be a large population of Vampires in this area. They came in during the gold rush era. Many of them eventually settled in San Francisco and Sacramento. They still are supposed to have family in the area. Many missing persons are supposed to have become Vampires. It isn’t exactly exciting or full of blood lust, but that’s what I know.”

“Do you believe Vampires are real?”

I couldn’t believe he asked me that. I mean, that is so rare. He looked me straight in the eye.

“What a silly question Gerard,” I told him.

“You’re a Vampire aren’t you? I’ve never met someone who claims to be a Vampire but there are letters, family letters that lead me to you. When I received news that your son wanted to apply to the program I was curious to meet you.”

“Letters?” This could be either good or bad.

“Old letters that mentioned someone named Juliette.”

I didn’t respond. I hate it when they call me on this.

“Tell me about Vampires Juliette. I’m a scientist. I’m curious about people who claim to be Vampires.”

I sat back a little straighter and put my hands in my lap. “Alright, I will tell you about people who claim to be Vampires. There are so-called Sanguinarian Vampires, those Regular Humans who drink blood. They say, they actually believe, it is required for their health, both mentally and physically. And of course they have their donors who give them blood. But they’re quite human. Just like eating biscuits and gravy doesn’t make you Southern anymore than eating Kosher makes you Jewish. Drinking blood does not make one a Vampire. They’re nuts, but that said, if they want to drink blood then whatever. Let your freak flag, but still…oh well.

Then there are so-called Psychic Vampires, who in my book are just bad friends. They believe that they need to suck on your aura or psychic energy. I’m sure you’ve dated women like that. I hope not, but the odds are pretty good.

That said, there is an entire population of people who are not like you. Not physically or mentally like you at all. Rather sort of a sub species, but then again, not exactly. Call it a mutation of a sorts. That is where I come in, as well as others who aren’t Vampires but not exactly what YOU would call normal. We’re genetically different. Some are born that way and some are genetically modified along the way. I can’t give you the scientific explanation but it is what it is.

Anyway, people fear what is different and what they don’t understand. They tend to find a group to put that fear on, which leads to killings and genocide and all sorts of tragic social and moral disorders.

On the other hand, Vampires, real Vampires are on the top of the food chain, above you, so I can understand that natural fear. It is healthy to fear someone who could easily kill you and consume your blood.

But I see it as more of a symbiotic relationship. We all get something we need from the transaction. Wouldn’t you agree Dr. Morgan?”

He stood up and went across the room and closed the curtains. I didn’t ask why. I followed him across the room. He stopped and looked me right in the eye. There was almost an electrical charge between us.

I stepped closer. He’d been quiet and listened to everything I said. He thought I was crazy yet he was feeling a strange attraction to me. That was a good thing. Especially since I’d skipped my Friday lunch and was starting to feel a bit light headed.

I spoke quietly to him. “Your heart rate just jumped up, just by the simple fact that I came a little closer to you.” I took another step and took his hands.

“You’re so cold.” He was a little frightened  I could tell but didn’t let go.

“Yes, I am. Feel for a pulse.”

“I can’t find it.”

“My heart beats extremely slow. Don’t ask me to explain how it all works. There did you feel that slight beat? Never faster than 20 beats per minute. Usually much slower. In fact I can stop my heart and restart it if I want to, or if I’m extremely frightened or stressed.”

Then I brushed my lips against his. “I’m extremely cold compared to you. Your heart rate just jumped again. Both fear and excitement. The strangeness of it all. And admit it, the beauty of it.”

I showed my fangs and gave a little purr. He almost jumped out of his skin.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you,” I told him gently.

He looked at my mouth. “Those are real.”

“Yes. Real as your teeth.”

“How old are you?”

“Ninety nine years older than you are.”

“Was that a lucky guess or can you tell…”

I smiled. “The diploma on your wall, I did the math… lucky guess because you look younger than your actual 55 years.”

“You’re 154.”

“Fairly young for a Vampire. I don’t age. I rarely get sick. You wouldn’t believe how fast I heal if hurt.” I moved closer my body barely touching his. He was maybe five six or seven but by no means what I’d consider short. Getting to his neck would be easy but I didn’t want to be quite so intimate this time.  “Give me your wrist. Come on.” I locked my eyes on his. He was mine. Child’s play for a Vampire but I never felt guilty about it.

Gently pushing him against the wall for support I took his wrist and sank my fangs into it.

Due to his past history, excellent physical condition, disposition and blood type I thought he’d be an excellent candidate for becoming a Vampire. But that is a risky proposition and something I’d save for another time.

Suddenly on the tip of my tongue and in the back of my mind there was something familiar. It was in his face as well. I did know him or at least someone connected to him.

Gently kissing his wrist to make sure there would be no fang marks left I looked in his face. Yes, it was there under those deep brown eyes and dark lashes.

“You’re William Morgan’s great grand son,” I said. “You look just like him. I should have known.”

“Wait, you knew my great grandfather? He and his best friend died in a boating accident…”

“Not at all. William and his friend Albert and living in Seattle. They’re Vampires.”

Another shock to his system, but by that time he was feeling the euphoric high of one just bitten by a Vampire (at least by me, I always try to make a good experience that will leave them warm and toasty for at least a week.)

I went on to explain that Billy and Al were in Seattle with a band and a graphic design business. Al was living with one of my mom’s friends. Sometimes Al would still wear a top hat just for kicks and grins. Small world.

Out of a drawer in a hutch he pulled a tintype of two men. Billy was in the light suit and Al was wearing his signature top hat – even back then.

On a hot summer night at a lavish party at a mansion by the river, Billy discovered his wife was having an affair with another man. Things had not been right at home for a while, but he figured it was the pressure of having two small children and his busy career. She had given her body and her heart to a wealthy banker. Upset over this discovery Billy took off down to the river’s edge where he and his friend Al found a conoe. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but Billy was upset, stood up in the boat and capsized it. The men both went into the fast water and perished.

Yes indeed, they did die, but not for long. About two miles down the river lived, in another lavish river side residence lived two ancient Vampires. They were also having a party that night. The Vampires found the men and rescued them from death, in a way. They turned them into Vampires. I know this because I was there that night.

Gerard Morgan looked at me in wonder. “Could I meet him? My great grandfather?”

“I’ll ask him,” I said, knowing the answer might very well be yes. “I only ask that you tell no one what we discussed today or that I am a Vampire. That goes for my son as well. Plus, you know if you tell anyone they’ll think you’re crazy.”

So I won’t go into what we discussed for the rest of the afternoon, only that it turned out to be a positive thing for all parties involved.

And will Professor Morgan, who is twice divorced with no children, become a Vampire? I don’t know. Time will tell.

Have a good weekend everyone and be careful out there on the water.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

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The Circle – Musings on Life, Death and Art

It is funny how things circle around from one event to another and somehow everything in the universe seems to connect. Or at least enough things connect to make you think.

Musings on Art, Ghosts and Vampires

This afternoon (Sunday) my husband, teens and I went to an art show at house in the Land Park area of Sacramento. Three of the artists featured were Laureen Lendau, Eric Dahlin and Corey Okada.

I was transfixed by the paintings of Corey Okada. He is a painter of singular beauty. I wish I had more images, just one here, of one of the skulls he paints, but it is his figures and faces that haunt one with striking colors of night and beauty. All of his works show a sense of emotion but it is the kind of emotion that one holds close. All of his works have a story.

Eric Dahlin is a man of true joy and FUN. Oh my goodness I love his work. He is a ceramic artists who it the master of rabbits, crows, Santa, crows, more crows and assorted other creatures. I love his stuff. One day I will have a flock of his crows including one with a cigar and a Santa hat.

Laureen Lendau paints calm and beautiful scenes both literal and abstract. Her work makes me feel calm, even with vibrant reds and blues mixed with dark muted tones. I can’t even describe it. I just like it.

So we’re looking at the art in a wonderful old house, old dog under foot, artists as well as art patrons looking around, when a I see a striking woman I’ve seen before. She is an artist, but I know I’ve met her before a long time ago and I don’t know where. The dusty file drawers in my brain won’t give anything up.

She tells us that the house has a lot of activity – meaning it has a ghost. Yes, a ghost. We talk for a while. The house is near where there was an Army post in the 1860’s and there were a lot of hangings. Things happen in the house like plates flying out of cabinets and noises and other activity. The ghost lives mostly upstairs. The home once belonged to a well known artist, so I’m sure those vibes help keep the bad ones at bay. So we talked a bit about the house which has been featured in paranormal/ghosts programs on cable.

We speak of ghosts and paranormal goings on but I don’t mention that I’m a Vampire and that I write a blog or that I’ve been in the area for 153 years. I usually don’t tell people about that part of my life for obvious reasons.

I found a few paintings I’m going to get prices on. I liked a lot of the ceramic work done by several artists. I’ll go back for it later. But when Teddy (my husband) and I were alone I asked him “Do you feel anything?” Meaning anything paranormal.

His answer was no, but he had more to tell me, but later. I tried but I didn’t feel any presence, except that of the art, which is always strong for me.

By the way, the teens enjoyed it. I have been a success as a parent.

We talked about Sacramento history and how it related to our day and our pasts. We grew up in a pretty rough place, but we didn’t know the difference. It was all we knew.

Our parents both Teddy’s human and my Vampire parents saw a lot of death but then ever attended hangings or trials.

“Remember,” I said to my husband, “when you and your brothers and my brother Max all lied to our parents and went to a hanging.”

Teddy looked surprised I’d asked about it. “It wasn’t as exciting as we thought it would be. Max was unusually quiet and depressed for days.”

“Max told me that when the men died, there were four of them, he could see their souls depart. One had already lost his soul. Two of the others screamed words that only Max and those on the other side could hear. He said it frightened him almost to death. My parents figured out what happened but didn’t punish him. He’d seen death before, we all had, but never like that. Never the screams of the damned.”

“Max never told me about it. Remember I wasn’t a Vampire yet. He didn’t talk to me about things like that when we were kids,” said Teddy quietly, more quietly and thoughtful than usual.

“It was a nice day, I mean going downtown,” I said.

“It’s good to be home.” He kissed me and went to check on the kids.

I went to the back deck where Nigel the Ghost was waiting.

“You were near my grave today.” The Ghost always seems to know where I am.

“Are you in the Old City Cemetary?” I figured that was the place since we drove right past it.

“I’m in East Lawn.” The ghost looked me in the eye as if he was trying to make sure I remembered what he told me.

“Really!” I said. “East Lawn was founded by William Land, he owned the land that the house the art show was in today.”

The ghost closed his eyes and then slowly opened them and spoke. “Every year a friend of mine pours a bottle of good Bourbon on my grave. I stand behind her and watch as she talks to me. Breaks my heart.”

“Who is she?” I asked.

“I don’t remember.” He gave me a sad smile.

“You were an artist. What was your last name?” I asked, not knowing if he’d tell me.

“I don’t remember that either. At least not right now.” He looked up at the stars then looked back at me. “May I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” I answered.

“What happens when Vampires die? Where do you go?”

“I don’t know.” Because I don’t.

“You know art. We both know art.”

“We do indeed.” I answered.

“Than that’s all we need to know.” And then he gave me a smile and vanished into the night.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

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