But lets begin at the beginning, shall we?
In archeIn his 134th year, David finally accepted that he was not alive any more. For many years, he had thought of "living" and "not living". but, to be perfectly honest, the thought of the idea of "undead" as a foreign concept. Besides, he felt quite alive. The living, breathing kind of alive. He was hungry and thirsty, and down on his luck. He was unsure of what to do with this, well, not life.
He could sometimes remember snapshots of his existence before, of people he knew, the places he had gone. Most visions had, however, for the most part become dream-like and fuzzy, and David had no idea what was true anymore. Sometimes, he longed for something more than to satisfy his hunger, doing so in prescribed ways and feeding on certain people. He wished to free himself freom what he considered to be a straightjacket, with all the rules imposed on him by the Committee. Freedom from all this, even by the head of a stake, would be far more comfortable thatn the hunger he felt; not the thirst for blood even, but the unsatisfied urge to do something else.
WHile he did not realize it, this was certainly an idea implanted by his mentor. Better, perhaps to say, the one who was supposed to be his mentor. "Willem does not care for me." David would bitterly pronounce, whenever and wherever he could get a chance.
"You are being absurd. Willem may be serious, but that is only because he takes things seriously. You should give him more of a chance. In fact, maybe you should go see him. It has been a while, has it not?" Anita was usually direct and no-nonsense, often reminding David of Willem. "Who is your next assignment?"
"Don't have one."
"What? Why did they not give you one?"
"Because I am, according to them, 'Too sloppy, too careless and too cavalier.' to take on projects. They told me to go on clean-up duty in Springfield.
"They can not be serious. Springfield? Are there even enough prey-marks to consider that place viable?"
"The Committee seems to think so. At least until they decide what to do with me."
"David," said Anita, "you could be so much better than you are." She sounded exasperated and angry. With a little effort, just a little, you would have better assignments, more fufilling ones." David looked at her, and saw how hurt she was at his situation. "you are far more capable than this. You are cheating yourself, and i do not know why.?
David was not sure he could agree. Whatever it was that he was doing, living, slowly dying, or something somehow inbetween, it did not feel right. He needed a change. Maybe the Committee is right. Maybe this is what I should do for a while. He felt like neither fish nor foul, and this disturbed him greatly. He knew he was not human anymore but was he more than that?
"Anita, you flatter me, but I am not sure that this is what I want."
"Well, you do not have a choice, do you?"
And, in this respect, she was absolutely right. She was always right. "you must be tired. Why not rest for a while, and when I get back from my assignment, we can discuss how you will fare until you fall in the good graces of the the Committee." She often took a concillatory tone like this when she wanted to avoid an arguement, even one she would win.
"Happy hunting," he said in a lame attempt to be jovial.
She left the room as quietly and as quickly as she had gone in. David did not look forward to her return, because she would force him to reflect on how he had come to this point.
**********************
THe first day of true consciousness was a real rush. David still could remember that time before he was chosen as a period filled with all kinds of chemically induced states of euphoria, but there was never anything as clear, or as long lasting as this. Ad would fit the pattern of all his later days, Anita, Andrej, and Willem were all there. He did not remeber much, himself, about why he was chosen to become un-dead, un-alive, but he also never bothered to find out the reason. For much of his time, he never really cared about anything. Job to job, meal to meal, before as now. In his mind, there was not much of a difference, not much of a change from the marginal existence he had before to now. In the long run, maybe there was not. And while he could not remember the whole thing, he was told about his transformation. Seeing one in action helped a little, but the metaphysics of this sort of thing was better left to Willem.
Willem.
Even the name sometimes made David angry. David once became so upset about an actor having the same name, as to put a foot throught the television when the Last Temptation of Christ was playing, just because he was thinking about what his own Willem had said, a month earlier. Willem was too hard, though, thought David. Whay does he always natter on about the "nature of things," or of the importance of understanding the "larger consequences" of whatever we are doing? It is a job, and I go to it.
"But it is more than a 'job,' David, it is almost a sacred duty what we do."
David could never understand how killing werewolves and the spirits of the woods had to do with any navel-gazing journey, of which Andrej, Anita and Willem, especially Willem, were so fond. David sometimes just wished he could be left alone. Besides, he preferred the world to which he was most accoustomed to being, the scummier, sleezier parts of town, where they found him in the first place. Where Willem first targeted David.
**************************
It had been a windless scortching day, with high humidity to boot. This was a continuation of the theme of that week, where even a small breeze would have been a welcome respite tot he unrelenting power of the oldest golden globe. The only breezes that day were the sighs and coughs of people hoping for an end to a summer that had only lasted six weeks, but had made up in vengance for having had a late start. "better late than never" was not on peoples lips
Baltimore City is like that, with the heat of the south rising up without mercy and the humidity of the Bay area, not even the Atlantic proper, a combination which could melt granite. The night offered some respite, in that one traded the direct rays for reflected ones. But the damage was done: on a night without ventillation, you can really feel your bones turn to mush. This was not an ordinary summer. Only one creature really stirred, a being for whom heat was invigourating. The hotter, the better. An ordinary man would find this unbearable. But David was no ordinary man. Or, in fact, soon not to be a man at all.
"Hey. Hey, you. Take it easy now. Take it easy."
David didn't like the tone, and he certainly did not like the patter. Too similar to tricks he had pulled himself. And those tricks others had pulled, never coming to any good. David knew the alley was close; he would have to be clever. In previous situations like this, he had learned the best way to attract attention is not to ask for help. Plaintive cries for assistance were met with downturned eyes, or heads turned away, or Feet made to go a little quicker to their intended goal. No, the best strategy was to say:
"I don't owe you a goddam penny! Ge the devil away from me, you malodourous swine!" THis grabbed attention. Now, there was a splendid spectacle worth watching, and all for free! No need to buy witnesses.
"in the alley."
"I will not, sirrah! I paid you in full two days ago, and now, we are even-Stephen! You blood sucking leech, you should rot in Hades for your usurious ways!" Late at night, with easier pockets to pick, the would-be mugger sailed on to the next block the next pocketbook. But not this night. As the tallish man closed in, David never even saw the older or his willowy consort from Cathay, until it was too late.
Swiftly, they took him by the arms and feet. The alley may have been the rendez-vous, but was certainly not the destination. David felt his feet leave the ground, and knew that this was nothing like any assault he had experienced before. For the first time in a long time, he felt real fear. NOt he apprehension of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, nor the queasy feeling one had as you realized one was about to received viscious beating. No, this was true fright, where one--- at least someone other than David--- would begin to pray for salvation. David however, having no such use for such superstition slipped from consciousness into the void.
When he revived, he was surrounded by the three. One at his feet, one at each arm. His appendages had been tied down to a platform raised about three feet from the floor of the pitch black room into which he had been set. The room was very, very dark, except for one, small candle, which provided less light than that of the most distant star in the sky.
"Where am I? Who are you? Let me go!"
"Did I not encourage you to relax before?" The man's accent was hard to place; it had that vaguely European tone, which David had heard most often from boats coming from some slavic region or another.
As his eyes began to focus he heard the older one say, "You have been chosen."
"For what? What is this?"
"You are about to become part of a continuum, which was your destiny always."
This made no sense. the only "destiny" David could imagine was that to which we are all bound: six feet under, sooner or later. Oh, how wrong he was! There was more.
"if you agree to our proposal, you shall gain a power unknown to mortals. We are Caxol, and we wish you to join us. Now you may decide not to do so, ans we can quickly dispatch you, so as to remain secret. But, I think you will agree, our mission is much better than the life you live now." Willem then outlined the proposal: they needed a fourth to complete their group, and David was the perfect candidate. He had been born with a caul, he had fine reflexes, and he was an orphan. "All in all, qualities which befit joining our society. But, ours is no longer life as you know it. YOu will resemble a human in shape, but the corporeal form you take will house a much different spirit. You will seek blood to drink, but it is not really to say we drink blood; rather, that we take the life-energy of our prey. This is imbued in the blood, but not the blood itself. So, you put something in your stomach to satisfy the urges of your former body, and, then, from that, seperate this force and "live" off of that. The Chinese would call this Qi, but we call it boishin."
The girl nodded. "but you will have responsibilities, and duties. Our kind has made certain arraingements with human authority, so as order to exist. You will need to feed on particular people, at specific times."
"Feed? You mean, you three are going to make me a, a... vampire?"
"Please, we prefer the origional word: Caxol. You will one day learn to speak our language."
"And, if I don't want to? Become a vampire that is?"
The European smiled. Bright, sharp teeth shone through, and glimmered in even that dimmly lit chambre. "then, it is a good meal for us."
David quickly agreed to the transformation. "Maybe I can get something really good out of this," he reasoned. Later, he sometimes would wish that they had just sucked him dry.
Much quicker than his ascent, and with much more planning and resolve, they set upon David. There was no pain, just wonder. They all bit in unison, and took every corpiscule, every capulet. Along with this liquid was drawn a force, more potent than a million suns, and more fragile than thin glass. His body, once warm, felt an unnatural chill, and as this energy drew away from his body, he had a new sensation: he felt his soul be divided amoung the three, then re-mixed with theirs, and the souls of a hundred thousand more. Then, they sliced open his chest, cut their wrists, and poured the blood they had drawn from him back into his body.
With it went his newly reconstituted spirit. He then felt the rush. As his lungs swelled, and he gasped for air, David was filled, as he respired, with inspiration. "You see how good it can feel? Do you feel the power?" The female voice was soothing. "Much better thant opiates, no?" She caressed his cheek, in a loving, almost motherly way. But her voice. Her voice. Anita purred on:"and much better than anything the cocoa plant can give you. Now really feel this in your heart, in your fingers, in your mouth, in your mind. All other sensations are insignificant to this, and this is yours forever." All true, all true. "Deliciou." This word was pitifully inadequate, but had to do for now.
David would learn later that this intoxicating experience was also brought on by the feedings he made. But for now, he felt more powerful than ever before, and more alive, if that could be possible for someone who was supposed to be a revenant. Any amount of abysynthe would not make as much of a change of mood. Curiously, too, there was not the feeling of nausea, of light-headedness that normally accompanied his incursions into the dream world resembling nirvana. This was longer lasting, more powerful, more fufilling, just, somehow, better.
"You are now a child of the night. Welcome to our world."
David looked at their faces. One mature, a little jowly. One with almond shaped eyes. One youngish; rakish, almost. "I might like this fellow," he thoght to himself. All the faces looked at David with a patient, hopeful look. A look that, thoght he was to know all of them for more than a century, he never saw again.
***************************************
Time ceased to matter. In his new state, he was seldom hungry during the daytime, although usually more than a little listless. For a while, he would wander about, watch the humans, study them. With his newfound sensibility, he could notice small details which, before, had escaped him.
Before being chosen to become part of that great continuum which kept all sorts of secrets and fouler things at bay, he was able to see the more subtle of movements his neighbors made, enhancing his already keen sense of what people were going to do.Growing up in the middle of a run-down area in Baltimore was a perfect training ground for such a sensibility. The docks offered entertainment, sailors to roll or cheat, or both, and students from the new University were easy marks as well. David found himself drawn to the corner of Broadway and Thames more often than not, to look for fun, drinks, whores, or whatever his fancy may find him. Usually, it was drink.
You can still stroll the rolls of Admiral Fell's great estate. It is not full of the same kind of riff-raff as it had been even fifty years ago, but still there is a glimmer of a world which has been sanitized and made ready for the tourist dollar. There are still locals who doll around the bars, gulping their sipping whiskey, warming the same stools night after night, pretending to laught at the same jokes told by the same jokers who were mildly humourous the first time, if only because of the novelty of their jest, but because they had encouragement the first time, became so bold as to assume that they should visit their bon-mots with anyone who is either kind enough or drunk enough to listen.
Students will still visit some of these same haunts as their predecessors. They may have traded stovepipe hats for bowlers, or stetsons for baseball caps, but they still spend their father's money freely and laugh just as loud. And they still ignore, cajole, humour, jibe or pity those examples of humnanity who, through one misfortune or another, beg their fellow man for a dime to spare. This was David's world, and he knew it well.
posted by gregorio at 5:46 PM
This is the First part of chapter two of
I, VampireGrowing food, pushing pencils, and owning
businesses all divorce us from the primal nature of
the hunt. most of us never go back into the forest,
prefering to stay on the reanch, or ranch house, or in
the city. Our deepest, darkest fears and our scariest
stories happen i the world of the forest. Here,
anything can happen. We can be hermits, and
contemplate the rest of the world. We can shun the
affects of civilization and try to live free. Is not
that the trick, though, in this sylvan fantasy,
because without other humans around, most of us go
quite mad.
Those who stay in the forest are another breed
entirely. Those who stay here want to be away from all
other humans. Indeed they become to resent those who
make brief forays in their world. How many hunters
have stumbled upon a rustic shack, seeminly abandoned
and left to the elements, only to find the lone
occupant rather upset at the intrusion. And, being
that the forest really has no law except survival, the
punishment for such transgressions is often violent,
if not fatal.
Even the hunter-type is himself (and there are few
hers here) suspect. Those who go hunting for sport
does so as a method of fleeing the world, to bond with
his brothers, and to commune with his fellows instead
of facing the pressures of bills, or bosses, or wives.
The man who goes hunting (or fishing--- he too is a
hunter) steps back to an earlier stage where the home
is transitory, the fire warm. In these woods, man
stradles between being man and beast, for, as a man,
he has his weapons and his mind. Bullets may have
replaced arrows, but both are still substitutes for
the claw.
Hunters remind us that we are not so differednt from
that human who used skins for clothes and bones for
money. Atime when the only currency was the ability to
find and butcher food. We forget how bountiful is
nature. Does God allow the sparrows to starve? Does
the ant want for food? Does the tiger lack for
sustinence? Not in the world before cultivation of the
field. Hunters remind us that we, too , were once
tigers.
And what do tigers do? Kill. There is no nicer way to
put this: they find living prey, chase them, and kill
them. Sometimes they eat part of the animal while it
is still alive, not quite yet dead. At least the
hunter has the courtesy to fully extinguish the life
of his victim before consuming the poor beast! That is
what makes us better, we are sure. That we give
animals the courtesy of death, whole.
No matter what our tender mercies, however, ther
forest will still be the place where no man can
dictate law. This is what gives many of us such fear
of the place: the knowledge that, has we not some form
of weapon at our side, we would become the feast of a
beast. So, we take our shotguns, and our long knives,
and make great to light a camp fire. For it is this
light, this warm place that even on the warmest nights
makes better the chill of the forest. This light which
holds back all the animals, and many of our fears.
Hunter-gatherer cultures have special rituals when
they hunt those animals who also hunt for food. Men
who shed blood so that their family members can live,
allow deer or antilope to die, and become food for the
clan. But the Bear, the Wolf, the Lion--- ah, there
are rituals for these. Take for example, the lion.
This proud, noble king of the jungle is often fought
by men who live by the hunt, to be a rite of passage
from boy-hood to manhood. Masai boys hunt a lions
spear and dagger in hand. THE lion charges, roaring.
The boy who faces certain death head on wears the skin
of his trophy as a man.The inherent danger of such a
thing proves how much less a child, and how much more
is the bravery of the man who performs this deed.
Worth considering, too, is the tradition of the
hunting of bears. The bear is revered by many of the
cultures who have yet to turn to plant or animal
husbandry, as a fellow traveller in the world of earth
and spirit. Native american, Celtic, and Norwegian
regarded the Bear as their brothers, and held special
reverence for them as mediums between this world and
that of the divine. The shamans of these people often
donned bear skins, taken from its former owner with
great ritual and reverence. No bear death was taken
lightly, as the bear-spirit may become angry, and
wreak havok on th fool who commited the crime---
tantamount to murder--- of killing a bear unjustly.
The bear skin imbued the wearer with great powers,
notibly divination and healing. Bears are brothers in
the forest.
Bears often play a part in fairy-tales, too, but not
often. More often we find witches, and no wonder, for
along with the hunter, the only other human who would
be in this primeval world are those who would
segregate themselves from society to practice
nefarious deeds in the forest. the stories we make
about our darkest foears often involve abandonment in
the forest. It is instructive to call to mind the
story of Hansel and Gretel. The storyline we hear
most, the most sanitized verson, has Hansel and
Gretel thrown into the woods, only to find their way
back with stones. Cast away again, and they use
breadcrumbs, which are eaten by birds. They happen
upon a house, whose witch-owner then tries to make a
meal of them, and only by the wits of Gretel are they
saved.
Th dark subtext of this is that women in the forest
are up to no good, and are so monstrous as they would
eat children. And the witch has a great hook: a candy
house. What better lure for girls and boys than a
domicile that gives you shelter from the elements and
relieves you from hunger? The house is able to keep
the two snared, while the witch is away. Caught in
their vandalism, the woman imprisons them. We fear
being in the forest, pulled back into a world of
disguised dangers, no place for women or children.
We do not have such anxiety in the field. Somehow,
that feels right. Tall grasses swaying, the flowers of
the valley and the shade of an occasional tree gives
us pleasures beyond compare. Only when this bucolic
repose is betrayed, by, say, a snake in the grass,
does the field fail to quiet our tempers. Now, it si
true that many artists and writers will wax poetic
about the bucolic nature of a sylvan glenn, but this
is only undercores that the real forest is too primal,
for most settings of wooded areas are not so thick
that they become dangerous and unknown. Were not
Hansel and Gretel the offspring of a wood-cutter? Were
they not aware o fthe setting around them as they
helped their father in his chore? Would they not know
how to navigate the trees? No, no, they were led into
the deepest part of the woods; terra incognita. The
witch, the bear and the hunter-gatherer all live here,
and why we are afraid of this place.
The minute the hunter steps back on the farm or the
boardroom, he transmogrifies from that pre-civilized
near beast to human again. Back in the world of
comfort, back where there are laws. Back where they
fears are not of being eaten but rather of starving.
The minute the wolf steps onto the farm, she is in
danger. Civilized man does not broach this intrusion
well! Wolves are only looking for a bite to eat, a
tasty meal in a sheep or chicken. The wolf does not,
CAN not, know, that there are boundaries and property
lines and borders which may not be crossed. The forest
has no law, why should the field? Why, indeed, but to
make the human feel superior. Let the hunter have his
forest, and the witch, too. We know better than to go
beyond those trees. But do not transgress from your
saplings to our side, or face the justice that men,
who now have something to lose besides their lives,
dispence to those who would break the law. Wolves are
hunted down because they won't behave.
Vampyrs are hunted for the same reason.
****************
Getting on the train had been hard enough, with all
the temptation around him. So much for life, if only I
could just feed now. He was weak enough, that no one
felt his hunger--- except himself, of course. One of
the curious things about his kind is that, at the
moment they are most ravenous and have the most
murderous need to feed, they are often incapable of
mustering the stregnth to find appropriate victims,
and bite! So, here is David on the train, surrounded
by humans. It is as if a starving man suddenly found
money and a restaurant, only to lose his appetite.
From the train to the cab, from here to the adress of
the one being who understood him the best, and whom
David hated the most, seemed as much as an eternity as
the abomnable train ride. A short walk to the door,
and still he had hesitation. "All this way, to turn
back now? In for a penny..."
"In for a pound! shouted William. "At last, here at
last. I knew you would come," as he flung open the
door.
Despite a tumoltuous relationship between the these
two, William always seemed to enjoy their time
together. Why not? William was always in a position of
relative power . He had been a vampyr longer, had had
business acumen when still alive, and ws not loath to
steal from his victims. Indeed, within a few years of
havig had his life taken away, he had more money than
when first living. William chose his prey very
carefully, often stalking his meal with great care
before the final kill.
Now, with his disciple back, he hoped he could put
some new tecniques into practice. Lately, his great
care had not been quite as fruitful as he wanted it to
be, but William thought that all he needed was some
fine-tuning. Besides, this would put his great idea to
the test.
"You didn't know anything." However, David was
secretly glad to hear kind words--- well, at leat not
be turned away.
William knew better. He knew that David was more than
the snippy youth that was often presented to those who
met him. "David is rather intelligent," William would
muse to any listener, "Impetuous, honourless and full
of anger, but by no means stupid."
He stood at the door of his mentor after a ten year
absence. "Come on in, Boy. I have much to discuss
with you. We have to talk about my new hunting
methods. What have you been doing with yourself
lately?" and so on with the pleasantries.
William has a modest townhouse in the middle of the
city. In years past, he had coveted the larger manses
of some of his fellows. After having first been turned
into the fairy-wolf, he fancied that, he, too could
live in such a place. There are a large number of
houses in the European countryside which have wanted
for an owner, if only to have the fires burn again in
the chimney, or the lights go on. Some houses seem to
beg fro someone, ANYONE, to live inbetween their
walls, even someone not human.
The most appealing of these houses to William was one
in Ireland. A secluded spot, away from most of the
riff-raff, surrounded by wooded areas and those by
fields. Defying the cliche besetting most houses
occupied by caxol, it had an alluring charm to it, the
kind of feeling people find in homes filled with
happy families and children racing around. No gloom at
this manse. To walk to this house would not leave on
with forebidding gloom, nor would one gather that the
occupant of the house was anything more than a kindly,
lady-like grandmother type, who had retired from the
cares of the world to find respite in a sylvan dell.
Open the door. Walk in. Come, come, the fire is warm,
what a cold night.
Or, how can you stand the rain? You must be so cold!
Pleas take this blanket! Another drink? Why, of
course.
It may be that the house was, itself, complicit in
this entrapment. Is boisha limited to the animate?
Were not caxol examples of beings which, while moving,
had no boisha of their own? Constantly seeking more?
William often remarked that the house seemed to demand
that caxol live there---better a former human than no
human at all. This house in Ireland seemed to fit the
personality of the current owner very well, as if they
were a married couple. The house was the female,
bringing comfort and compact, the caxol the male,
bringing home, well, the bacon, as it was often
crudely analogized by human standards.
William knew right away what was going on in that
house. He had seen it before. This pretty dwelling, so
nice to look at, was a spiders web, waiting for its
next victim. The spider took care to take care, and
there they were, luring in the flies. "Masterful,"
thought William. He asked the husband, "Howe did you
find it?" to which she replied," Oh, I think the house
found me. But, we do work well together, do we not?"
The blood of the man they drank that night was rather
sweet, now that you think of it. "When you find a
house like this, take it by any means. Even if you
have to assume the identity of the previous lord, but
by any means." William did know what that meant.
***********************
"Man, this place always gives me the creeps,"thought
David as he walked through the front door. William was
always going on about "symbiosis of spirits" when it
came to picking a place to live.
"You must find a space which calls to you. It will
coax you in, and make you feel welcome, like a lover
would. The key is to listen to the sighs of the
boards, the groans of the walls. What seems to humans
as a house settling is how it speaks to me. If you are
quiet, you will hear this house speak, too."
William had gotten this house about ten years before;
actually, to come to think of it, , it was about the
same time the two had fallen out of sorts with each
other. "William, you can not be serious about that
foolish notion of a house with boisha. You have really
cracked now, Old Man."
"Oh, but I am quite serious. This house does have a
feeling of boisha, you simply can not deny it! Feel
it, through your being, and you shall see what i
mean."
This vampyr had been kind enough to give the boy
shelter. David was still hurting over the encounter
with Vlad. "let the house take you in," said the old
smooth, fancy talker. Four days of this nattering
later, David had another opinion.
"You spoke about this the first time I met you. And
this house has it too, you say? Do you really put
forth the proposition that you can feel the boisheen
of houses? Feel the boisheen of houses? Feel the
Boisheen of Houses? YOU CANNOT FEEL THE BOISHIN OF
HOUSES!"
That outburst essentially terminated the visit.
"Ten years later, you are back, hat in hand," thought
David to himself. "Just like you started out, coming
back to this crummy place with bad juju. Good job,
sport. You have really gone far." However, now is not
the time for pride, Now is the time for help.
**********************
"I have been thinking about the hunt."
"how about less thinking, and more doing."
"Now, don't be cheeky. I have recently been
re-evaluating the methods we use, and have come to
some conclusions. "
Oh, boy., we are in for it now. Every time William had
"conclusions" it was usually a hare-brained scheme
dolled-up as a well packaged plan.
"Most of the Caxol I know have gone quite mad, due to
the lonliness. There are two groups of hunters, the
solitary and those who go in groups, and each style
lends, ultimately, to the social organization of that
group. Cats are very solitary, and I think them mad,
too."
He sat back, and would arch his fingers whenever he
sould make littel pronouncements like this. "You know,
David, I prefer to liken myself to a wolf. Not so
secretive as a feline, not so intense. The real
passion of huntig is best shared with fellows, I think
it intensifies the real pleasure of feasting on the
prey. What I was thinking about earlier,when I spoke
of the taste of the gourmand, to really enjoy the
meal, suffer through the sharp taste to really enjoy
the sweet. I truly believe a meal is better tasted
when shared together."
He was trying to convince David to give up his style
of stalking. For longer than he could remember, David
found meals in the traditional manner: find a beast
healthy enough to eat, yet weak enough to either
separate from the herd, or young enough. Most humans,
actually, do not fall in this category. This may sound
strange, but despite whatever superiority caxol feel,
they still recognize that if not done correctly, a
hunting can go wrong. They must stay in the shaddows
to survive best, to avoid the pogroms of the past.
William,however, has a different take.
"I tell you, boy, you and I should hunt together, and
find, how shall we say, more worthy prey." His theory
was rather attractive, in a way; one would find more
boisha by finding someone who is more _alive_. "let us
leave the house tonight, and you will see what I have
come to believe." David, in his starved state, could
not tell whether this meant William had done whatever
it is that he did differently many times before, or if
at all. William was being rather secretive about this
detail as well, leading David to the conclusion that
his initial assesment of the plan was correct, despite
his hunger having addled his pate.
"Are you ready to feast? It is almost twilight, let us
go out to the park."
********************
"I'll be back in a while," she said to her roommate.
"just going out for a run." Dusk is the best part of
the day for excercize in the summer. There is enough
light out to see, but the intense heat of the sun is
over, and if you time it right, you can tell how long
you have been out. When it is dark, you go back in,
and eat.
*********************
"Dusk is the best time of day for hunting. See how the
light can play tricks with the human eye? How shaddows
are not noticed, though they move in unexpected ways?
The atmosphere is quite right for this endeavour. Now,
watch what I do, and try to keep up with me.
Listen to what is around you. Ah, yes." The only
sounds David heard were insect ones. William began to
move more slow, to a crawl.
Crick Crick Crick--- Creep Creep Creep
Creep Creep Creep--- Crick Crick Crick
"When you hunt, listen for the sounds of the crickets;
match your movements to their beat, their sound will
hush yours."
"What does that matter? You can just fly down and
spring on them, take them unawares? What nonsense is
this, to behave like an animal? Strike out fast and
hard, I say!"
"No! you fool. Whether you like it or not, you are of
this world, and you do better by using the ways of the
creatures here to better find them. These small
insects, puny as they are, listen! They do what they
do for reproduction, to continue life. And, to
continue our own life, we use their rhythms, their
noises. What a distraction they are to humans; they
listen to these mites rather than pay attention to
where they are, what they are doing! Swoop down,
indeed. To strike well, is to strike without them
sensing. The adrenaline these beast produce when
frightened is quite the sour taste. No, no, creep,
creep, creep, and then....."
And as he finished the last word, William, in practice
of his preaching, stepped in between teh chirp of the
crickets.
So young, so vital. WIth a cascade of brown hair, and
healthy figure. She ran around the park mindlessly.
Staring into the night sky, and its moon, the stars
and wandering planets, never to know.....
That bite, more savage than a tiger, less anticipated
than a mosquito. No room for fear, or even a second
thought, then to continue her rhapsody on the infinite
upon which she had only gazed a moment before: with a
small gurgle, a choking sound an a gasp at her last
attempt at life, but too late, she drained quickly and
light. A light to match the lunar sight above, and to
go out as the moon wanes, too. Then, drained of blood,
her body involuntarily heaves her last spasm.
"Good, good. Very satisfying. I have not had a meal
like that in a while. But, we must be quick. She, I
fear, will be missed soon enough. It was worth the
risk."
Then, miles, leagues away, William spoke again,"Now,
you must feast this way. Oh, the succulence! Oh, how
the tender warm flesh becomes cold, so. Just as you
become warm, again. Find your prey.Make the night your
ally. Use the shaddows as your shield, the rustle of
the leaves as your ruse, the sounds of this world your
mask. Then, you strike. The taste is exquisite! You
are part of nature again, like you were, but better.
How like the proud wolf!
David remained silent for a while. Lions, or tigers or
even bears he could bear better than this old fool and
his newfound philosophy upon how the caxol should
hunt. David knew what he was. A fusion of the better
parts of the foundation of the world, and the more
subtle parts of the divine. A wolf? more like an
angel, we are, eternal and powerful. Cherubim summus!
"Are you still wedded to your old ways? Go then. Find
some prostitute, and bite down. This city is full of
them. But if you want real life, you will do like I
do."
But it was easy enough to go back to Druid Hill Park
for David, now that it was dark, and have a drink.
posted by gregorio at 2:21 PM
