Dressed up for Halloween

A Tale of Revenge

Revenge is a dish best served cold. That’s a quote from Star Trek. Don’t tell me otherwise, I know.

If you had been forced to watch every episode of the original series, every movie in the franchise plus the endless TV spin offs, dozens of times over, you would know too.

Don’t get me started about the conventions. I’ve been to more conventions than a shoe brush salesman. My fingers bled making those costumes. The Klingon costume was made of real leather. Thousands of hand sewn stitches. I still have the scars.

Why did I marry him? He proposed to me in Klingon. Back then, I thought that was so cool. We married at a Trek Convention back in the 80s. Captain Kirk was our celebrant. No, not William Shatner, some guy from Fantasy Weddings R Us.

So, at first it was fun, you know? We spent our honeymoon at Vulcan – it’s a town in Canada. We’ve been to Star Trek The Experience at Vegas, we joined protest groups to Save Star Trek and we’ve been to conventions in Australia, Japan and Germany. If it’s Trek, we’ve done it. Then we did it again.

But I got over it. I grew. I got into those reality shows. You know that one about swapping wives? I wanted to be swapped. I applied over and over again. I would have taken any of those loser husbands, just as long as he didn’t have an unopened collection of action figures.

Enterprise was the final straw. Everyone said Enterprise was crap. But we watched it, every episode. He made me sign the petitions when it was cancelled. He made me make a big We Love You Scott Bakula Sign and stand outside the man’s house in LA for a week. Bakula wasn’t even home.

You know what he gave me on my last birthday? The complete set of Enterprise on DVD. What would you have done? I had to get my revenge for all those years I’d wasted watching Star Trek with him when I could been living a real life. On a reality TV show.

I planned it for months. I arranged everything so cleverly, he didn’t even know what hit him.

``Go put on your Klingon suit,” I told him. “I’ve got tickets to a very special convention. It’s being televised.”

He was so excited, you would have thought he was going to get laid.

So here I am, sitting on the stage, and here he comes, striding through the door in his stupid Klingon suit. This is the moment I have been waiting for, when he stops, stares around in confusion, and hears the chant of the crowd.

``Je-rry! Je-rry!”

Kiss Me, I'm Irish!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

PS: The mask is from Dover Publications free downloads.

Pictures for Halloween!!

"Yeah, Bustah's back
And now he has a buddy!"



This is who Bustah has been hanging around with recently, meet "Bones", and yes, he is a "Star trek" fan!!






As you can see, Pye does not like witches hanging from his ceiling!!




Halloween is not complete without black cats!!





















Everyone has heard of werewolves, they do have a rarer, shyer cousin here in the American Southwest. I was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of one, and take it's picture. This is the Werecoyote!!

















Here is a wee bat, to carry Samhain prayers to the Otherworld for us.








Spiders, too, are part of a spooky celebration!!

















What would this Holiday be without masks to confound and keep the Spirit World at bay?







We must have our carved pumpkins or turnips to keep away unhappy spirits!!









Bunnies are traditionally for Oestre, but, if you look closely, the eyes of these fellows are.. strange... as if there was an internal fire consuming their supposed sweetness.

Spooky Movie Time

As Halloween grows ever closer, TV channels play the horror films, and review the history of Halloween (All Hallow’s Evening, Samhain, Day of the Dead). I managed to get 50 of the top 100 Scariest Movie Moments. Of course, I had to watch this to see how many of them I have seen. Not too bad, 45 of 50 movies have passed through my eyes and into my psyche.

50) Last House on the Left

I remember this film with marvellous chills.

49) Les Diabolique

48) The Thing

I never tire of this film.

47) Nosferatu (the original)

Always the scariest Vampyre.

46) The Sentinel

45) The Wicker Man (not the remake)

I remember being glued to this film.

44) I didn’t get this title, but I had seen it.

43) It’s Alive

Shiver shiver!!

42) An American Werewolf in London

I never tire of werewolf films!!

41) The Hills Have Eyes (the original)

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkk!!!

40) Black Sunday

39) Dawn of the Dead

Zombie films should be fun and funny!!

38) Peeping Tom

37) House on Haunted Hill

Haunted houses always give me the willies!!

36) Cape Fear (with Robert Mitchum)

How could anyone top Robert Mitchum and Gregory Peck??

35) Aliens

The Aliens make this film series, H.R. Gieger’s Alien is CREEPY.

34) The Hitcher

Could anyone pick up a hitchiker after seeing this???

33) The Fly (with Jeff Goldblum)

Even my brothers can’t watch this all the way through!!!

32) Pet Sematary

“Here kitty, kitty…”

31) Friday the 13th

Funny, freaky, a definite carload drive-in movie.

30) The Blair Witch Project

Was it supposed to be scary, I was bored to tears.

29) The Serpent and the Rainbow

28) When A Stranger Calls

I wonder how many kids stopped babysitting after this came out?

27) Frankenstien (the original)

Yes, yes, always the best!!

26) Seven

Very disturbing, and believable. The beast that lurks within man is the worst.

25) Phantasm

Unforgettable, the music is an excellent accompaniment to the tale,

24) Suspira

23) Rosemary’s Baby

Incredible filmmaking, with a well-written story to back it up, the acting was superb. One of the finest horror films to watch over and over.

22) Don’t Look Now

21) Jacob’s Ladder

This is one of the most disturbing films I have ever seen. It still slithers in my subconscious.

20) The Ring

Yaaaawwnnn… wake me up when it gets scary.

19) Hellraiser

I will never watch this film series again, it upset me that badly!!

18) The Haunting

A good ghost story is one that can be retold over and over.

17) A Nightmare on Elm Street

More funny than frightening, but… Freddy is so cool as a nightmare monster!!

16) The Omen (the original)

Gregory Peck is incredible in this film, but then, when isn’t he??

15) Freaks

14) Halloween

How could I be frightened by someone that shares my family name. Mwah-hahahahahaha!!!!

13) Scream

Loved the mask, it still gives me a giggle.
12) Misery

One word… Hobbling.

11) Audition

The people in the Far East are the Masters of the Horror Film, they bring the arts of their heritage to the art of film making.

10) Wait Until Dark

It is bred into our genes to be afraid of the dark, ask anyone that has been lost in the woods!!

9) Night of the Living Dead

Woooo-hooooo!!! The best zombie movie, I enjoyed the heck out of the fact that the hero was one of the first black heroes in film making.8 ) Carrie

Go Carrie Go!!! Who doesn’t identify with Carrie?

7) The Silence of the Lambs

I must admit, there are Hannibal Lecter quotes that have become a part of my family’s history. “Free Range Rude” is so appropriate in the town I live in!!

6) The Shining (with Jack Nicholson)

”Heere’s Johnny!!” Yeeeeks!!

5) Texas Chainsaw Massacre

This film makes me grateful that I live in the desert.

4) Psycho

Did any of you quit taking showers after seeing this???

3) Exorcist

I could not watch this film all the way through without having nightmares until I was in my 40’s!!!

2) Alien

When the baby alien rips out of John Hurt’s belly I think I jumped straight up to the ceiling!!

1) Jaws

“Shark!!!”

Let us know what your favourite horror films are, and the ones that scared you the best/worst.

Halloween on the Town

Last night, I went with some friends to an old movie house (built in the 1920's) which now houses a Werlitzer organ along with all its pipes. We listened to short organ program with musical numbers appropriate to the holiday. Then we viewed a silent Laurel and Hardy film ("Habeus Corpus") followed by the original 1925 silent film version of "Phantom of the Opera" with Lon Chaney. Both films were accompanied by music from the Werlitzer. Here are some images from last night.

What's Halloween without a Halloween Tree?


Some people know how to arrive in style. This is a 1939 Packard hearse. Note the orbs flitting about it. Oooooooooooo.....

Here is the usher.

Here are a couple of patrons come to watch the film (just for Heather....)

Finally, here is the organ and its pipes. I took this without a flash. In any other situation, this would be a awful picture, but for this occassion, I think it is just totally freaky....

Images: Lori Gloyd (c) 2006

The Cry-An Owl Creek Exclusive!

AN ARTICLE by BERNADINE SANTISTEVAN, DIRECTOR OF "The Cry"

Bernadine was kind enough to make a trip to my Owl Creek Bridge (anita64.wordpress.com ) in order to share some stories about making her Supernatural Thriller Based on the Legend of La Llorona.

I hope that you enjoy her story and that you are as inspired by her determination to see her creative dreams realized as I am.

amm



I first heard of La Llorona when I was a kid growing up in a small town in New Mexico. Ever since I can remember, we were told stories of a woman who drowned her kids in the river—basically to get revenge from her lover who had betrayed her. But after drowning them, she realized what she had done and let out a horrifying, heart-wrenching cry. From that moment she was condemned to roam the rivers forever, crying and searching for her children.

As kids, our parents always told us that La Llorona would take us away if we went by the river to play alone, or if we misbehaved. On top of being completely scared stiff that La Llorona was going to get me, the whole idea that a mother would kill her own child absolutely terrified me.

When I decided to make a movie, there was no question in my mind that it had to be about La Llorona. On the one hand, I definitely wanted to do something focused on my culture. And from a more personal perspective, having grown up in a very superstitious environment (a combination of old Spanish beliefs dating back to the time of the Inquisition mixed with Native American beliefs), making a movie about La Llorona was a way for me to conquer my some of my fears/demons, with La Llorona being a big one.

Like most of the more than 28 million people in the U.S. who grew up with stories of La Llorona, I originally thought that this ghost was from my small town. After learning that she’s basically everywhere and has been a strong force in the Latino world for five centuries, I set off on a search for her across the U.S. and Latin America. I dug up historical material on her dating back hundreds of years, interviewed people who believe they’ve seen or heard her, and collected stories, artwork, poems and songs about her from all over the continent. You can see some of my research on my website www.TheCryTheMovie.com. I also went on to explore “Lloronas in other cultures,” and found several similar legends from all over the world like the Greek Medea, the Jewish Lilith and the Irish Banshee. In the end, it took me 5 years to get to a place where I felt as though I knew La Llorona well enough to write a script that would truly capture her essence. Then it was writing, rewriting, finding money, shooting, finding more money, post-production, distribution…what seemed like endless work.

Since it’s Halloween, I want to mention a few creepy experiences that I had while making The Cry—moments where I definitely felt La Llorona’s presence.

The first creepy experience happened one day when I was shooting in Spanish Harlem. Some santeros (traditional saint makers) from New Mexico had carved a wood statue of Death in the form of a woman (Dona Sebastiana). It was quite difficult to transport the santo to New York because it was a large, life-size carving and very fragile. In any case, the day my best friend, Horacio, and I were unloading Death from the vehicle, a freak accident happened where I was hit in the head—just a hair above my right eye—

with something flying through the air. It felt as though a brick had hit me, and I almost lost my eye. I remember grabbing my head and seeing blood pouring into my hand. Horacio ran and caught me just as the world started spinning and I was falling to the ground. The experience totally freaked me out not only because it happened when we were moving Death, but also because in The Cry the way that I physically show La Llorona’s curse on people is through their bleeding eyes. A few months later when I was doing post-production on The Cry, one morning my project manager suddenly had some bloody tears coming out of her eyes. She never did find out why that happened.

Another creepy experience happened when I was shooting some of my flashback scenes in New Mexico. Basically, I had spent several days looking for the perfect river location to shoot La Llorona drowning her kid, and found it months before we shot there. The place had a strange, haunting feel to it that made it perfect for The Cry. What was creepy about this was that a few weeks before we shot there, my sister, Rita, who still lives in NM called me to tell me that a woman named Bernadine—my name, which is pretty uncommon—had gone to the same location and drowned her two kids and herself. When I heard this my stomach fell to the floor. As I was shooting my scene I remember looking out over the river and feeling La Llorona’s presence more than ever.

The last creepy experience that I want to mention happened when I was in the final stage of post-production. In The Cry, I am the voice and cries of La Llorona. It took me quite some time to figure out what La Llorona would say, and this is something that I wrote only after digging deep into my knowledge and “relationship” with her. On the day I was in the studio recording La Llorona’s voice, something very strange happened. All of a sudden, something moved through me, taking control of my body and my voice. It felt as though for that slice of time, I was outside of me, hearing someone else’s voice come out of my body. It was a haunting, yet amazingly experience. The sound team that was recording in the control room was frozen stiff with how scary my voice sounded. You’ll get a taste of it yourself when you see The Cry, and you can read about more creepy experiences on my blog www.TheCry.typepad.com/thecry/.

Making The Cry is definitely the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. (Details included in my next horror film.) But despite all the unbelievable struggles, if given the choice, I’d do it all again. The film helped me learn so much about myself—my culture, my power as a woman, how to face and fight my fears—not to mention how to make a film. Though I have to say that perhaps the most important thing I learned by making The Cry is that nothing is more fulfilling, empowering and magical than pouring your heart and soul into a dream and making it come true.

As per La Llorona, we’ve been together for many years now, and I know her well—perhaps better than anyone else on the face of the earth. And although I no longer fear her, I am now more certain of one thing than I ever was before: There’s nothing worse than a mother who murders her child…and La Llorona is real.



I hope you enjoyed Bernadine's article.

Please visit Bernadine's Sites and check out her wonderful work:

www.TheCryTheMovie.com

www.TheCry.typepad.com/thecry/

email: TheCry@LaLlorona.com

And one more true story.

My Grandpa Roy told me this story when I was a kid.

Most of his adult life, my grandpa worked for the movie studios-- MGM, RKO, Warner Brothers. At various times he worked for them as a horse wrangler, grip, and greensman. Sometimes he just did whatever needed doing on the set. One day, back in the 1930's, he was asked to pick up a truck in Hollywood and deliver it over the hill to the WB facilities in the Valley.

Now Grandpa Roy had a grandfather named James who visited him quite frequently. On this particular day, Great-Grandpa James joined Grandpa Roy for the ride over the hill. Back in 1930's there were no freeways as there are today, and travel to and from the Valley required negotiating narrow, twisting canyon roads. The route they took that day was over Cold Water Canyon Road.

As James sat in the passenger side of the truck, my grandpa Roy began the ascent up the road. James was quiet, as was his nature, but just before the truck reached the top of the grade, James turned to Grandpa Roy and said "You need to check the brakes before you start that downhill grade. You won't make it if you don't."

Grandpa Roy had always followed his grandfather's advice so he pulled over to the side of the road. He got out and slid under the truck for a look. Sure enough, there was a problem with the brakes, and had he proceeded down the grade more than likely they would have failed and he would have careened out of control.

I don't remember what Grandpa Roy said about how he got the truck down the hill. I don't remember because I got stuck on what Grandpa said next about Great-Grandpa James riding along with him.

You see, Great-Grandpa James was dead and had been for many, many years.

Lori Gloyd (c) 2006

Welcome To The Danse

Feeling Brave?



Visit Anita's Owl Creek Bridge to learn the Strange History of
the Soul Food Cafe's Chamber of Horrors at:

http://anita64.wordpress.com/2006/10/15/strange-tale-from-the-chamber-of-horrors/

MANY HAPPY RETURNS

by Anita Marie Moscoso



Slumber Boneset doesn’t celebrate her birthday because she’s not sure of the exact date and that’s always been a sore spot for Slumber Boneset because she’s sure of a lot of things.

She’s sure about what the weather is going to be like, she’s sure of what it is people are thinking even when they’re saying something else and she’s always sure about where her six children and 14 grandchildren are and how they’re doing.

Over the years people have made their way to Slumber Boneset’s House by moonlight and for a few dollars she can help them with solve all sorts of problems.

So to not know something as basic as her own birth date has kept Slumber Boneset humble.

The plus side to this embarrassing situation is that it makes for a good story that her children and grandchildren insist on hearing every November 1st.

That’s when they celebrate Slumber Boneset’s Found Day.

” Oh you don’t want to hear that sad tired old story again! ” she said to her family over the dinner table last November.

” Yes we do! ” the youngest Boneset insisted in a panic “Your story is the best Halloween Story ever!”

Slumber started to laugh and asked her daughter, “ are you sure you want another one these?”

“ More then anything” she told her Mother and Slumber motioned for her grandson to take a seat.

Then Slumber sighed and she agreed to tell her story.



Someone got up and lit the candles and someone else made sure everyone had their spiced apple cider cups filled and then the lights were turned off and Slumber said:




Stonecrop Cemetery and Funeral Home is just a Park nowadays and there hasn’t been a funeral there for years.

Sixty –five years ago though it was still struggling along.

The problem was Stonecrop looked like a page from a Victorian Ghost Story about headless women dressed in white wandering along the rows of tombstones.

No one really wanted to visit there let alone have their remains interred there for all of eternity so business was slowing down and going out to Larkspear which was an up can coming style of cemetery complete with dark green manicured lawns and park benches and reflection pools full of fresh clean water.

Mr and Mrs. Cabbagetree were the owners of Stonecrop and all around they were good people who tended their dark overgrown cemetery the best they could.

But because it was so old already there was little to no money coming in and what repairs were needed they did on their own and they really didn’t mind. Stonecrop was their home and besides each other they didn’t have anything else.

They had each other and if you asked that was all they said they needed.

One morning Mrs. Cabbagetree was out in the Cemetery raking leaves and trying her best to visit the graves as she worked. She was pushing her rake along when a sharp pain raced up her arm to her jaw and it took her breath away.

” I’m only 42 ” she said to no one and then the rake fell from her hands and she died.




Mrs. Cabbagetree was buried on Morningside Hill, that’s where the children were buried in Stonecrop and I’m sorry to say it was an extensive section of the cemetery…infant mortality having been such a problem all those years ago.

” I know she wanted children, ” Mr Cabbagetree told on his friends at the graveside of Mrs. Cabbagetree ” and did she insist or even bring it up? Not once, she knew what this place meant to me, she worked so hard Burke and in the end that’s all she had to.”

” It’s not right, she should have had something of her own. She should have had that child”

Everyone said Mr Cabbagetree wasn’t the same after he lost his wife. He walked slow and talked slow and you almost wanted to reach out and touch his arm to make sure he was there.

He was already a ghost and when he died no one was surprised.

They found him one day sitting by a reflection pool full of leaves and his eyes were wide open and in his dead hands was a baby’s rattle and a black shawl.

After Mr Cabbagetree died the City started to bring in their own maintenance crews to keep up Stonecrop and one day they opened the gates and the first thing they saw were at least a dozen mounds of freshly turned earth dotting Morningside Hill.

Mrs. Cabbagetree’ s grave was opened and when they looked in she had a shovel in her hands and a smile on her face.



It was the Day after Halloween that the work crews returned to Stonecrop and before they could unlock the gates and go in they saw a little box sitting off to the side…. and it was moving.

One of them looked into the box and there, wrapped in a black shawl with a tag sewn onto the collar that said ” Slumber Boneset ” was a baby.

She had black hair and her skin was a soft caramel color and one of her eyes was midnight black and the other was ice blue and besides that she was perfect.

” So that’s my story, I was known for a long time as the Cemetery Baby and some people think I have the gift … but we know better then that, don’t we? ” Slumber asked.

From the other end of the table Slumber’s eldest daughter said, ” Mom, I think it’s time.”

” Yes it is…. please someone get my Shawl from my bedroom closet. Yes, the black one of course. After all, this is a special occasion.”

Slumber raced down the hall to the kitchen and when she returned she had a shovel in one hand and a baby’s rattle in the other. ” Let’s go dear, I’m ready.“

Here comes the circus!

Circo de los Muertos is coming to Halloween Hill to celebrate All Hallow's Eve and the Day of the Dead! You'll see skull jugglers, bone balancers, thighbone stilt walkers, and many other ghastly - er ghostly - attractions.
Buy your ticket at the door, enjoy the show but get out of there before they bring on the clowns!

The Theatre

The Theatre

The theatre was old and hidden away in an alley that was once a place of high entertainment—a playground of the rich and cultured, with up-scale clubs and restaurants. All that is left now is the alley, a dark and dingy place with crumbling buildings… except the theatre which has managed somehow to hold on to its façade of faded grandeur.

I walk toward the entrance, stepping gingerly through a carpet of litter. The once grand double doors hang crazily on loosened hinges. Though somewhat afraid, I stand in the dim light behind rows of faded, dusty crimson seats where once the rich in gowns and tuxes sat.

What’s that I hear? Can it be music? The sound is so far away that is barely recognizable.
I walk down the centre aisle and take a seat in front, in one of the most expensive seats and stare at a stage festooned in dangling cobwebs that appear to be disturbed by a breeze from somewhere beyond the wings. It is eerie. I want to run, but I am glued to this old seat that when I move it creaks.

Suddenly and from out of nowhere, I hear an overture so loud and clear, and in the pit, an orchestra is playing. The musicians are dressed in tuxes—skeletons dressed in tuxes. Their instruments, though dulled with age, are sweet of sound. And there before me, the curtains of cobwebs part and on stage are the dancers, skeletons dressed in colorful costumes. They are dancing together in pairs and in chorus lines. Then, for the grand finale, swordsmen skeletons, some dressed in shiny white armor, some in dark rush on stage where the battle begins. It was an extravaganza, an opera wherein the white bones fight the dark and evil ones. There is no blood, of course, just shattered bones. Clackity clack... the sounds are deafening, but in the end the skeletons of purity defeat the dark bones of evil.

Then, as suddenly as the show began, it ends. The curtains of cobwebs drop and the stage darkens again, I leave the old and forgotten theatre knowing that always there is something to be learned… even from old bones—

A week or so later, I returned to the alley thinking to photograph the old theatre, but there was nothing left except a pile of rubble… bricks and bits of mortar. The theatre it seemed had not stood the test of time after all—had I?

Vi Jones
©October 6, 2006

Suffer The Children

At Last!! This tale will be where it was meant to be!!!

PART 1

She hadn’t known a moment without worry since the last of the adults had Passed Over. She alone was responsible for two-dozen hungry mouths, there was never enough to go around, and often she went without so the children wouldn’t be hungry. Food was hard to come by in the middle of nowhere, until she got old enough to move the whole clan closer to a big city they would have to make do.

Food was searched for as often and as much as could be dared; always, always with the fear of getting caught nagging at her and disturbing her concentration. Without her all the children would die, and that was unthinkable, she would die before letting the little ones wither away from constant hunger. With as little food as she was able to find there was never enough to fill everyone’s bellies.

She pictured herself, her translucent skin, depthless black eyes and cloud of silver blonde, wavy hair suited the cast of her features. She closed her eyes; they were what ancient Oriental cultures call ‘Dragon’s Eyes’; long, slanting, heavily lashed, and seeming to be half-lidded all the time. . Her eyes were the sort that compels you to lock gazes and listen. Pursing her lush mouth briefly, the lips startlingly red, teetering on the edge of a smile at all times, with a small frown between her eyebrows she checked every youngling tenderly.

All her clothes were carefully chosen to play off the striking colouring she had, black, deep blues and greens, occasionally crisp white or the shade of a blood ruby. She chose styles that were flowing and made of light, soft materials accentuating the ethereal, almost incorporeal quality to her appearance.

A trick of light could have her looking old far beyond her years, as though she had already seen how ugly mankind could be. Her habit of ducking her head when she began to smile loaned her an air of old fashioned shyness. Blessed with a soft, sweet voice, her words fell like flower petals to drift slowly into your consciousness.

Tonight it was bitterly cold, and sleet fell, sharp blades of frozen rain that slapped against her cheeks; standing in the night air, feeling numb and woozy from hunger; she looked up at the sliver of a waning moon, distant and uninterested in her situation. There had to be food out here somewhere, there just had to!!

Knowing that she was far too tired, and battered by the elements, she listened, and searched the darkness with desperate eyes. There! She’d located some food; the children wouldn’t be as hungry tonight. Her search was always brief, and carefully orchestrated to avoid damage to the food. It was not enough, but it was all she could get on her own.

Tonight, however, there were problems actually getting her hands on the food; by the time she had it in her hands she knew she would have to hurry to get it home in time for them to go to bed at a decent hour.

Back home, she patiently fed all the younglings while they cried in hunger and desperation. There was barely a mouthful, maybe two, for her when their hunger was muted. As late as it had grown, there was barely time to settle all the littlest ones to sleep, and send the middle third, before she and the three oldest ones bid sweet dreams to one another.

Disturbing her restless sleep, the voice of hunger resonated through her, straining all joy from her dreams, and leaving bitter whey in her memory. Her own voice was slurred, falling upon deaf walls and soundless bed. Over and over she awakened, then, hissing in frustration, struggle to return to her rest.

Another night, the same as any other, except for expanding their search areas, hoping to have the efforts pay off quickly. By accident, she had discovered the diner, and marked it mentally as a place to get food for the younglings. Tonight, everyone had fed well, and she had even managed to soften the hunger-cries in her bones.

The little ones had drifted off with the rosy cheeks of good sleep, still snuggling with the older children. Everyone felt the glow from a truly good meal there had even been laughter, so rarely heard recently.

All the clan had been able to bed down comfortably and drift into restful, healing sleep. She even noted a soft flush in her cheeks, “Now that is better, we’re supposed to look like this all the time.”

”I’m old enough to help Sister, It will get better then.” The next oldest, a tall, lean boy with wavy masses of nearly black hair, and catlike golden brown eyes, already marked by their struggles.
“Not yet love, you’ve still more to learn. If you don’t learn it, you will never be able to make it in this world.” Her voice was soft, pitched low enough to not disturb the young ones.

“Please, you’re always so tired, and pale. I get afraid that you won’t come back some morning. I need to help.” Already the young man knew how to get his older sister to let him do what he wanted to.

“All right, you can come with me, there are things that you can’t understand until you have seen them firsthand” She sighed, and tossed a smile to him. “You must give me your Blood Oath that you will do exactly what I say, without questions.”

He paused for a long moment, he could hear the hum of the power lines overhead. “I give my Blood Oath, I will do as you say.”

Sister sighed, knowing what a shock her brother was in for. Everything he had gotten drilled into him from the very beginning had best be clearly understood. When they were in the middle of looking for food was not the time for him to become rebellious, or worse, impatient.

PART 2

Brother was almost shaking in excitement, anticipating his first time along with Sister, He thought she had taught them well, even the slower children understood what she teaching. This would be the test of her skills, if he succeeded, she would be more comfortable with taking the ones that were old enough to go out and search along with her on a regular basis.


He had so many ideas to help in their unusual situation, yet many rules held them fast in this draining state. How wonderful it would be to see the young ones go to bed with full tummies every night! Ah!!! To finally be able to see them growing, and maturing as they ought!!


Everything he had learned spun in his head, while his pores contracted in excitement, his pale skin appeared to have been polished like marble. At last he would start to help, as he had dreamed of doing for longer than Sister would ever know.


As soon as he would be able to search on his own, the next oldest Brother wanted to go out. That would surely turn the tide, and then they would be able to move to the city. They would have so many opportunities there, far more than here in the middle of nowhere.


Before he was truly aware of it, he and Sister were on their way, moving so easily that he felt as if he were floating a few inches off the ground. A wave of euphoria shook him until he was getting light headed and couldn’t help a giggle of delight.


Sister kept a portion of her attention on her sibling, it couldn’t be predicted how someone would react to their first taste of adulthood. She felt that her brother would take to it so easily that she would soon be taking another sib along.


After they had spent weeks polishing his attention to detail and sense of timing, before they went looking for food. He was pleased that everything he had pointed out was a possibility, surely he would settle into his role fast.


Having both of them working as a team, they were able to find more food, not always what they wished, but there was no more going to bed with empty tummies. At last the younger ones began to grow, still too slowly, but they were growing.


It wasn’t two full months before he was allowed to go out on his own. Determined to prove himself capable of being a provider, he carefully selected the food he knew would be best for everyone. The first time he found good food, he showed up at home with all pomp and circumstance, and found that the smallest of the younglings had Passed Over.


While the others fed messily, and talked between bites, with food smeared on their faces, Brother took the tiny girl and prepared her to be interred. He styled the honey blonde hair, and thought of the times she had look up to him so trustingly, full of confidence in her oldest brother.


When Sister returned she wept openly, bidding her farewell to the child curled in a foetal shape. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy as she rocked the child, crooning broken snatches of song between her sniffles.


Finally, Brother was able to wrest the body away from her, and carry it to the place reserved for those who had Passed Over. As Sister wept softly, with too many young ones crying for her, he placed the Traditional Cover on the Resting Place and whispered a sad prayer.


The clan walked slowly back to their home, and tried to rest, despite the sadness staining the air. Sister heard many restless sounds as she was begging for sleep.


It didn’t take long for her to accept that it was going to be one of those nights. Sighing slowly, she slid, snake silent, from her bed and stole her way to the stereo in the dark. She tapped the speaker button off, and plugged in the headphones.


Part 3


Rapt in velvet darkness she joined with the music, swaying and posturing shamelessly, in the womb of sound she sought surcease. She felt as though she were floating above the floor, and was but feathers away from flight.


A faint, reminiscent smile hovered in her cheeks, and her cheeks were modelled by the shadow of eyelashes, even her head moved with the music.


With her mouth parted a whisper and her hips swaying in smoky counterpoint, the hemline of the faded thin nightshirt began to move as if alive. Were anyone to see her she would seem a vision, something perhaps elfin and fey.


Her big toe and a sliver of sole were all that was connecting with the soft carpet. When she leaned back her hair spread like ice shards on the carpet.


At last, the song arrived; it called to her restless spirit and drew the most sensuous motions from her heart. She slowed, breathing through her open mouth.

She seemed to be rocking herself in the shadows, until the guitar cried through her.
She went from provocative to pleading with a tilt of her hair, and her arms uncrossed. Her hands moved with the sway of warning cobras, slowly moving Heavenward.


“Darkness, darkness,
Be my pillow…”


Robert Plant’s evocative treatment of the lyrics unclenched her heart and she was lost between the notes, begging the presence of each one, moving in a glory of understanding.


“Take my head
And let me sleep.”


Her face was highlighted with tears, and her fragile hands were beseeching blurs of pallor. She looked the ghost of some danseuse, dead of broken dreams.


Limber and utterly focussed, she slid into the harmonics of Plant’s “Little By Little”. Her mind went into deep Alpha state, and the relaxation spread outward to soothe everyone into gentle sleep.


When every breath was slow and even, she began to change her movements until she swayed almost imperceptibly. At last the sweet sag of sleepiness coiled through her muscles, she crawled gratefully into her bed and closed her eyes.


PART 4

He knew they were out there, the orphans, and he knew he must find them before any more younglings were lost. Who would have thought someone that young could have accomplished what the girl was doing?


He reached out, seeking a connexion with her, a way to channel strength in her direction. All he sensed was the sleeping patterns of the orphans.


He sighed in frustration then slowed his mind until he was in a conscious Alpha State. He tasted the restfulness she had created and gifted to her charges.


The rift had gone on far too long, children were never meant to bear this much responsibility. She should be dreaming of the first time she is allowed to be out with a young man, not struggling to feed that many rapacious mouths.


Knowing it futile to rue the past, and practicing it are two very different things. As he walked the streets his thoughts remained on the girl; what she could become, given the chance.


He insinuated himself in the rhythms of her dreams, and sent thoughts of acceptance, and the desire to help. Still, he was kept from knowing where they were.


His own sister had run away with her lover when Father had forbid them to court. As a consequence, the first time his sister had birthed she died of the effort, leaving a mate prostrated in grief.


The loss was felt through all the Clans, so much hope had been focussed on his sister. She had the chance to help secure peace with the Western Clans, she wedded a Western Clansman, aye, but it was a serf, not the heir apparent.


Now, another rebellious woman’s passion, had orphaned her first birthing, it was her eldest, a daughter, that Shone, she had the Gift of the Blood. She should be pampered, and protected; not shivering on shadowed byways struggling to be an entire family through her slight form.


He knew her Blood ran true, he had felt her Dance, and the energy she could harness. For all those years he had always thought no one could outshine their Mother, until he felt the touch of that lovely lass.


“Ah, Damn!!” He scowled at the night and a cat snarled his way up a tree, every hair rigid with fright. A gleam of feral eye and flash of teeth meant to kill, then the cat was gone, fled to another portion of its territory.


His restless wanderings took him to quiet, affluent neighbourhood. Behind doors so quick to open was where that girl should be going.

PART 5


Brother was maturing too quickly, mastering things he should not have for years yet, and he thrived on it. He grew, seemingly, every day. He had flawless taste, and a daring sense of theatrics.


Tonight he looked his ragged best, every inch the lost child he was. She knew where he was going, the truck stop at the far border of the area they could search in one day.


Always, always sneaking, and making do, they were slowly fading towards extinction. Sister was weaker all the time, and as the younglings grew they needed food in distressing quantities.


Already the rumours were spreading, tales of ghosts, and curses were roused and settled into everyone’s thoughts. They would be found out too soon. And that would be the end of everything that they knew.


He carefully faded into the background while he was searching for food. There were less and less chances for good food, and he lived with a grippe of fear niggling at him every second.


Often he let food pass by for one of many reasons, not the least of which was safety. Sister played the Laws almost every time they slept and had them answer questions about them that she tossed at them randomly.


One man watched him every night, noting every detail, his sun blonde hair, sleepy violet eyes, and a dimple clinging to the corner of his full-lipped pout. He had skin the colour of gold dust in the wind, the texture seemed to be burnished, yet he was still pale and delicate of frame.


He wore clothes in shades of butterscotch, cocoa brown, antique gold, and creams. When he wasn’t playing the pitiful stray child, he dressed like a miniature executive, impeccable and immaculate clothes draped elegantly from his shoulders.


His clothes were a camouflage; no one really noticed a well-dressed, polite young man slipping quietly through a crowded restaurant.


Occasionally, someone would feel his presence, and rarely, know, that was when he would put into practice the ways and whys of distraction.


Finally, second Brother was old enough to start looking and he stuck by Sister’s side for as little time as they dared. First brother was free to seek another territory and start his own life. But, he took a share of the younglings with him, to ease Sister’s burden.


Even with the drop in hungry mouths to feed there was still a struggle to stay barely alive. When he could, first Brother brought food to Sister’s brood.


At the same time he worried. He could see the beginnings of The Change coming upon her.


Soon she would have no choice but to seek a mate and who would want her?


She still had so many hungry younglings, and was nearly ready to start on her own clan. First Brother embarked on a Quest, to find a fit mate for Sister.


It seemed that everywhere he went, he could find no one, just hints and half-perceived intuitings. The Moon waxed and waned, then waxed and waned again and no one had appeared that he deemed worthy of Sister.


It was now becoming imperative that a mate be found, the Signs of Imminent Change were clear. Sister began to solidify, despite the denials she had forced on her system. Her figure had bloomed and now she was becoming provocative in her mannerisms.


She was embarrassed, and at the same time sorrowful. She too, knew what was happening. Soon she would have to send out the call. She didn’t want to, she wasn’t guaranteed of finding a fit mate in all this lonesome, or even a poor one.


PART 6



He felt the first ticklings of the girl’s Change arriving, and began to send a matching response. Every moment he was awake he kept thoughts of her in his mind’s eye.


As he was out and about of an autumnal day he stumbled across her scent, ripe and compelling, he began to follow this to the source. At last he saw her, from the way she held herself he could see the worry and doubt in every line of her.


She looked at her latest meal, she had enjoyed every drop, without thought of the younglings. Agitated to the point she was unaware of her actions, she involuntarily hissed at the secrets within the shadows.


The urge rose in him, primal and insatiable, and he fought it down with great effort. He truly enjoyed his time with every female who had accepted his advances, and he was determined to make their time something to be savoured.


There was a quality of childhood games in the suit, advance and retreat, innocent touches. While all clan members could witness the courtship, the consummation would be private and remain so.


But, he must gain her acceptance, and trust, in time for the Change. Her scent grew stronger, and his own desire led him to her Home.


She stood in an open space, alone and aloof, her head tipped back. There were three other men in attendance already, yet two hissed before leaving in frustration.


The one that was left, locked eyes with him, it was perhaps two breaths and the third looked away in defeat, then slid into the shadows.


She turned to him, her eyes were as intense as an Elder’s and an air of distraction swirled around her. “How did they, and you, find me, and…”


“It can’t be that Time yet, I still have younglings to feed!!” Her voice was desperate, the cry of the hunted.


“I want to help.” He offered proof in food, good and fresh, enough to feed them for days.


They were gaze locked, and motionless, then she turned her hands palm up, as the Laws prescribe.


“I accept your Suit.” She would now be with him until her first birthing was survived, and she had enough help without his presence.


Then she would have the option to accept or refuse his suit again. After three acceptances they were legally an accepted pairing.


“Now, my dear, give me nibbles then let us feed the younglings until they fall asleep feeding.” The traditional nibbles were barely hard enough to draw blood. Their blood was mingled, and they were now engaged in the fashion of their People.

He began to feed the younglings with the confidence of experience.



She looked at the younglings, slurping their food greedily. With a sigh of relief she buried her fangs in her scarred wrist and then offered it to the nearest mouth in the writhing cluster of youngling Vampyrs, in the thicker larval sacs their only truly recognisable feature was their gleaming fangs.