The Mysterious Drip
Drip, drip, drip.
What was that dripping sound coming from the hotel room above him?
Ever since he had returned back to his hotel room, he had heard that dripping sound.
He phoned the desk downstairs.
No answer.
Hm, maybe he should walk down to the desk in person.
No, he’ll just walk up to the hotel floor above him and knock on the door of the room above him.
When he walked up to the floor above him, he noticed the door of the room directly above him was open.
He walked into the room.
There impaled on the ceiling with coat hangers was an elderly couple who dripped blood on to the floor.
The man picked up the phone in the room and once again tried phoning the desk.
Still no answer.
The man ran downstairs to the main floor.
He approached the desk, peered over it and noticed the hotel clerk had been torn to shreds on the floor.
The man went into shock.
A previous guest who was unregistered had already checked out of the hotel (without paying) half an hour before.
The Were-Zomb-ire.
To be continued.
Renfield’s Music Video- The Killing of Natalia
Dracul Van Helsing had been invited to a meeting with Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell the Executive Vice-President of Aulos Music and Recording.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Van Helsing,” the record exec shook the vampire hunter’s hand, “I thought I would see you while that insidious individual Renfield R. Renfield still lies in a coma in a hospital here in London.”
“I understand he kidnapped and held your pet cat, Oysterella hostage last year,” the vampire hunter stated sympathetically.
Oysterella jumped up on Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell’s lap and started purring.
“Yes, and my poor pussy has never been the same, have you?” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell started stroking Oysterella.
“You brought me here to see something?” Van Helsing asked.
“Yes, you may have heard that Renfield R. Renfield occasionally flies out to California to make hard-core porn videos,” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell straightened his wire-rimmed glasses.
“Yes, so I’ve heard,” Van Helsing nodded, “I also understand he freelances hard-core interrogation techniques on terrorist suspects for both the CIA and Scotland Yard.”
“Yes, they say he was the one who finally broke the camel’s back in the hunt to find Osama bin Laden’s whereabouts last summer,” sniffed Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell.
“Yes, it’s my understanding that the particular suspect he was questioning Abdullah bin Mohammed was somewhat of a pervert as any Arabic ruler of Masons posing as a lapsed Seventh Day Adventist would be,” Van Helsing sat down, “and the said Abdullah bin Mohammed really loved his camel in more ways than one. He would gladly walk more than a mile for his camel to paraphrase old cigarette ads of mid-20th century America. And so when Renfield broke his camel’s back which meant no more humping between Abdullah bin Mohammed and his camel, that’s when the said bestial pervert broke down and finally revealed the whereabouts of Osama bin Laden’s hideout in the compound near the Pakistani military base at Abbottabad. And the rest as they say is history.”
“What’s become of Abdullah bin Mohammed now?” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell asked.
“I believe he’s currently a would-be serial killer with his own blog where he writes down his rambling incoherent pseudo-intellectual idiocies that only appeal to nutty female New Agers who are very much into New Age psychobabble and alleged self-esteem and self-improvement preaching,” Van Helsing replied.
“Oh, one of those,” Heathcliff sniffed.
“You said you have something to show me?” Van Helsing again asked.
“Yes, I was told that Renfield R. Renfield played a huge part in the scripting and making of this rather disturbing music video, I was wanting you to watch it and tell me what you think of it,” said Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell, “I suppose you’ve heard of Monarch programming?”.
“The programming and brainwashing techniques that were developed by the Nazi SS in the late 1930s and then later adapted by the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency in several infamous brainwashing experiments of the 1950s?” Van Helsing queried.
“That’s right,” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell nodded, “I think our friend Renfield R. Renfield seems to be an expert in this area of Monarch programming.”
Summoning The Ghost of Alexander VI The Borgia Pope
Having summoned Hitler’s ghost in Berlin the night before, Herr Hans flew to Rome the following day (Sunday, May 1st 2011) to perform his own little ceremony in opposition to Pope Benedict XVI’s beatification of Pope John Paul II.
At the same time as Benedict was beatifying John Paul, Herr Hans was at the tomb of the Borgia Pope Alexander VI in the Church of Santa Maria in Monserrato degli Spagnoli in Rome.
He was using the same Druidic book of black magic spells with which he had summoned Adolf Hitler’s ghost to summon the ghost of Rodrigo Lanzol Borgia (January 1st 1431- August 18th 1503) known to history as the notorious and infamous Pope Alexander VI (who reigned as Pope from August 11th 1492- August 18th 1503).
As the Church bells of Rome tolled at the announcement of John Paul II”s beatification, the ghost of Rodrigo Lanzol Borgia (Pope Alexander VI) appeared to a smiling Herr Hans.
Behind Borgia’s ghost was a horned figure who spoke the same words that Giovanni di Lorenzo de’ Medici (later Pope Leo X) spoke at the time of Rodrigo Lanzol Cardinal Borgia’s election as Pope Alexander VI,
“Now we are in the power of a wolf, the most rapacious perhaps that this world has ever seen. “
Above the tomb of Alexander VI, these words were burned in the air (a paraphrase of the second sentence of Giovanni di Lorenzo de’ Medici’s statement upon Borgia’s election as Pope Alexander VI),
“And citizens of Urbi et Orbi (the city and the world) if you do not flee, he will inevitably devour you all.”
To be continued.
Summoning Hitler’s Ghost On Walpurgis Night
Herr Hans was an Osiris-worshipping Roman Catholic priest.
Although according to certain extremist anti-Catholic Protestant Fundamentalist sects, all Roman Catholic priests were really Osiris worshippers.
Nevertheless Herr Hans was one who really did worship Osiris.
He worshipped the ancient Egyptian vampire Osiris and anxiously looked forward to Osiris’ return to Earth from a planet orbiting the star Sirius in 2012 (where Osiris had been exiled as a result of a powerful black magic spell cast on him by his brother the ancient Egyptian vampire Set millenia ago).
Tonight Herr Hans was in Berlin, Germany at the site where Hitler’s bunker had been located.
Tonight Herr Hans was using an ancient Druidic black magic spell to see if he could raise Adolf Hitler’s ghost.
It was 66 years ago today- the date of Walpurgis Night (an important festival on the calendar of the old ancient Germanic pagan religion) that Adolf Hitler had committed suicide with Eva Braun in the Bunker as Soviet troops advanced on the Nazi capital of the Third Reich.
The reason Herr Hans was trying to raise Hitler’s ghost was because of Herr Hans’ love and worship and adoration of Earth mother goddess Gaia.
Dear Mother Earth couldn’t afford to have six billion people living on her according to Herr Hans’ reasoning and that of some of his fellow elitists.
The optimum population for the living organism Gaia was 1 billion people.
Hence 5 billion people would have to go.
And thus Herr Hans’ reasoning as to why Hitler’s ghost should be summoned and brought back from the dead.
It wasn’t because Herr Hans was racist.
He wasn’t.
After all, racism was politically incorrect in Herr Hans’ reasoning.
Herr Hans wouldn’t say that racism was inherently morally wrong because Herr Hans was a moral relativist and didn’t believe in such things as right and wrong or good and evil.
Herr Hans was like Nietzsche’s ubermensch (Overman) in that he was beyond good and evil.
Like all philosophical adherents of Nietzsche, he conveniently neglected the fact that the late philosopher had spent the last years of his life living in a state of insanity.
No, it wasn’t because of racism that Herr Hans was hoping to bring back Hitler from the dead.
It was because of the Fuhrer’s expertise in genocide and extermination.
If 5 billion people needed to be eliminated from the Earth so that dear living organism planetary Mother Gaia could live in celestial bliss and peace and harmony in the coming Age of Aquarius, Hitler’s ghost was the entity that could do it.
So Herr Hans opened the book of Druidic black magic spells (unlike Herr Hans’ Bible, this book didn’t need the dust blown off it) and proceeded to speak the words and cast the spell…
… and summon Hitler’s ghost…
… on this…
… Walpurgus Night…
To be continued.
Spirit of Victor Frankenstein Lives On In 3 Mad Scientists
So, having agreed on a plan of action, the three scientists left the George And Dragon Pub just a few minutes after midnight on Easter Sunday morning April 24th 2011.
Their first stop was the Scotland Yard lab where Dr. Nicht Werhoffen removed from a jar what was left of the brain of Giza Investments Ltd. CEO Trevor Fontaine.
They then dropped by the Set Enterprises lab where Dr. Cadbury Rocher removed from a jar part of the heart of the ancient Egyptian deity Atum-Ra.
Dr. Sterling Makabo then went to see a Gypsy spiritist medium (a real one who could actually see spirits and not just claimed to see spirits) named Psychedelia to accompany them to Highgate Cemetery and on the way see if there were any disembodied spirits wandering the streets of London in search of a body.
It just so happened there was.
The spirit of the slain ancient Egyptian vampire Horus was busy wandering the streets of London ever since he lost his earthly channel Trevor Fontaine.
The three scientists and Psychedelia invited him along for the nocturnal ride (metaphorically speaking).
They then arrived at Highgate Cemetery where Dr. Nicht Werhoffen’s Stasi burglary break-and-enter skills came in handy.
They entered the mausoleum of Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell where Dr. Cadbury Rocher had heard the body of the slain and popular Death Heavy Metal Lord Stryker had been put.
They took the lid off the sarcophagus where Stryker’s body lay.
Dr. Werhoffen made an incision in Stryker’s skull where he poured in pieces of Trevor Fontaine’s brain.
He then sewed up the incision.
Dr. Rocher made an incision into Stryker’s heart where he then inserted part of the heart of Atum-Ra.
He then sewed up the incision.
Dr. Sterling Makabo then used his black magic skills to re-animate Stryker’s corpse and bring it back to life.
As the corpse was re-animated, the Gypsy medium Psychedelia told the disembodied vampiric spirit of Horus to now enter the body.
Of course at that moment, the ghost of the Heavy Metal rocker Stryker also happened to walk by and seeing his body restored to life- likewise chose to re-enter his body at the same time as the spirit of Horus.
Makabo cast the spell sealing the spirits inside the body at that moment.
“Shit, you’ve got two spirits in there,” Dr. Nicht Werhoffen cried out.
“Oh well, this Resurrected entity will just happen to have a split personality,” Dr. Cadbury Rocher shrugged, “maybe in his spare time he can get a blog at Xanga since there are a number of Xanga bloggers who seem to have split and multiple personalities.”
“We must take him back to the Set Enterprises lab to inject him with that eternal life synthetic blood you’re working on,” Dr. Makabo said.
“Indeed,” Rocher agreed.
At that moment, the 3 scientists and the gypsy medium could hear drunken shouting nearby.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Werhoffen.
The other two scientists and the gypsy medium followed leaving behind a totally confused Resurrected entity inside the mausoleum.
The drunken shouting was being done by a British bank executive who was shouting to the dead (in case, they could hear it) that Communism would probably rise again.
And this was what Mikhail Gorbachev planned all along, the banker shouted.
Unlike others in the Soviet Politbureau who were just in it for the power, Gorbachev was a Marxist-Leninist true believer.
So Gorbachev let the eastern European satellites go and allowed for the dissolution of the Soviet Union knowing that the West would be lulled to sleep.
And when the inevitable collapse of total laissez-faire capitalism came as Gorbachev knew it would, the globalized interconnected and inter-related and interdependent nations of the world would willingly embrace a Marxist one-world government.
The banker then started vomiting over Karl Marx’s tomb.
And continued to vomit there the rest of the night and early morning.
Until Stryker’s three mini-skirted groupie young women happened to pass him.
And the 3 women would spot the empty tomb.
And would see the empty coffin.
And Miranda the redhead would be the first to see the risen Stryker that Easter Sunday morn.
To be continued.
It’s Saturday… The Day After Friday… And Tomorrow’s Sunday
The Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing and the South Korean vampire huntress Hyung Crace Kwan were having coffee in a Parisienne cafe after having attended Easter Vigil Evening Vespers at Notre Dame Cathedral.
Hyung was dressed in a black blouse and black skirt and black silk nylons and black spiked stiletto heels.
“So what are you thinking about?” Hyung asked the Canadian vampire hunter.
“About how Good Friday and Lenin’s birthday fell on the same day this year,” Dracul replied.
“That’s right, they did,” Hyung nodded, “yesterday was April 22nd.”
“Many people don’t know that’s why Earth Day is celebrated on April 22nd,” Dracul stated, “back in the 1960s and 1970s, the Soviet KGB had heavily penetrated both the upper levels of the United Nations and the environmental movement in the Western world. So when the date was selected for the very first Earth Day in 1970. April 22nd 1970 was chosen since that would have been Lenin’s 100th birthday.”
“So are Marxists still heavily involved in Earth Day celebrations?” Hyung asked.
“Not since the collapse of the Soviet Union, no,” Dracul shook his head, “it’s mainly run by New Agers and Gaia earth-goddess worshipping neo-Pagans now.”
“But still celebrated on Lenin’s birthday,” Hyung said.
“Yes, Lenin seems to be one very green corpse,” Dracul remarked.
* * *
Renfield R. Renfield was sitting in a Piccadilly Circus restaurant and eating a tuna fish sandwich recalling how he had spent his Good Friday.
Early in the wee hours of Good Friday morning, Renfield had nailed the heavy metal rocker Stryker (nailed him quite literally) both hands and feet to the rafters of London’s latest trendiest discoteque and nightclub.
Renfield ripped off the rocker’s clothes and threw them to screaming female fans on the floor below where they played World of Warcraft on their smart phones and whoever got the highest score would be entitled to a portion of the metal rocker’s clothing.
At one point, Stryker let out a cry, “Lama, lama, deli-sabama?” which being interpreted is “Where the Hell did I leave my car keys?”.
“This man calls for the Dalai Lama,” some pot-smoking doper shouted.
“Let’s see whether the Dalai Lama comes to save him,” another doper cried out.
“The Dalai Lama isn’t coming,” a psychedlic mini dress wearing blonde with glazed eyes said after 5 minutes had passed.
“Bummer,” a doped-out dopey looking nerd with glasses and curly hair remarked, “I was wanting to ask him where he bought his orange robes. And then I was going to ask him if he knew of any place that sold apple or grapefruit robes as well.”
Then Stryker said, “I thirst.”
A groupie in a black leather mini skirt pulled up her skirt and pulled down her pantyhose and panties and removed her tampon. She then put her tampon on one of the lounge’s cool looking bamboo poles and held it up to Stryker’s lips where he drank.
Renfield then grabbed a customer’s samurai sword and went and cut off Stryker’s erect phallus.
“My penis, my penis,” Stryker screamed, “why hast thou forsaken me?”.
“He’s bleeding all over me!” a doper shouted.
“Father,” Stryker looked down towards what lay beneath the dance floor, “Into thy hands, I commend my spirit.”
He then gave up the ghost.
Then the power and the electricity and the lights went out.
A doper flicked his cigarette lighter open and said, “Truly, this man was the Son of Belial.”
* * *
Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell organized a group of the nightclub bouncers who took down Stryker’s body and wrapped it in a blanket.
He then told the bouncers to go to Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell’s own tomb in London’s Highgate Cemetery and bury the body there.
And they did so.
* * *
And Renfield still had not received an invitation to attend Prince William’s and Kate Middleton’s wedding.
And spilling some loose change on the floor of the restaurant, Renfield went out into the night into the bright lights of Piccadilly Circus and wept.
* * *
To be continued.
Stryker’s Last Orgy
Stryker was a death heavy metal music star.
His label was Aulos Music and Recording.
The past six months Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell the Executive Vice-President of Aulos Music and Recording had been baby-sitting (quite literally) the 33-year-old star on his world-wide tour.
Heathcliff was sick of cleaning up the mess (particularly the bodies of the teen-aged girl groupies that Stryker had slain and drunk their blood afterwards).
“One would think you’re a vampire or something,” Heathcliff had sniffed.
“Maybe someday I will be,” Stryker laughed.
Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell was so busy looking after the petulant spoiled brat heavy metal rocker that he had no time to look out for his more talented heavy metal protogee the genuinely authentic Vampiress Morgana (who at least did not kill and drink the blood of her fans since she knew who was paying the money that kept her bread buttered and her bacon coming).
Now Heathcliff heard the dreadful news that the Board of Directors of Aulos was going to assign another of the label executives to manage Morgana while he Heathcliff would be stuck with Stryker.
Oh, Heathcliff thought to himself, was there no way out of this mess?
* * *
Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell stood outside the door of the Vampiress Morgana’s hotel room to tell his protogee the bad news and was about to knock when he heard two feminine voices from inside the room.
Heathcliff stopped to listen.
Inside the hotel room, the Vampiress Isis stood in a red evening dress and red spiked stiletto heels.
The Vampiress Morgana stood in a black tank top, black leather mini skirt, black silk fishnet nylons and black spiked stiletto heels.
“I want to know,” said Isis, “are you any relation to the Sorceress Morgana of Avalon?”.
“I’m her niece,” the Vampiress Morgana answered, “Auntie Morgana was beheaded and slain by King Arthur centuries ago.”
“This I know,” said Isis, “for I was close by when it happened. What I want to know is do you have any of your aunt’s magical powers. Can you resurrect a slain vampire from the dead for example?”.
“I have some magical powers,” the Vampiress Morgana replied, “but I do not have the power to Resurrect.”
The Vampiress Isis sighed.
Then she looked at Morgana, “Thank you for your time.”
The Vampiress Isis bowed and then opened the hotel room door where she saw Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell standing there.
“Have we not met before?” Isis asked.
“I believe we spent a delightful evening last Boxing Day over champagne and caviar on the French Riviera discussing the writer Oscar Wilde and the painter Dante Gabriel Rossetti,” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell answered.
“Indeed, we did,” Isis smiled, “we must do that again soon.”
She then walked down the hall and pressed the elevator button.
Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell then entered the Vampiress Morgana’s hotel room where he broke the bad news to her.
Morgana burst into tears.
* * *
Upon exiting the hotel, Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell wrapped his coat tightly around himself because of the wet London evening drizzle now falling.
He looked up and recognized someone.
It was Renfield R. Renfield.
“Excuse me,” Heathcliff tried to get past the shapeshifting hamster/human because he had been nothing but trouble for Mr. Dionysus Campbell in the past.
“Do you recognize this person?” Renfield held up a photo.
Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell put on his gold-wire rimmed glasses and looked at the photo.
“It’s Stryker,” Heathcliff replied, “the most obnoxious of the clients I manage.”
“I thought you might know him,” Renfield grinned an evil grin, “you know a lot of musicians.”
“Being in the music and recording business I naturally would,” Heathcliff harrumphed with an irritated lisp.
“I came across this man’s photo on the cover of an entertainment magazine earlier today,” Renfield explained, “in fact the same magazine where I ripped out this photo which seemed to upset the shopkeeper Mr. Patel for some reason. He demanded that I pay the cost of the full price of the magazine. Finally I was forced to shoot him after he threatened to call the police.”
“Why are you interested in this Stryker?” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell took out a handkerchief and began wiping raindrops off his glasses.
“I recognized the fellow right away,” Renfield seethed, “he was the one who swiped the last tuna fish sandwich off a plate at an upscale party I was at 2 years ago just before I could get to it myself. I swore revenge if I ever came across him again.”
“What do you plan to do to him?” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell put his glasses back on and blinked at the shapeshifter.
“Kill him,” Renfield answered.
“This is my lucky day,” Heathcliff thought to himself and then he said aloud to Renfield, “What’s in it for me if I take you to him?”.
“I won’t kill you,” Renfield laughed.
“I feel like dying these days anyways,” Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell shrugged, “you’ll have to do better than threats if you want me to help you.”
“All right, I’ll pay you thirty thousand pounds if you take me to him,” Renfield said.
“Show me the money,” Heathcliff held out his palm.
Renfield went to a nearby bank’s ATM cash machine and using his employer the billionaire ancient Egyptian Vampire Set’s debit card positively emptied the bank’s cash machine out of thirty thousand pound notes.
Renfield and Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell then took a taxi to the nightclub where Stryker was having his post-concert orgy.
Meanwhile noted American actor Charlie Sheen walked up to the bank’s ATM cash machine and inserted his debit card.
Then he started swearing it, “I can’t believe it. This @#%^&*!*@ machine is out of @#%^!*@ cash.”
* * *
“All right,” Heathcliff spoke to Renfield, “at these orgies, there are a lot of guys and even a few girls who like to dress up as Stryker. Wait 5 minutes and then come in and I’ll direct you to the real one.”
“How will I know the real one?” Renfield asked.
Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell whispered inside Renfield’s ear.
Renfield grimaced but nodded.
* * *
Stryker was seated at a table surrounded by an adoring group of short skirted and mini dress wearing teen-aged groupies.
Stryker opened a plastic bag of cocaine and passed it around saying, “This is my body which is given for you. Snort this in remembrance of me.”
The girls took the bag and shoved some of the cocaine up their respective noses.
Then Stryker opened the cap off a beer bottle with his teeth and passed the bottle of beer around saying, “This is my blood (my golden blood!) of the newest and most irrevocable covenant which is shed for you and for many for the mother of all orgasms.”
Each girl took a sip of the beer and had a multiple orgasm as she did so.
Renfield entered the nightclub.
Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell went up to Stryker and kissed him on the lips.
“Dionysus,” Stryker looked at Heathcliff, “dost thou betray the Son of Belial with a kiss?”.
Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell’s face turned crimson.
“What thou doest, do quickly,” Stryker slit a girl’s throat and drank her blood.
Heathcliff Dionyus Campbell ran to the washroom and hung a roll of toilet paper over the seat and sat down and blew his nose.
And Renfield R. Renfield moved in for the kill.
To be continued.
King Arthur and The Vampire Horus
As Arthur walked back towards his tent, he noticed a small fire burning on a distant hill.
Curious, he decided to investigate.
He firmly grasped his sword Excalibur as he climbed the hill.
Arthur crouched behind a tree as he gazed at the fire.
He recognized the being standing there from illustrations he had seen in a book in Merlin’s library.
It was the Egyptian vampire Horus who had been resurrected from the dead by the sorceress Morgana.
Arthur stepped forward into the moonlight and the fire’s glow.
“Mortal,” the Vampire Horus spat at the King of the Britons with contempt, “do you not know who I am?”.
“Thou art Horus,” Arthur withdrew his sword from his sheath.
“A sword?” Horus laughed uproariously, “It will take more than a mere sword to kill me.”
“THIS is no mere sword,” Arthur pressed his sword against the vampire’s heart, “THIS is Excalibur!”.
He drove the sword into the vampire’s heart.
Horus screamed and then collapsed into dust.
Arthur walked on to the direction of another tent.
He walked into the tent.
There on the floor of the tent was the beautiful and enchanting Morgana.
Arthur looked down.
He had loved this woman once. In fact, he had had a child with her.
Mordred.
Unknown to Arthur, Morgana had had another child of Arthur’s. A girl. One she had sent to Ireland for safekeeping.
Arthur knew what he must do.
He raised his sword and cut off the lovely head of the exquisite raven haired beauty.
Then he kissed the head and sadly walked back to his camp.
* * *
The Vampiress Isis shrieked when she saw her son Horus once again reduced to dust.
Hurriedly she gathered up the dust in an urn and ran to Morgana’s tent so that the powerful sorceress could resurrect him once again.
She shrieked when she saw Morgana dead. Her beautiful head turning the floor of the tent a lovely crimson red.
“Arthur has done this,” Isis screamed.
* * *
Isis turned into a bat and flew into Arthur’s tent.
When inside, she removed his sword Excalibur and took it with her into the night where she hid it in a forest.
“Let us see how Arthur performs in battle tomorrow without his Excalibur,” Isis laughed.
Arthur did not perform so well.
He did manage to fatally wound Mordred.
But alas, Mordred managed to fatally wound Arthur as well.
* * *
April 20th, 1889.
The day was chilly and overcast in the Austrian town of Braunau am Inn.
On this day, a baby boy was born to Klara the wife of Alois.
The baby was born on Holy Saturday the day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.
Outside the house, the spirit of the dead vampire Horus walked the Earth.
He felt drawn to this location for some reason.
How Horus wished he had a body.
Horus’ ghost looked and there stood the Norse vampire Odin (very recognizable by his one eye) known to the Germans as Wotan outside the same house.
Curious, Horus thought.
All sorts of creatures of the night and of the shadows and of the Underworld feel drawn to this location on this Holy Saturday night.
Holy Saturday.
The day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.
Holy Saturday when Christ’s Body was in the bowels of the earth and His Soul was in Hades.
A Saturday that marked the Saturday when this world was without Christ’s presence- a child was born.
A child that would be named Adolf Hitler.
And Horus’ ghost and the Vampire Wotan had come to pay their respects.
* * *
To be continued.
Goo and Gum and Gnashing of Teeth
Renfield R. Renfield and Amadeus Emanon are watching the BBC News on television.
“More on our main story on the death of financier Trevor Fontaine later,” the BBC News announcer intoned, “but in other news a body that was found in the street below the hotel where Mr. Fontaine was eaten by grey goo self-replicating nanobots has now been identified. The body that was apparently drained of all its blood has been identified as that of London’s notorious Russian Mafia hitman Dmitri Ibumpuov. Further reports suggest that the night after Mr. Ibumpuov was brought into the Scotland Yard morgue, the body mysteriously disappeared. There are rumours that Mr. Ibumpuov is now a vampire.”
“Wow, a vampire assassin,” Amadeus Emanon munched on his popcorn.
“Might come in handy some day,” Renfield sent a text message to the Assassins For Hire On-Line Employment Bulletin Board that said, “Anybody there called Dmitri Ibumpuov?”.
“Getting back to our main story, authorities still have no idea who created the grey goo self-replicating nanobots that ate Mr. Fontaine,” the BBC announcer said, “and whether it was part of a plot to stop the new global currency that Mr. Fontaine was working on. As for the grey goo self-replicating nanobots themselves, they apparently choked to death trying to eat a huge wad of bubble gum that had been left on the hotel hallway carpet.”
“So it looks like the nanobots you made weren’t so indestructible after all,” Amadeus remarked as he blew a huge bubble with his bubble gum.
“Harrumph,” Renfield snorted.
“And still in other news, eccentric London concert pianist Amadeus Emanon somehow inadvertently wandered into a press conference where the Prince of Wales was lamenting the tragic death of financier Trevor Fontaine… here are some clips from that…”
“You were at a press conference with the Prince of Wales?” Renfield’s ears turned fiery red, “you never told me that.”
On the screen,
Amadeus Emanon: Tell me your Highness, if you found out who it was that created the grey goo self-replicating nanobots that ate Mr. Fontaine, would you invite such a person to your son Prince William’s wedding?
Prince Charles: You must be joking. I didn’t quite catch your name Mr. …?
“Emanon,” Amadeus replied.
“Emanon,” the prince nodded, “and what news outlet are you with?”.
“The Shapeshifting Hamster’s Daily Toilet Paper,” Amadeus answered with a wry smile.
“Never heard of that,” said the Prince of Wales, “I’ll have to check it out sometime. But in answer to your question, no. Not only would the individual who created these grey goo self-replicating nanobots not be invited to my son’s wedding but I would personally see to it that this individual was personally hung, drawn and quartered.”
Renfield looked at the TV screen- in a total state of shock- his face completely drained of all colour.
“In other news,” the BBC News Announcer smiled, “Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II has bestowed a posthumous honourary knighthood on Frank Henry Fleer the world’s first inventor of bubble gum…”
To be continued.
Easter Morn in London’s Highgate Cemetery
April 24, 2011 at 7:15 pm (Commentary, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Vampire novel) (Death Metal Lord Stryker, Easter Sunday, Highgate Cemetery, London England, Resurrection of Antichrist)
Three of the heavy metal rocker Stryker’s groupies were in a London fish and chips shop nursing a hangover from the night before.
One girl opened up her purse and two of the other girls screamed, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! You’ve got a penis in there.”
“How the Hell did that get in there?” the girl who was blonde scratched her head.
“I know, I know,” shouted the redhead, “you picked it up two nights ago after the rock star Stryker had his penis cut off by that guy who then turned into a hamster and scurried outside the nightclub.”
“I thought this extra large popsicle was taking a long time to suck,” the blonde sighed.
“It was no popsicle,” said the brunette, “like Miranda here just said, it’s Stryker’s penis.”
“Oh, my God,” the blonde hit her forehead, “oh, what a dummy. oh, what a dummy.”
“We really should return it to Stryker,” said the brunette Vivian.
“But he’s dead isn’t he?” said the blonde named Candy.
“I heard that recording executive guy Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell tell the bouncers at the nightclub to bury Stryker in his own tomb at Highgate Cemetery,” Miranda the redhead spoke up.
“Let’s go and open Stryker’s coffin and put his penis back in,” said Vivian, “a guy like that shouldn’t be buried without his penis.”
“But how are we going to get into the tomb and into the coffin?” Candy asked.
“Don’t ask such questions,” Miranda slapped her, “this is no time for you to be developing a high IQ now.”
* * *
Many eyebrows were raised among various people in London’s Highgate Cemetery on this Easter morning as three very beautiful young women wearing extra short micro mini skirts and sexy pantyhose and sexy spiked stiletto high-heeled shoes entered the cemetery.
They asked one of the cemetery grounds keepers where Heathcliff Dionysus Campbell’s tomb was located and he pointed them in the right direction.
They passed by a British bank executive who was busy vomiting on Karl Marx’s tombstone that had on it the epitaph WORKERS OF ALL LANDS UNITE.
They approached the Campbell mausoleum.
The door was open.
“Look the door is open,” Miranda ran in.
“The coffin is empty,” said Candy who followed close on her heels.
“They’ve stolen Stryker’s body!” Vivian exclaimed, “The bastards!”.
* * *
Miranda stood at the empty coffin and wept.
“Miranda,’ a voice behind her gently said.
Miranda turned and saw a figure standing there.
“Please tell me where they have taken my rock lord’s body,” Miranda begged as she grabbed the stranger’s leg, “I won’t tell the authorities.”
“Miranda,” the figure opened his robe, “do you know where my penis is?.”
Miranda screamed and ran out of the mausoleum.
* * *
And thus had the death heavy metal rock star Stryker risen from the dead on this Easter Sunday morn in London’s Highgate Cemetery.
And it seemed like all the doves had left London.
And the city was overflowing with crows.
And on the radio from a nearby apartment that had its window open… could be heard playing that old song from the old 1960s rock musical Hair, “This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius… the Age of Aquarius…”
To be continued.
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