A Tale of the Unnatural: 2013

Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Chapter Two Part Five

Tyrol was bored. He couldn’t get a handle on this vampire thing. The darkness, the codes. “And now a fucking werewolf is on our back telling us what we can or cannot do!” He only thought this to himself. His master Agros was not in a good mood. “I’ve got to get out of here!” he continued to himself. Walking up to a window, Tyrol, pulled aside the thick velvety curtain and looked out. “Kind of cloudy...” he thought, “At least it won’t be hot.”

He picked up his florescent yellow hoodie, checked it for blood satins and put it on before stepping out the kitchen door. Tyrol liked being outdoors. Turned only a couple of years ago, he could still remember what being mortal was like. Now, young and handsome forever, Tyrol pulled the hood over his head covering his face a bit before setting on a leisurely stroll through the neighborhood. He knew the fluorescent yellow drew attention to him but he also knew it made his presence so obvious that nobody would look at him twice. It was like hiding in plain sight.

“It’s cool to live forever”, he thought. But what he really missed was hanging out with friends.

(To Be Continued.)

Thursday, December 26, 2013

Chapter Two Part Four

The gypsy zombies, you could say, were picking up the pieces. Literally. Dante, the undying gypsy king, had the feeling, a feeling that somehow, something was going on, something beyond his tribe. Beyond all creatures, he felt, beyond the Keepers themselves. The attack made no sense at all. It hurt a lot of people and a few of his gypsies had actually been destroyed. Brains burnt in the bonfire can’t come back.

There were too many with pieces missing. Their skin had not yet healed. Not even in the daylight. If you happened to look upon the wreckage, the only thing absent would be the groans. Zombies felt no pain.

The old man, Dante, had the knowledge of his ancestors plus the wisdom acquired from decades of being undead. He wondered for how long he would continue to be king. He must keep an eye on his nephew Remus. His skin healed the fastest and he had taken to strutting around the camp, “Much too agile for a zombie; even for a young strong one.” He thought.

The Keepers kept creeping back into his mind. Why?

(To Be Continued.)

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Chapter Two Part Three

If they had been humans you could say they were licking their wounds. The Keepers had placed a ban on feeding from neighboring humans. Agros totally disregarded the ban. “They are just gypsies! Nobody cares about gypsies!” he repeated to his nest. Now, his embarrassment, if he could feel any, was expressed sulking in the dark by himself. Though he had no fear, he was immortal, he did expect some kind of retribution from the Keepers.

The Code they enforce clearly states what’s forbidden but it nowhere says what happens if you actually do what’s not allowed. “But they weren’t humans! They just looked like them.” He argued for himself. “They were zombies. Whoever said you couldn’t eat...”

The thought brought the bitterness back into his mouth.

(To Be Continued.)

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Chapter Two Part Two

Legends about the origin of werewolves abound. It is said that they were part of human culture, from the most primitive epochs to the Egyptian kingdoms. Greek and Roman writers make reference to the beast, but the earliest historical evidence dates back to the time when they ran or rode alongside the hordes of Genghis Kahn. They helped a little with the killing and pillaging when he overrode Asia. Yet none of the legends explain how the first wolf-human transformation happened. History just says it happens.

For centuries being a werewolf was thought to be a curse. Some humans, like the Kahn, enjoined them for not always righteous reasons. It took centuries before the shape shifters themselves came to realize it was a blessing. Perhaps the arrival to Rome of Christianity helped, but that’s when the Keepers could date their origin.

They realized then, that they were the only mortals that could live in both the natural and unnatural worlds.

(To Be Continued.)

Chapter Two Part One

The human population lived in groups, which they called towns, on the outskirts of the forest and for the most part, were unaware of the ungodly creatures they lived amongst. Occasionally someone would disappear. The humans would talk about it for a while but soon some other urgent matter would make them forget. In short, the crime rate was very low. The humans were content.

Morrison drove his vintage Pontiac convertible cautiously through town. He wanted to be seen. He was doing his job. Tim Morrison had a unique job mostly found in just a few Central European countries. He was an Investigative Magistrate. He was cop, district attorney and judge all rolled in one. He could put you in jail without bail if he thought it was warranted. You could appeal his judgment, though, with the Magistrate in a city far away. Only that first Morrison had to let you out of jail so you could get there.

The Keepers kept all beings in line, mortals and the undead equally.

(To Be Continued.)

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Chapter One Part Eight

Three enormous mastodon-like dogs jump out of the forest right into the melee. The wolves’ size and presence were enough to draw the fighters’ attention. Moving swiftly between the antagonists, the wolves blocked punches and pushed some away. Not all of the skirmishes had to be brought down; just the important ones.

The zombie children are pulled off their chosen victim and set down on the dirt at the edge of camp; six and seven at a time. The Keepers are having a lot more trouble with the women. They won’t let go.

The largest of the Keeper’s, werewolf Maxus, sprinted towards the biting, chewing, tearing, punching, loathsome opponents, Remus and Agros. It was not that he went undetected, he’s enormous, but his ability to slide his body between the fighting creatures and block every move they made to hurt each other was so confusing to the fighters that perplexity drove out anger.

Maxus howls, not in triumph but as a signal to all creatures that the battle has come to an end. The other two Keepers echo Maxus’ howl.

(To Be Continued.)

Monday, December 2, 2013

Chapter One Part Seven

It is a blood fest but of the wrong kind. The viciousness on both sides is appalling. Pieces of bodies are strewn all over the camp. The blood and gore leave you speechless. Perhaps, it’s the blood itself that’s enjoying it all the most. It appeared to dance with the air and play with the central bonfire, bursting into flames as the occasional droplet kissed a spark.

It’s only that no one dies. Body parts recall their owners. The gush of blood is never ending. A circle of bite and tear, hit and break, anger and hatred that ate it own tail. How many times can you rip off the same arms without starting to feel foolish? Remus choked on all the blood and Agros’ face recomposed. But reality didn’t stop the fighting. No matter how senseless it had become.

The beastly creatures are so engrossed in trying to tear each other apart that no one hears the approaching deep rumble of paws racing through the forest.

(To Be Continued.)

Sunday, December 1, 2013

Chapter One Part Six

Agros tried the old ‘stare-them-down’ vampire trick. It always works on humans. Fangs extended, claws uncurled and arms reaching for a graceful kill. Remus simply grabbed the other’s arms and ripped them off. The children smashed out teeth with fangs and all, pulled feet and hands off. One grand old gypsy punched his vampire in the chest ripping a hole that spit the demon’s heart out the other side.

What the zombies lacked the vampires had aplenty. Blood!

Blood poured forth from every broken limb, every hurt and every scratch. Agros’ dangling veins showered Remus with the tainted blood. It’s like if fire hoses were soaking everything in blood to put out a fire. It seemed that the blood had a life of its own flying through the air until it found someone to splash on. Without arms to fight, Agros bite into Remus’ face, the fangs clawed at eyes and mouth. Remus summoned all his power to his hands and slammed them against each side of the vampire’s head. Agros’ crushed head vomited a torrent of blood.

It had nowhere to go except into Remus’ cheek-less mouth.

(To Be Continued.)

Friday, November 29, 2013

Chapter One Part Five

The young and powerful Remus, the gypsy king’s nephew, roared his fellow zombies into action. Men, women and children, ferocious, step up to face the vampires. A zombie’s strength is a match for any vampire’s, but where the vampire’s strength is channeled into speed and nimbleness the zombie’s is pure power. Steadfast like statues of stone a swing of an arm could knock anyone’s head off, human or undead alike.

Remus went straight for Agros. The zombie children though smaller were just as strong. In groups of three and four they climbed all over their chosen vampire. The gypsy women also worked in pairs or threes. Proud of the heritage of their earlier time as humans, the men preferred the individual confrontation. Actually there weren’t enough demons for everyone in the tribe.

Argos’ nest was small and overwhelmed.

(To Be Continued.)

Thursday, November 28, 2013

Chapter One Part Four

The growl of disgust mixed in with the snarl of anger from the just aroused gypsies. For a long moment the two camps did nothing more than shriek. The vampires spit with dry mouths trying to get rid of the horrid taste of dead flesh and the gypsies try to get their wits back. It was unimaginable that a vampire could be so stupid. Feed from a zombie? What?

Anger is the only real emotion a vampire can feel and their anger was blood red. “Destroy these animals!” was the mental signal Agros sent to his nest. Quicker on their feet than any zombie could be the hunters attacked their prey again, this time, not with open mouths but claws that ripped into the zombies, tearing bodies into pieces of putrid flesh.

A green and blackened liver explodes into goblets of gelatinous rot. Bones with rotten flesh still attached are used to club and break open the hairless skulls. Guts became whips in the hands of the demons beating the younger ones with their own innards. Brains are scooped up and thrown to burn in the fire. A horror of gore!

But the zombie gypsies are many.

(To Be Continued.)

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Chapter One Part Three

Agros’ preference for young children was well known within the nest. He always said the youngest are the tastiest. Their blood was uncontaminated by the trash accumulating in the blood stream over the years. Agros specially disliked drunks. It was too vinegary to enjoy. Good only for the very, very hungry.

He hovered between the wagons searching for his first bite of the night. There it was, a tiny baby that seemed to be feeding from its mother’ breast. Agros dived into the shadows, with his mouth wide open and his pearly fangs glistening.

His move was like a cue. The demons all came down on their chosen prey. Fangs chomped down into necks, groins and chests, each mouth searching for their favorite source of blood. Like wine, the taste of blood varies depending on the region - organ, vein or artery - it was found. Some liked it straight from the heart although it wasn’t easy to get through the rib cage. If you like Pinot Noir you probably won’t care for Merlot.

But Agros’ child tasted like shit!

(To Be Continued.)

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Chapter One Part Two

The fanged demons tore into the sheets that covered the sleeping bodies. Slivers of wood scattered in the air as the vampires broke through the wagon doors. The bolts and hinges were useless. One, then another, of the large sheets falls over the fire briefly darkening the surroundings until it too becomes part of the flames. Sparks dance in the air, twirling from the artificial breeze created by the vampires’ own swift movements.

Agros disliked the gypsies. He found them pretentious putting up for sale their supposed supernatural powers when he knew they had nothing of the kind. Today he will dine them. It would be fair. It was going to be like feeding from orphan children.

It was becoming hard to choose the best morsels, there were so many. The nest was acting like children at a candy store where it’s all free. They couldn’t make up their minds which to feed from first. Only a very few of the gypsies, actually turned to face the attackers.

(To Be Continued.)

Monday, November 25, 2013

Chapter One Part One

There is no creature with greater stealth than a vampire hunting. Agros, a prince of darkness, leads his nest towards a speck of light in the forest. Only the night owls turn their head in recognition. The vampires arouse no interest from the little scavengers of the night. It could have been immediately or a few seconds but in no time the nest of vampires was looking into the gypsy encampment.

A central fire is all the light in the campground. Intriguingly decorated wagons surrounded the fire asymmetrically. There were no empty spaces between them. Makeshift tents put together with ropes tied to the wagons and large colorful hanging sheets created the extra living space the tribe needed. No sentries could be seen. Nothing stirred, not even a mouse.

If Agros could feel happiness he would have smiled at the sight. It was going to be a blood fest. Without a signal the nest leaped into the encampment.

(To Be Continued.)