So. I did a Trekkish short story, with an Aussie twist....NOW, its time to hear from an Aussie Vampire.....enjoy
The man known to the few loyal friends he had as Sean Callahan had just about finished getting his affairs in order for he was, after completing the dictation of his life, death and subsequence existence onto computer, he was intending to end it all, your average person would achieve this by gunshot or overdose or hanging, but all Sean had to do was simply step out into sunlight, and his body would dissolve to ash in a smelly blue flash, for he was not mortal after all, hadn’t been for 219 years, and what a interesting couple of centuries it had been.
That evening upon arising from what he lovingly called his crypt but was actually an industrial kitchen freezer, he had contacted the law firm he had used for nearly 150 years Richards, Hansen & Goldberg, well known big city firm that handled the accounts for clients of the nocturnal variety that ranged from vamps, were beings, the less dangerous demon varieties and those of a spell casting variety.
Sean always thought the human population would flip out, if they knew who or what, was sitting next to them in restaurants, nightclubs and concerts most nights of the week.
Sean instructed his lawyer, Stephen Goldberg to transfer some 167 million dollars in cash and property to a freind named Angela who had a son named Toby, Sean had saved Angela from the streets when she was just a tiny child, Angela knew what Sean was but felt no danger, but by the same token she had no idea what he was about to do either.
Stephen, he instructed, after he came over and checked Sean’s penthouse next morning, as was part of the agreement with the firm, he was to organise the transfer and lend help to Angela and Toby for the rest of his life, of course with a very decent gratuity for himself.
Sean went to his music collection and retrieved a album by an obscure English band named Thunder that contained all their ballads, put it on repeat and adjusted the volume accordingly, went to the fridge and retrieved a nicely chilled bottle of Type A and sat down to commence.
NICE DAY FOR A TRIP TO THE COLONIES…. NOT
“A quick note to Angie, this file is yours, should make a great little bit of fiction, get it published, not that you’ll need the money, also if you find some of this hard to believe and you will, Stephen has all necessary proof in a safety deposit vault to which he has the only key, now to the beginning.......
…Lets see, I was born in the year of our lord 1747, to Lord and Lady Arthur and Elise Callahan in the County of Essex on a moderate sized estate of some 850 acres, surprisingly I survived childhood, a feat in it self for the 1700’s, and after a rather uneventful period of public schooling, I decided to spice up my life and went on to cause as much havoc as possible, I took it upon myself to, as they say, rob from the rich and keep it, not that i needed the funds procured, but i was an obnoxious bastard and felt it my right….
It must have been March of 1769, that I was picked up for being an accomplice to the famous highwayman Tom O’Donnell; I wasn’t an accomplice, I was O’Donnell himself, but the constabulary of the day had none of the modern forensics to assist them in uncovering this little fact, shit most of the wallopers couldn’t read, so anyway, they commenced with the standard 15-minute hearing with no solid evidence.
I was sentenced to transportation for life to the prison colony of Sydney Town, the holding cells at Dover harbor were diabolical, some people had already lost their minds, the guards were no more than animals themselves and many a female was used and abused before and during the journey, anyway, in my case the life sentence handed down by that drunken reprobate of a magistrate ended 2 days out of Dover.
They didn’t check the prisoner holds much once you were secured, threw in some rancid food occasionally and sometime removed a rotting corpse, that was about the extent of their care, so they didn’t know that they had a non paying customer, ha..ha..ha..ha, below deck, a rather affable Scot named McLaughlin who had been imbibing in the juice of human life, or plasma if you like, since the great battle of Calcannick in 1456, over the course of the journey to Sydney cove he took all his meals with one swift attack, but with me, well he must have seen potential, he took me slowly, eventually turning me into a creature of the night like himself.
Upon arrival in Sydney, it was a pleasant spring evening, and the Scot and myself left the ship without ever being seen, a trick involving clouding the mind and appearing to move at high speed, actually all we did was stroll down the gangplank,
A truly fine instructor was the Scot, and as about a compassionate as a vampire can be, the powers that be and the mostly idiotic soldiers never questioned why they were 85 convicts down and as to why most of the surviving convicts were completely off their trolley, nuts, crazy and had kangaroos in the top paddock.
For you see, as we fed, we disposed of the corpses overboard, a fairly easy procedure when you knew that the duty soldiers would all be half out of their heads on rum and when you can appear to move so quickly, the human eye barely has time to register your presence, it becomes even easier to do the dishes, hahahahaa.
Anyway I stayed with The Scot for a couple of years or so in his home in what was to become the harbor end of George street in Sydney Town, it was where the railway station now stands, I personally preferred the rather magnificent mansion that stood there but he made some 6,000 pounds selling it so that was the end of that house, they built the first version of Circular quay on the site, so you can guess at the water view the scot had, mind you none of the local indigenous people would come near the place, the Scot thought that they somehow saw the demon inside him, but the local officials came to dinner and occasionally never left.
He instructed me in some minor kinds of magic, appropriate hiding places and introductions to fellow night dwellers and mortals who would aide us in all matters financial and legal, The Scot helped me to purchase a townhouse just near where the dental hospital now stands, this was is in 1847, and this is when I met Albert Goldberg, amazingly enough the ancestor of Stephen Goldberg, my current legal and financial adviser, ah Albert a finer man never lived, after some time he became very ill, this illness is now known as pancreatic cancer, and when Albert requested I put him out of his pain, but not turn him, I considered it my privilege and dispatched him quite rapidly, .......hail and well met old friend.
Around 1842 the newly formed Sydney council was giving Scot the tom-tits and he had enough from these ignorant humans with a overinflated opinion of their own worth, usually when he’d had enough of people like these nitwits, the claret flowed like a river, instead he decided to haul arse o/s.
He said he would see me again and made me swear, to limit my intake of human blood, a promise I have tried to uphold over the decades, but even the most righteous man slips occasionally. The Scot left for New Zealand in 1845 where he would meet up with an old friend of his, must be really old, actually I think he went to eat some English invaders, he was a friend with a Maori chief, he had turned about 150 yrs earlier and methinks the chap needed some help with the Maori land wars, the Scot hated greedy food and decided to help thin out the pakeha’s causing trouble, but that’s just my opinion.
I obtained a house on the outskirts of the colony, a fine place for the time, it was to become Parramatta Stadium , actually my upstairs dining room is now the Brett Kenny hill, anyway I digress, I hired some helpers with Albert’s assistance and settled down for eternity, leaving for trips on occasion, living off the land as it were, kangaroos, dingoes, and all variety of marsupial and domesticated beasts, over the centuries I went a bit heavy on the Tasmanian tiger, for which I apologise profusely, my existence throughout the mid 1800’s continued on as a member of the un-dead is expected.
TIME JUST FLYS BY DON’T IT?
1847-1899: The mid to late 1800’s fairly flew by, my investments increased in volume, my wanderlust barely abated.
I ventured to New Zealand in 1848 and hooked up with McLaughlin and his long time associate Valdez, a fine bloke of Spanish blood (sic), who I suspect had something to do with the Scots current lifestyle, but anyway, we partook of some fine pirate blood, these bastards were raping and pillaging their way around the south island, and while I understand the way of the thief, these blokes were maggots who needed stepping on, and step on them we did.
After the Maori land wars and various adventures chewing on scum, came the year 1861, I went to the States to have a look at this little civil unrest they had going, a noble cause, freedom of slaves, but a complete waste of humanity, I was in the theatre the night Lincoln was gunned down by John Wilkes Booth, a zecklar demon with multiple delusions who really needed stepping on, I searched for the nut but lost him in the panic, a damn shame.
Then I heard of the capture of one Edward Kelly during 1880, although I am not a great fan of criminals I found Ned Kelly to be a great bloke, for a horse stealing, bank robbing, cop killing Irishman, I took it upon myself to visit him in Melbourne Gaol, where I offered him a lightning fast death as opposed to what he was about to undertake. But he did not take up the offer, I believe he thought he was dreaming, but after all I did walk through a solid bluestone wall to enter his cell, instead the alleged folk hero got his neck bones stretched, I should have just killed the murdering maggot, but what can you do, I have some manners after all.
I went back to my home in Parramatta after this and settled down for a while, none of my neighbours questioned the fact that I appeared no older than when I left in 1847, considering the 33 year length of the trip, which was about one year to me, but that’s the stiff upper lip bullshit for you that was going on in this period.
Although, I swore a vow to Scot not to continually partake of the human supply, I decided that I would only hunt the most reprehensible members of society to keep my skills tuned and I used a spell from the Averticus, the vampire chronicles, that made humans with totally evil intent glow to the eyes of a vampire, a necromantic sociopath detector if you will, and this is how the police during 1886 found 4 members of the Darlinghurst push with their throats ripped out at Mt Rennie on the outskirts of Sydney, these blokes were dead set bastards, they had saved a young girl from some unwanted advances by a handsome cab driver and then proceeded to beat and rape her themselves, I was up a tree, catching up with a snurl demon I had made the acquaintance of, a sterling chap, if you like two heads that is, I watching this and sure as I had no pulse, the little bastards glowed brightly I thought to myself, fuck it, or at least the 19 century version thereof, and proceeded to have a light snack or four.
The papers were in an uproar, MANIAC LOOSE IN SYDNEY they said, as opposed to the jerks I’d just wasted, I laughed at these stories, truly the height of good humour, the rest of the 1800’s passed into history, with only the occasional murderer being found bled dry and I do mean occasionally, as I never made it a habit of leaving scraps lying around, mind you the Scot however enjoyed playing ‘my recent kill is better than your recent kill” with me, a letter arrived in August of 1891 to inform that he had disposed of the man known as Jack the Ripper in June of 1889, shit was I jealous.
The Scot has the luck of the Irish if that’s possible, he was within the sound of the Bow Bells at the time snacking on the occasional dog or fatally ill human, when while skipping from roof to roof, he spied the famous killer in the process of stalking yet another (and final) victim, he did not attack until Jack’s identity was confirmed, then just as the maniac was about to gut the girl like a pig, good old jack was 100 feet in the air getting his neck snapped, a quick feed from the scumbag and the Scot deposited him in his furnace in his London residence, the funny bugger had opened a funeral home, talk about bringing your work home!. HA HA
Lets dispel some myths
Before I continue, I would like to inform you, my friends, about the facts and myths surrounding my kind, ready…
SUNLIGHT: well obviously fact, because by the time you read this, I’m a greasy puddle on my patio.
GARLIC: great on a pizza or pasta, crappy hanging around your neck
CRUCIFIX’S and HOLY WATER: doubt it, I got a solid gold crucifix hanging around my neck and I gargle with holy water at church on Sunday.
BLOOD: or the consumption thereof, the enzyme I’ve acquired requires the sub atomic chemicals in blood, I’ve been told that if we stop drinking we go slightly insane and starve to…death, anyway, I just told you I like pizza and pasta, although I don’t require normal food much more than once or twice a year.
TRANSFORMATION: forget all that bat and wolf crap, the best I can do is make myself translucent enough to walk through solid objects.
FLYING: with no wings; no less, though more defiance of gravity, comes in real handy when I forget my keys.
STAKE THROUGH THE HEART: that would kill anybody, let alone a vampire, COFFINS: well why not, I personally have a couple of really flash body boxes for long distance travel, one of them has a c.d player in it, but I use an industrial kitchen fridge at home.
IMMORTALITY: well I was 251 last birthday, if that’s immortal, then I suppose you’re right.
SLAYERS: HA, HA, HA, HA yeah right, kudos to Josh Weddon for creating and writing that Buffy the vampire slayer tripe, although he is outdoing himself with Angel the vamp with a soul, by the way he was 134 last birthday.
All these myths are just total crap, we, the un-dead, shitty word by the way, are just the same as you mortals except for the fact that we have been imbued with a particularly bizarre kind of demon which came from the rowlock dimension during the Ramses II Egyptian dynasty, admittedly we become ourselves in a most unique manner, which expands our lifespan and limits our diet, and admittedly, some of us have a huge chip on our shoulders or delusions of grandeur, but those vamps are very rare, if one such being does show up he is usually “counselled” by a fellow blood sucker, anyway on with the story….
WW1, THE ROARING 20’S 50’s, 70’s etc etc
1900-1999:
Not much happened in the start of the 20th, oh there was a world war and a really big boxing match in Sydney, the Scot actually went to Gallipoli and hastened the demise of a couple of insane British army colonels, who were sending young aussie soldiers hand over fist into the next life, but like I said, I wasn’t up to a whole lot myself, sort of just wandered around Sydney and its fast forming suburbs and ahem, took care of general scumbags and arseholes.
My interest was peaked however during 1927, when I heard of a chap in the city of Chicago in the good old by the name of Alphonse Capone, yeah Scarface himself, so I hauled my arse over there and “investigated” things, for instance I hear you think, WELL, the St Valentines day massacre, very nice of Capone to leave some tommy guns laying around so I could “hide “ the evidence of my presence, some of his co-horts were tasty, nice Italian flavour, BUT did I get any thanks from that bastard Elliot Ness for leading him to Capone’s financial indiscretions, amazing what you can do when you threaten to eat a crooked accountant.... now I would like to say I bit that fat Italian scumbag, but he was rotten with all forms of crabs, pox and clap and even I’ve got some limits.
I hooked up with Scot and Valdez during world war 2, and we had a wager, first to get Hitler won a pound, and I must say I spent that pound on nothing in particular, yeah I know the Russians said he suicided, but all I can say is NOT! Thanks to Rudolph Hess for giving up the gutless loonies location, We fed up big on a few Japanese POW camp commanders, but the Yanks ruined it by nuking a fairly large amount of the Japanese population, and they didn’t get one, not one high ranking Japanese army officer, so Japanese take away was off limits, for about 60 years that’s for sure. Then of course there were the “Brown Out” serial murders. an American Soldier, one Edward Leonski, murdered three women in Melbourne town, the papers said the military coppers got him, tried and executed him, NOT, lets just say The Scot loves traditional polish food
Thus the war ended, we taught the fledgling hells angels how to behave in polite society by making one or two explode, THEN, came Rock ’n’ Roll, The Scot being the old square that he is, wanted to feast on anyone who looked like The Fonz, or was carrying a guitar, but I stopped him, the best part was these musicians were all night folk, so using either hypnotism or cold hard cash, I usually got to meet them. Allow me to give you a quick run down of who I met, what I thought of them and you know its true cause I got the photos to prove it (so much for not being able to have our photos taken, yet another myth shot to shit).
FRANK SINATRA: RUDE OBNOXIOUS BASTARD, I tell ya if it wasn’t for Sammy Davis Jnr (a fellow blood sucker of the top order) he would have been boxed and buried instead of singing and downing martinis back in the 50’s
ELVIS: knew a bloke that bit him, reckons he tasted like a greasy chop, good singer though
JIMMY HENDRIX: nice bloke, hell of a guitar player, not real keen on his drug use, I mean shit, you mortals, if you wanna die, walk up to me, kick me in the balls and undo your collar.
KISS: what a band, the total package, just between you me and the chooks, they would not have gone past 1981, if I had not stopped a particularly nasty female vamp/groupie named Love-Bite, she had a habit of biting the steak and two veg, and was about to do this to Gene Simmons when I stepped up, and, shall we say, talked her into a spot of sun baking. The Demon was most appreciative.
THE GRATEFUL DEAD: HAHAHAHAH funny name, should have ate ‘em
OZZY OSBORNE: probably the only guy I know who found a cure to the demon infection that didn’t involve massive blood loss or a beheading, he got bitten by a concert promoter, but before the turn happened he went out and got rotted on Peruvian marching powder, an ounce of pot and a bottle of whisky, some reason he never turned, his wife is a pest but he is a top bloke none the less and a hell of a performer.
JIM MORRISON: complete and total space case, died of a “heart attack” shortly after he sprung his girlfriend being chewed on by a poet she had brought home to meet him.
BON SCOTT: What a top fella, and about the only bloke who could out drink Ozzy, damn shame the way he went, pissed off a soul taker demon and well we all know the end result, but fear not, the soul taker fell under a London bus funny that.
BACK HOME IN AUSTRALIA
Now having had 219 years to fatten up the bank account, one tends to get a bit rich, you can afford private planes for one thing, I headed back to Australia during the 70’s to soak up some barmy summer nights, and ended up catching some Billy Thorpe and the Aztecs and Hush, TMG and like that, did I mention that Billy Thorpe played guitar loud enough to wake the dead, trust me, he woke me up once or twice, I was sitting in the lighting rig one night at a gig in Melbourne when he hit this note on his Gibson gold top and one of his road crew, who just happened to be a werewolf, nearly went mad trying to block out the note.
Saddest thing you ever saw, a grown man howling like a Chihuahua with a kicked arse, mind you the water demon also working up in the lighting rig had a sucky night as well when the shock wave from Thorpe’s amps hit him he disintegrated, yep who ever said rock ‘n’ roll is dangerous dunno half of what they are talking about, really the only thing that sucked about existence was the lack of night based sport, rugby league and Aussie rules games and such were daytime pursuits, thank god for pro wrestling, boxing and roller derby, yeh I know the Liverpool speedway was going, but I ain’t a rev-head, what do ya mean wrestling isn’t real ?, neither were vampires an hour ago, HAHAHAHA.
The rest of the 70’s passed into the mists fairly uneventfully, I bought and sold some restaurants and nightclubs up around the cross, stupid idea really, I only eat about once a year, twice at the max, but the Scot did come to stay for a while and we feasted on some heroin importers and other kinds of mortal miscreants, one of the fun things that did happen was the footy started night games, the Amco cup, YAH-FUCKIN- HOO I said, about bloody time, I said to Dally Messenger in 1908 that this new game should do something like this, he said it would never work, he called me a goose, don’t panic he died of old age not neck holes.
One interesting thingy did happen in 1972 at the Moomba festival, Thorpey was there too, played to 250,000 punters, friggin smorgasbord, pick pockets and rapists everywhere, shit I put on two stone (liquid weight naturally) anyway, me and a werewolf mate of mine, Dave” Dingo” Thomas, cornered a yank soldier on R&R from Vietnam, doing the nasty to a unco-operative female, after stopping Dave chewing on him, I chewed on him and HOLYSHIT, doesn’t agent orange taste bloody shocking, never bit a bloke who tasted like mortein before YUK! All in all not a bad decade, apart from the clothes, food, cars, architecture etc etc so and so forth, you lucky mortals get to wipe stuff from the long term memory if you want, we, the eternally enhanced ain’t that lucky, must be something to do with the friggin demon inside us, cause just between you and me, something’s I would like to forget, for instance me in a paisley shirt and pink flairs..AAARRRGGHHHH, HAHAHAHAHAH.
Anyway just around the corner was 1973 and the era of the mirror ball, I shoulda gone sunbaking then HAHAHAHA. DEATH TO DISCO…. There I said it. Just wish I’d done something about it, all those idiots in white suits named Vinny were making my fangs itch, not a healthy happenstance for anyone by any stretch of the imagination, I dropped in and met the guys from KISS for the first time and good old OZZY was around as well, should of done him a favour and necked that fuckin manager of Sabbath.
During the 80’s Ozzy was as rotted as ever, got me stumped how he made it through to the turn of the millennium, he was having some trouble with some halfwit evangelists, claiming him to be Satan, I went and had a look at these clowns, guess who glowed in the dark?, also, guess who had a feed of preacher blood, NUFF SAID. Ohhh and KISS wrote a disco song as well, I WAS MADE FOR LOVING YOU, nearly had myself a dinner of Demon with a side of Star-child....HAHAHAHA
HERE COMES THE POSTMAN…. AHHH SHIT
It was around 1984 that I started getting some weird shit in the mail, birthday cards and such like, now I get cards from my mortal friends, you know happy 40th and all that, but these ones were worded like, sorry I missed your 150th, and such like, some also promised to send me sun baking, I checked with the Scot and Valdez to see if it was a gee up, they promised me it wasn’t them, but they indicated that it sounded suspiciously like the Brotherhood of Blood playing funny buggers. These blokes are apparently a squad of vamps who not only want to have mortals under control they want all quasi life forms under the thumb too.
These cards and parcels etc etc appeared on a regular basis for the next few years, everything from stakes to garlic to get well cards. Then they started getting real personal, photos of me eating at restaurants, of me having the occasional scumbag for dinner, photos of my mortal associates with somewhat vicious side notes.
The Scot showed up around January of 1989, to inform me that Valdez, had been staked, so what you say, happens to the best of bloodsuckers, but to trap and stake Valdez, who, at my best estimate was at least 620 or so years old, the perp had to be a genius or a complete nutter. The Scot and I set about trying to figure out for sure who this arsehole was, we checked with all our contacts overseas, due to the fact that some of the stuff had come from the UK, France and Spain, three of our regular haunts. (scuse the pun) all for naught I might add.
Regular reports from Dave dog saying that friends of mine were in deep shit, well that really fucking annoyed me, they related mostly to the staking of mates and occasionally some of my non vamp buds eg: demons, goblins and warlocks were getting took out as well, these were usually followed by a rather extreme report of the event and sometimes were accompanied by video tape of the slaughter, not your regularly Friday night movie, with a nice “A positive” drug dealer or child molester let me tell ya.
This went on for yonks, and the more mail I got the more pissed off I became, then, a drawing showed up, of my mother staked out like lion bait with her throat less than gently removed, with a note saying the maggot doing this shit, would visit in person soon, I had the paper tested and it was made around 1769.
Now my curiosity and truth be known, my blood rage was peaking properly. I got Goldberg to start organising my holdings, just in case, and I nicked off to my house in the country, if you can call Bargo the country, to retrieve some of my more deadly anti-vamp weapons, spells, talismans, STAKES, yeh I’m not above giving someone a punctured aorta, I got back to the city to find the Scot had arrived, he was minus a hand and an eye, the weird part was he had no idea how this occurred, a dash of magic answered the question though, he was entranced into a vamp coma, the note saying my sire would be taken one piece at a time arrived shortly after.
Looks like it was nearly time to go to war!
WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?
Just a quick and interesting point for ya, vamps as old as the Scot sometimes can regenerate body parts, so he replaced his hand, you would think an eye, being smaller, would be easier but Scot said one eye made him look wind swept and interesting, go figure.
Anyway, the phone calls started, heavy breathing, no one there, you know the usual shit, using a demon friend of mine in the police we tracked a series of calls, the results made my blood pressure do flip flops, or is that someone else’s blood pressure? anyway, the calls were coming from the building across the road, to be precise the penthouse, so being the inquisitive beastie that I am, I put the bit between my teeth and I flew over to have a look.
The blacked out windows didn’t stop me, but the baseball bat to the noggin did. When I awoke, I was trapped inside a pentangle with smouldering pots of ragwort keeping me in place, someone knew their black arts, and a shadow appeared in a doorway.
Now my vision is fairly excellent compared to mortals, but I had a hard time making out this bastard, obviously more magic. “Well say something, you gutless bag of shit” I said,” you been bloody secretive for 20 odd years, time to face up”, the answer completely gutted me, “now is that anyway for a son to speak to his father”, I dead set couldn’t believe my eyes when the obviously not late, great, Lord Arthur Callaghan walked into view, he was all dressed in leather and he was fully fanged out to boot, “Ah, my son long time no see, your mother would say hello but I ripped the slags throat out many a moon ago”. He went on to explain, that a month after I had been sent to Aussie, a member of the French nobility had come to visit out of the blue, and dad had been turned before the sun had risen one day on and his first kill with the resulting blood fever was mother. Now for some fucked up reason he blamed me, he must have lost his mind somewhere down through the centuries on top of joining the Brotherhood, god knows I had nothing to do with him catching the demon.
He then went into another room and came back with you Angie, you looked to be mesmerised, thankfully you wouldn’t remember any of this, although, it was gonna be hard to explain the holes in your neck, the old prick had apparently been snacking, not enough to kill or turn but nibbling none the less.
“Your young mortal friend here will make a fine concubine for my ever expanding harem, why you ask? Because it will send you into the pit off despair when I send her to kill you, my boy HAHAHAHA”
I sat in the demon star fuming, my blood rage increasing by the moment, then from out of the mists came the voice of Valdez, shouting something in ancient Druid, I blinked and looked around just as the Scot came storming through the window, only this wasn’t the Scot I knew, this one was fully vamped out, close to 8 feet tall and brandishing a two handed claymore, that glowed with demonic energy.
My old man roared as the sword took off a hand, he leaped out the window, the demon star vanished and I was on my feet, ready to rumble The Scot took off after him, and the pentagram vanished, must have been some Averticus magic, so anyway, I bolted as well.
I stopped by my penthouse to grab some weaponry, to be precise stake shooters, which strapped to my arms, very handy, and I grabbed some charms just in case I missed with the stakes. I sent out a mind call to the Scot, he was on top of the harbour bridge having a stand off with the old bastard, so off I went, by the time I got there, the Scot was outnumbered, other members of the brotherhood had shown up, and were giving Scot a demonic beat down, at least till I showed up, I dusted a couple, the rest except for dear old dad pissed off, but the charms made short work of them, basically the charms created solar spots, and we all now what sunlight does to blood suckers. The old man sweating blood and roaring like a kicked bunyip, mumbled something and a vortex appeared, the Scot was lifted into the air and somehow got dusted, it looked like he was just pulled apart, which left me and his lordship, he promptly did the bolt, I reciprocated and took to the air as well.
I cornered the old prick on top of centre point tower, trapped him within a binding spell, hanging around that old Greek vamp about a 150 years ago, was paying off, “well you old mongrel time to finally die” I said, fairly obvious really seeing as how I’d loaded and cocked a stake shooter, he stared at me, his appearance returned to the man who had raised me all those decades ago, “ you don’t get it do you my boy, this was a test, to see if the blood rage was strong within you, that wimpy Scot and Spaniard, knew who you would become and went out of the way to tame you.” “What the fuck are you talking about?” I said, “ ARGHH you truly have been misguided, you are to become the new leader of the Brotherhood as it’s your turning right, every 500 years, a new leader is turned and trained, when you where on that transport ship, one of the brotherhood was below deck, but the Scot got to you first, but now upon my death, you will inherit the leadership.”
“Yeah really well I fucking doubt it, seeya in hades shit head,” and I staked the old bastard, he vaporised in a cloud of some really foul smelling crap, I was sitting on the roof of the tower, when the ghosts of Scot and Valdez appeared, “ your father spoke the truth my compadre” said Valdez, “we tried to hide it from you but now you are aware of one of your destinies, we hope you choose right, farewell” and they were gone, now it’s time to think.
AND NOW THE END IS NEAR……HAHAHAHA
So after a week of some truly heavy soul (for want of a better term) searching, I concluded after talking to a few of the demon lords that run the Daily Telegraph for Rupert, that the only way to stop me from becoming a barking mad psychopath with a blood lust beyond reproach, was to go sunbaking, so it’s now nearly time to do the business, Angie live long and be well, the fortune I leave you is just a token of the friendship you have showed me, most people knowing what I really am, would have run screaming in the other direction, the sun arises over Sydney town, my oh my place has changed, not for the better in some cases.
Ah well, as Ozzy says, THANKYOU GOODNIGHT, I LOVE YOU ALL, PEACE.
The door to the penthouse opened and Stephen Goldberg walked in, switched off the computer after retrieving the discs and went out to the patio, and sure enough, there was a pile of slimy ash, and in the ash was a gold skull ring and a talisman, an earring and a nose ring. Goldberg had read the Averticus and knew that maybe one day Sean would maybe have to sunbake, peace my friend said Goldberg, went inside shut the lid on Sean’s fridge and locked the penthouse up, went to his car and drove off to have a meeting with Angie to organise her new life, he also was meeting a quasi demon who was looking for some flash digs uptown, but that’s another story.
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