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Copyright 2012 © All Rights Reserved Benjamin R. Long Wiking88142001@yahoo.com Audra Lightning
Beer invites blood. Two rowdy drunks began their journey in a pile of pizza boxes. They sat there, controllers in hands, blasting the shit out of zombies. Slater, the obnoxious frat boy, manages a coherent, all be it remarkably stupid sentence, “Let's go kill vampires!” The unfortunate named Jethro replied, “What?” His boisterous companion begins orating as only a drunken frat boy can, “Dude! Think about it! You know there have been some weird murders, right? Ya know those people with the blood drained out of 'em, right? I mean, completely drained, right? So some people have been talking about vampires!” Jethro struggles to keep his little man alive, but he was swarmed by a pack of ravenous zombies. “Shit! I
didn't save the game!” He then turns his round face to his fearless leader, “Vamp-” “Yeah, vampires!” Slater exclaims. “Dude, we'll dress in all black, and I have a trench coat, and you can dig out that tan colored one-” The husky Jethro stands up with the help of a huge wooden spool that was supposed to pass for an inn table, “Vampires? You want to go out vampire hunting? Are you on crack?” He then staggered a couple steps and allowed himself to flop backwards on a hideously stained burgundy sofa. “Are you sure?” “Yeah yeah yeah” the wiry dark haired selfappointed general insists. He then directs his comrade in insanity to a storage closet that happens to contain loose pieces of plywood. “Here, Bob didn't want his loft anymore, so we decided to dismantle it, so he could store it, but he never got around to selling it.” Motivated by spirits and adventure, the two begin the task of sawing and sanding the planks into wooden
stakes. Over a late night snack of cold pizza, the two muse over their strategy. Naturally, they'd have to steal some holy water from a church and buy some garlic from the grocery store and acquire some sledgehammers at the local hardware store.
The next afternoon sees the pair avoiding their housemates. Around three 'o' clock, Jethro tips into Slater's bare room. A mess of scraggly slick black hair protruded from the giant lump under and off white sheet. Jethro grins and then tip toes over to the hung-over lump and roared as loud as he could. After the expected bout of wrestling, Jethro asked, “Still up for vampire hunting?” Slater's skinny face contorted into a dim wide mouthed expression, “I... Sure. Why not. You get the sledgehammers and garlic. I'll pay half. Tomorrow, I have to put up with my baby cousin's baptism. I can try to go early and put some holy water in spray bottles. Now leave me the fuck alone!”
“Oh!” the walking tank exclaims, “Steal a cross to maybe!” “Fine. Whatever, just get out of here.”
“We'll take my truck.” Jethro said as he threw on a bright orange cap. As soldiers, they marked out to a dusty red pickup truck with steaks, mini sledgehammers, and holy water and garlic bandoleers in tow. Upon dropping their load in the back, Jethro informed his buddy that the passenger door had to be opened from the inside. Once inside, the black clad soldiers of the living began to have second thoughts. Slater attempted to reassure command, “This is retarded. Let's do something else.” Jethro agreed and opted to drive to a local sports bar. They eat and drink into the night. Most of the discussion revolved around girls, sports and imported beers. After enough drinking, the two would be soldiers of light began strategically thinking under the glow of neon
beer signs. “So what are we going to do?” the fat one asked. “Easy!” came Slater's instant response. “We just do it like in the movies. We'll have our spray bottles of holly water, right? Therefore, you can spray them with holly water, and then I can come up behind you with a steak and hammer it into one of their chests, right? I mean, it's obvious!” Jethro nods in agreement and adds, “Yeah, we'll have backpacks full of stakes like clips full of ammo.” “Exactly” Once again, the duo set out to slay legions of the undead. They drive on a black wet ribbon of highway that took them past all the little ships and right out town. Snow banks hug the trunks of bear trees, and in some cases, nearly reached the branches. Away from the amber glow of streetlights, they drive and into a landscape lit by a ghostly moon. They began fighting over the phase of it and
what causes moon phases until Slater asked, “Where are we going?” “To the cemetery!” was the driver’s excited response. “Vampires sleep in coffins, so they're gonna bit in the cemetery!” “Yeah! Let's listen to something cool.” “Can't. Speakers are broken.” Jethro shrugged. “Dammit! Bad asses like us are supposed to have a soundtrack!” insists Slater as though anything could actually change. “It's snowing again.,” the driver observes. “I hate driving in crappy weather.” and then added, “I think you're right. The moon is waning.”
The rickety old pickup truck creaks its way toward and old rough iron gate. It seemed as though it was there to make the placed look more solemn and sacred that it
actually was. Interestingly, it was unlocked and cracked open as if to allow for late night shenanigans. Jethro chuckled, “Some old geezer security guard needs some coffee or something.” “Whisper, you idiot!” shouted Slater. “Oh, right. Sorry.” came the reply. Finally, they'd round a few winding curves and found a parking lot where Jethro carefully maneuvers the ruck into only two parking places and manages to only scrape the curve once. As soon as the pair exits the vehicle, the cold of the wee hours bit them hard. They took a few minutes fumbling with their trench coats to get them buttoned and arguing the important issue of weather gloves would make it more difficult to kill vampires. Luckily for the great crusaders, they had a case of beer in the back, so they went to drink more to warm themselves, but it had frozen. Next, they suit up with back packs full of make shift wooden stakes, a mini sledge hammer in the hand of the taller, and two spray bottles of
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holy water in the hands of the shorter fellow. They are ready for war. After their minor ruckus, the pair stopped to notice how utterly silent the graveyard was. Without the whipping winter winds and bungling frat boys, the atmosphere would be pristine. Any sense of peace, however, was rendered null and void by Slater sliding a steak from out of his open backpack and saying, in a forced tone, “Bring 'em on!” They then crunched their way aimlessly through the graveyard practically falling over themselves trying to stalk. That's when a twig snaps behind them and they turn to see the scariest bunny rabbit they'd ever laid eyes upon. Quickly, Slater grips his steak at the tapered end and swung it a baseball bat screaming “Die, vampire rabbit!” It easily dodged the drunkard’s attack and hops away. Four pail figures easily assail the jokers and bare their fangs. Two beastly powerful arms hold Jethro's arms behind his back while another pair restrains his feet. Slater is pinned to the ground by a ghastly shrieking female
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shape and a hulking Frankenstein monster. After the immediate weakening drain, the predators dropped their prey like two sacks of potatoes. The frightened frat boys crawl in separate directions both pleading for their lives. The pail lady kicks Slater in in long skinny face pushing over sideways. “Lay on your back.” She orders. When he attempts to right himself, she kicks him again and repeated her command and added, “If you're good, we might let you go.” Petrified, he flops over belly up. Meanwhile, Jethro is already being drained by the other three. “Your friend is dead. Looks like you're alone.” the woman mused clearly enjoying her role of villain. She then straddles the hyperventilating mess and lowered her head so her face was an inch from his. “Your tears will freeze.” Her breath is nothing less than acrid. It reeks with the vile stench of blood and rot. Her hair is blonde but so fair as to look inhuman. Her skin was a ghostly blue- white under the pallid moon, and her eyes are ice blue. “Wooded steaks don't work. Neither does garlic, holly
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water, crosses, silver bullets or...” She pauses remembering other attempts at her life, “Neither does magical spells, water from a sacred river, holy symbols, reciting god names....” “Please...” was the only word the shivering prey could manage as the other three figures now loomed over him. “No.” she answers flatly and sank her fangs into his juicy warm living neck.
Reverend Michael Flowers strides away from behind a wide white gold trimmed pulpit announcing every syllable of his sermon, “Did you know that God love you? It's something we say, but isn't something we really understand? Did you know that Jesus died for you, not just a select few people, but you personally!” The fair-skinned auburn haired preacher sports a tan suit, white shirt and shoes and a gold silk tie. A small
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gray microphone is attached to his lapel allowed him to open or clasp his hand, sweep his arm over the congregation or slap the podium to emphasize a key point. His brown eyes worked to finish off this looks of harmless warmth. Reverend Flowers, with each step, continues the words of Sunday's sermon, “Did you know that God created the very Earth for us, for you, for me? Yes, friends, God created the Earth for us, for each and every one of his children.” He changes directions and strides in front of the pulpit, “My friends, brothers and sisters, did you know that God had you in his mind even before you were born? Always remember that you are special, that God loves you and that Jesus died for you on the cross at Calvary.” The carpet, cushions and candles are all a gentle rose, Even the choir robes are rose with white on top. The pews themselves and the choir stand are white. Behind the orating preacher sat a row of lovely bouquets as if attempting to inject the name “Flowers” into the memories of the audience, both at the church and at
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home. The parishioners don their Sunday best and did exactly as they were told. They pray when invited to, opened Bibles when instructed and applauded when cued by the flashing sign just out of view of the cameras. Reverend Michael Flowers was a famous televangelist, a true rising star, and rumors had him in the process of moving down to Ohio from the state of Michigan. By this time in his career, he had loyal longtime fans that were already eating out of the palm of his hand. A master of the spoken word, he'd embrace his listeners with a honeyed tongue, carry them to heavenly heights, drag them through the pits of hell and bring them back again. Another Sunday was just another journey, and now he approached the gates of hell. “Brothers and sisters, Did you know that, last Friday night, just two days ago, in the sleepy little town of Brunswick Ohio, there was a murder?” The audience gasped, prompted by a white flashing sign overhead. The passionate reverend told a terrible tale of foul creatures gorging themselves upon the blood of the living. Of course, these creatures were not vampires
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because everyone knew vampires didn't exist. Rather, it must have been a Satanic cult, for the corpses of two innocent fraternity brothers had been found in the cemetery drained of their blood. This was the perfect lead into an equally horrific description of eternal damnation. “But there is a light, one eternal light that loves you, for Jesus is our only hope in a fallen world. The blood of the lamb is our only and eternal salvation, for the things of this world are finite, but God is infinite! The love of this world is tainted by sin, but the love of Jesus is unconditional.” As the good reverend cradled the hearts of his audience, soft piano music began an old-fashioned hymn, and the choir began to sing sweetly, “Amazing grace, How sweat the sound...” Meanwhile, Reverent Flowers invited all the unsaved forward to kneel down on the steps before him and give their hearts to Jesus, “Yes, friends, by grace we are saved, grace! We all fall short of the glory! It is by the blood of Jesus alone that we our saved! Repent of your
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sins, and Jesus will forgive you, cover you in his righteous blood. It is by His grace we are saved from the fires of Hell. Please come forward and give your heart to Jesus, make him your Lord and Savior! “His pleading with the congregation continued until the flock was abasing themselves before their Lord, weeping or holding someone who was weeping. “Do you trust in the power of God? Has he blessed you today?” Open arms and palms skyward, Reverent Flowers began a slightly different refrain, “Every sing day, God blesses us. He forgives us of our sins and washes us clean as virgin snow. He clasped his hands in front of his heart saying, “Little miracles, miracles we never even notice because we are too caught up in our daily lives. God does so much for you. Can you have enough faith to give back just a little. Ya know, God tells us in his word that, with the faith of a mustard seed, we can do anything. A mustard seed, ladies and gentlemen, only a mustard seed! Can you plant that tiny seed of faith today so God can make it grow? Brother Jones and Smith will be carried the collection plates. Give as you feel so moved.”
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There are two figures that enter the service from the door in the rear. They take some seats in the back of the chapel, out of the view of the cameras. A flower notices them but in one swift motion continues with the flow of the evangelizing. A master of words, and a hard lined sense of knowing what is what. Flowers knew who they were before they had even entered. These people have a sense for noticing when one of their own kind is around. Some call it a psychic link others call it intuition. However, this link helps them to identify one another. Therefore, it is physically impossible for someone fraudulently to try to blend with them since it is impossible to duplicate this psychic connection. Flowers sense it as a noise in his head. It radiates from the back and makes noise whenever one of them is present. It is kind of like the feeling you get when you know something is there. At any rate, Flowers could sense them as one of their own from off the bat. He briefly looked at them, and as a master of reading people, he could tell that they bared bad news. He quickly finished up the sermon and dismissed the people at the nightly service with, “You
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know that God loves you and he loves you more when you are charitable to this ministry. Don't forget the donation box on your way out.” Flowers motions towards the two pallid figures. They look more like thugs than men that a man of God would associate with. They were dirty from life on the street and dealing with the under worldly. However, Michael Flowers was a man of practicality. He knew when you had to associate with some disagreeable figures to achieve his goals. These men were no exception to that policy. They followed Flowers through a door behind the pulpit and into an office, which was lain out in Federal decor. The place had an aura of a courtroom in the office with expensive furniture and one of kind paintings that would sell at an auction for thousands of dollars. Flowers was a man of taste, however the era of the décor was set around the time period of World War 1. There were images of famous German heroes and soldiers that were reminiscent of the Central Powers in the war itself. The detail of the historical replication was exact, and either he was an avid collector of World War 1 memorabilia, or he
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had lived through the time period. Even though he looked no older than thirty years old. The men that followed him into the room tracked in dirt, which he looked at sharply, then dismissed. Flowers looked at them and sweetly said, “What donations do you bring my church this day?” “We are sorry, but someone intervened, it was not one of us, it was a living person that interfered with our activity,” one of the miscreants says to Flowers. “You know it is not wise to displease the Lord your God, have I not given you everything?” Flowers sais in a cunning manner. “It was a mistake, we were not expecting someone to interfere with our shipments,” he protests. Flowers motions for him to stop talking by simply waving his hand. Then he says, “It is not your place to fail me lest the Lord your God judgeth you, I feel it is in your best interest not to taste the wrath of God's judgment,
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don't you think,” Flowers says as he walks across the room and puts an old LP on the player. He adjusts the needle and it starts playing some big band music that was popular in the 20's. “We can't keep working if those people keep on interfering,” the man says openly. “Surely you can, what do we do when people cause us problems?” Flowers retorts. “They seemed to know about us, they beheaded three of us,” he says. “My, my; your excuses tend to bore me; you are telling me that five vampires could not overcome some silly humans; surely you are not that weak,” Flowers says as he walks up to an Amour that looks like it could fit some rifles. He opens the cabinet and displayed are some elegant bayonets and Calvary swords from the German World War One period. He takes one of the swords from the cabinet and unsheathes it and swiftly with a skilled hand puts it into the rest position at his side.
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The other person looks at him and starts to panic. He says, “Surely we can recover the lost assets.” “The time is passed, we can recover nothing; What more can you offer besides your tired excuses?” “There has to be another way, maybe we can make it up in another way,” the man pleads. “That would be a filthy lie, and we all know how the good Lord deals with those that lie and defile his holy name,” Flowers says as he brings the sword to eye level, pointing it at the man. “I thought you said Jesus teaches forgiveness, please!” the man says beside himself. “Forgiveness belongs to Jesus, Wrath belongs to the good Lord,” Flowers says as he motions for the underling to get onto his knees with the blade of the sword. “I will do anything, just tell me!” the man says as he gets onto his knees.
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“I want to you to choke as Satan rains hot acid down your throat and dissolves your testicles for your failure,” Flowers says as he slices with the Saber as cleanly removes the man's head. He looks at the man and says, “Thank you for you collection in my donation plate today.” With that, the other man looks at Flowers in terror, but realizes that he is going to be spared because Flowers has turned around and put the saber back into his cabinet. He looks at Flowers, paralyzed in fear, but resilient to the point where he is not trying to show weakness, lest Flowers be justified in taking his head too. Flowers then goes over to the desk of the table and get a chalice out of the closet. With a gloved had he takes the chalice out carefully and walks over to the body. He collects up some of the spilled blood gushing out of the wound and collects it in the chalice. The other man looks at him in terror and tries not to disturb him during this ritual. Flowers then proceeds to collect the blood in the chalice and then begin to drink it. Spilling a little bit on his cheek as he consumes it.
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“You know that all men are consumed in the great wrath of Magra, there is no one that escapes his wrath. You have been a testament to that, yet should you speak to others of what you have witnessed here than your head would surely roll like his,” Flowers said. “What should I do?” The man says to Flowers. “You should carry on like nothing has happened, there will be other shipments. After all, we have not been set back too far. Those hunters are becoming a nuisance. We are going to have to do something about them soon. It is not like those stupid kids that tried to go out hunting in the cemetery to find more than they could handle. These people are trained professionals that are assaulting us. We need to learn more about them. However, as for your duties, take on the responsibilities of your headless partner here. Remember, you fail and your head rolls in a basket,” Flowers concludes. The man looks at Flowers and gets the feeling that he should leave before Flowers pulls out his Calvary sword again. He turns and exits out the door leading to the front
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of the chapel. Flowers sits there and calls to his personal attendant. A young looking female enters the room. She is dressed in a conservative outfit and looks to be about 35 years old. There is no mistaking her attractive looks masked by a pallid complexion that makes her look almost artificial in appearance. More akin to being that of a mannequin. If she held, still one could almost mistake her for being a doll or a mannequin. “Hello Vicki, there is a mess here that I need for you to clean up,” flowers says, “ Take him to the incinerator.” “As you wish Mr. Flowers, I have arranged for you to be at the mayor’s office tomorrow night. He keeps insisting that you meet during the day, but I have to keep reminding him that you cannot make appearances during the day,” Vicki says. “You are as blessed as ever Vicki, what would I do without you?” Flowers says.
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“I just remember what you did for me 80 years ago. I cannot forget the benevolence that you showed me,” Vicki says as she places the head into a plastic bag. “Remember to clean up the blood off of the carpet, I paid a small fortune for the decorating in this office,” Flowers says. “Shall I schedule the Mayor for 6:00 tomorrow night? It should be dark that time of night during the winter,” she says. “I want to meet in the park. I public venue would be the best place to meet up and tell the homeboys roaming the streets tomorrow to stay the hell away from the park, or else they will taste the wrath of the Lord,” he says. “Good then you will be able to pay him for your operations in this city, after all, once you curry the mayor's favor you will be able to act with impunity in the city,” She says.
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“It seems that if we take the human law enforcement out of the equation things will operate far more smoother for us than those goodie-goodies in the fellowship that think that they can use diplomacy to achieve their ends,” Flowers says. “Also, they will be able to turn you onto a greater revenue source if you get favor with the mayor and the council members. In fact you would be able to get your operations legitimatized in the city,” She says. “I like the way that you think sister, we will have this city and we will purge the scum from our mist. I have been working against Albert for so long that it nauseates me. How can such a man be so pretentious and think that we can work with humans? Humans are to be herded like sheep and then fleeced. I feel almost dirty every time I go on one of those sermons. After all the great blood, God is the one that will bring us salvation. The more I have given him, the greater of victory I have seen. When I first died on that battlefield, I rose not knowing what gave me life. I
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know it is that great blood god that had given life beyond life,” Flowers says. “We all need to sacrifice to the almighty blood god, he is the reason that we exist. Though the purity of power and strength we are made strong through the libation of blood,” Vicki says. “You will learn the mysteries eventually Vicki, but remember, passion sets us free. We must set our strength in our passion. My mentor was a great man and taught me everything I know. Perhaps he was too smart because that knowledge eventually led to his downfall. That is the saga of what happens when the student surpasses the teacher. The teacher must always know more than the student lest he die by the student's hand,” Flowers says. “How would I possibly ever do that? I could never surpass you Mr. Flowers, you are the greatest man I have known. How would I know when enough is enough for learning,” Vicki looks at him with a sly demeanor. She knew in her heart that one day that she would have his head. She just was not strong enough at the current time
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to do it. She was bent on unbridled power and she knew that she would one day have it. She was an initiate. A person on the road to becoming an elder. However, the elders usually consume each other and kill one another to claim their victory. Therefore, there is always the same amount of elders, just simply those that replace the masters. Vicki was a cold-hearted woman. Flowers found her shortly after World War 2 when the Gestapo was going to behead her for betraying the fatherland. Flowers intervened with the execution and she owes him her life. They have been on the road during the 20th century scamming people out of their money and running religious scams to generate funds for themselves. After a while, they got the knack of the trade in ministry and realized that they could generate far more money out of people's faith than what they could dream. When the Humanism trend began in the United States they worked on condemning the humanists and non-believers into agents of Satan and got people to donate hefty sums as being the
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solution to the problem that they were conjuring out of thin air. These two are as corrupt as they come, and the true nature of Flowers is anything but Christian. Rumors have it that during the Cold War he visited Haiti for a while and picked up some local folk traditions and some ritual magic that he is rumored to practice in private. While no one has ever seen the interior of Flowers, he still remains a monster to the core. He grew up through the ravages of World War 1 and lived and died on the battlefield. There are many people that are like him. However, none of them are as old as he is. Nobody knows how old people like Flowers can live for. Yet one thing remains the same. It is a new era in the understanding of human evolution...
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