William Magnum, vampire hunter
Saturday, January 30, 2016
Young vampire hunters forget to stab through the body. If you don't stab through the body, it may bite you. And that won't do. Not at all. The whole idea is not to be bitten.
Posted by The Scribe at 4:49 PM
Thursday, January 28, 2016
Posted by The Scribe at 5:22 PM
Posted by The Scribe at 4:52 PM
Otherwise a gun wouldn't have killed him. He wasn't worthy of life ever lasting. Quite simply, he's just a dead terrorist. That's the best kind of terrorist.
William Magnum, vampire hunter
Posted by The Scribe at 4:15 AM
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
The William Magnum standalone novel is off to a roaring start. Not sure how long it will take me, but it will be brutal, melancholy and memorable. The fictional world of Moravia I created six years ago is making an appearance again. Origin stories are increasingly more popular, and this one has been fun to write so far.
Posted by The Scribe at 12:13 PM
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
Additional funding needed for disability reviews: I agree with Sen. James Lankford that the Social Security Administration should complete timely Continuing Disability Reviews (CDRs) for all individuals who receive disability benefits, as highlighted by “Identifying federal waste is one thing, cutting it is something else” (Our Views, Dec. 20). Social Security's disability benefits are crucial. They allow families faced with severe health issues, like cancer, premature birth or bad car accidents, to maintain some financial stability during difficult times.
Posted by The Scribe at 12:20 PM
Monday, January 18, 2016
Fletcher Turner awoke in darkness. He could smell dirt, and he felt its wet coolness against his skin. He wasn't hungry for food, and he wasn't tired. But he did have the strange, new desire to drink blood.
He dug up through the dirt, and he found he was much stronger than before he went to sleep. He broke through the ground, and he emerged in a large backyard behind a three story ornate house. Then he remembered he was in Paris.
Turner was naked, but he did not feel cold or warmth. He felt a presence near him, and it whipped around him.
"I hope you slept well," Vladimir said to him. He remembered Lenin biting him. Then the realization that he was a vampire hit him. He wept tears of blood.
Lenin came forward and embraced him. "There, there my child. Most react this way upon learning they are a vampire. It is a death of sorts, but it is also a rebirth. You are born to immortality. You will live forever if you continue to feast on humans. We vampires are at the top of the food chain.
"I have a mission for you."
"What is that mission?" Fletcher's tears stopped.
"I want you to go back to your country and help me gain even more influence in the government. But you cannot reveal you are a vampire. Your superior bloodline makes you impervious to sunlight, but you must not be overconfident. I have a book for you that explains what to do. It is an ancient survival manual so to speak."
Fletcher nodded his head, and Lenin led him towards the house. A second later Fletcher felt his back up against the brick wall with claws digging into his arms. “I hope you grasp the enormity of your task.”
“I do,” Fletcher said, his voice trembling with the sort of fear sons reserved for disapproving fathers.
Lenin’s mood lightened as his fangs popped back in, his teeth gleaming like polished Steinway piano keys. “Good, then we will be fine. There is one thing to start I want for you to do.”
“Yes,” said Fletcher, submissively.
“Make Inman a vampire so that I can control him through you for now. We need to keep this a secret. If managed properly, no one will ever know. Inman is single and has no children.”
Mark Inman gazed out of his hideaway office onto the Mall and allowed himself to consider the possibility that he may be president someday. "It is for the greater good," Inman mouthed to himself.
Fletcher Turner would be returning from Paris soon, and Inman was eager to hear about the trip. He had spoken briefly to Fletcher at the airport, but the conversation had to stay brief due to the secretive nature of the mission.
Inman thought of all the crap he had to take from the members in his party and from people he grew up with. Tough to be a Jewish Republican, he thought.
He had worked hard in business as a hedge fund manager and made hundreds of millions. But political power, power at any cost, was what he craved.
He won his first bid for office in 2000, and he moved rapidly up the ranks in the party. He rose to House Majority Leader when the Republicans had major gains in the 2010 midterms.
He needed the big money to win. Without the big money, he would be just another promising candidate.
He needed an infusion of cash to beat the big boys, and Vladimir Lenin might be able to provide that, although no one could ever know.
He also needed a mechanism to fan the flames of discontent. The Tea Party was replete with nut jobs, and the Teat Party would allow them to succeed under a cloak of legitimacy.
A knock on the door stopped Inman's reverie. "Come in," he said.
Fletcher Turner walked in with a smile on his face. He appeared much taller and more sure of himself than he had been when he left.
"I take it from your expression it went well."
"You could say that," Fletcher responded with confidence and ease. Inman thought his teeth were much whiter. Strange.
“So tell me what he wants Fletcher. What’s the ask?”
Fletcher considered how to respond. He couldn’t tell him everything. Not all right now. “It involves some real estate deals. Some tax breaks on construction projects here financed by foreign projects.” Fletcher neglected to mention Lenin was a vampire or that he sometimes worked without the Restoration Vampire League. At least Lenin and the league realized it was to their benefit to work together until the humans were subjugated; but he wasn’t sure if he could go through with their plan.
“That doesn’t sound too unreasonable,” said Inman.
“That’s what I thought. Sounded like a fair trade to me.”
“I’m sure there will be more, but I guess we will find out more later.”
“I’m sure we will.”
“Thanks Fletcher, but now we need to get back to our business here.”
“Indeed we do sir,” Fletcher said defiantly.
“Excuse me Fletcher?” Obviously Inman didn’t appreciate the sarcasm.
“We need to get down to a different kind of business sir.” Fletcher’s opened his mouth to reveal gleaming fangs. Saliva strings gripped the top fangs and held to the bottom like cobwebs on a mummy’s tomb out of a 1950s horror movie.
Inman’s eyes glowered. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. What’s with those stupid fangs? Last I checked it wasn’t Halloween.”
“No sir it isn’t.” Fletcher grabbed Inman and slammed him on top of the desk. This is where Inman soundproofing the office is to my benefit, he thought. Inman gasped inaudibly, but no words came out. The bullshitting chatterbox couldn’t talk.
Fletcher sank his fangs into Inman’s neck and tasted the coppery blood. Delicious, he thought, and so satisfying to control the man who has controlled my life. Now I am the boss, he thought.
He continued to drink, and he thought about the place he would bury him, in an empty grave in Arlington Vladimir Lenin purchased years ago. Then he would rise from the dead undead and a vampire.
“Vladimir, we agree with the need to take the United States, but we must be unified. You cannot act unilaterally,” said Gustav Von Trapp, the Swedish scion of the Von Trapp family, and leader of the majority of the Restoration vampires in Northern Europe.
“I am not acting unilaterally. No one wants this plan to succeed more than I do. I’ve waited for it longer than any of you and sacrificed more.”
Lenin found it difficult to control his anger.
Plaintively, Gustav said, “All of us know that Vladimir, but we must work together.” He grasped Lenin’s shoulders in a fatherly way.
Then both men turned to the others in the room. Vampires from all over Europe sat in the audience around a giant round table in a dark, underground bunker. Restoration vampires had met for hundreds of years in this bunker, and they were all related through Lenin’s blood. Easier to meet in a neutral country rarely ravaged by war.
Lenin didn’t feel much better. He felt patronized. Idiots, he thought, they have no clue what to do. They want to be gradual. Overwhelming force is the only way to go. We will have the numbers. Numbers are what matter.
Lenin had his mole in the United States. They didn’t know about Fletcher. Not yet. He would tell them when the time was right or maybe he wouldn’t tell them at all. Some things they didn’t need to know.
Ronald Drum entered into real estate deals all over the world where Nero Corporation would do the construction, and Drum would develop the properties. Drum also sold his name, which was a well established international brand, though whether the investors actually made money was another story.
Each time Drum didn’t ask questions. The outer structures of the buildings were built, and one day the buildings would be occupied by millions. The shear scale of the projects meant each of the projects would take years to complete, but it was worth it.
Meanwhile teenagers and other young people disappeared. No one ever found out where they went, but they had to go somewhere.
Posted by The Scribe at 1:46 PM
Sunday, January 17, 2016
Magnum stood in the background as Pierre talked to Roland. He remembered his initial skepticism about the existence of vampires even though he found out about vampires by seeing them, not hearing about them.
William Magnum enjoyed being a vampire hunter. He often thought about how he discovered vampires and what began his vampire hunting career. It all began with the grisly death of his mother at the hands of a vampire.
But he barely remembered his mother. Strangely with each kill he grew stronger as the memory of his mother dimmed. Eventually he killed so many vampires that he couldn't recall the number.
Magnum found killing Restoration vampires made him forget the failings in his own life. He had three failed marriages and a string of dead end jobs until he became a vampire hunter. It was the only thing in life he succeeded in.
He supposed he could trace all his failures back to his mother. He didn’t trust women, and he couldn’t focus. He wandered through life rudderless until he discovered he could be a vampire hunter. He knew was good at that.
He was the best of the Society of the Silver Stake. There were many other members from better backgrounds, but none possessed his skills.
Although he’d been recruited by Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr (code names of course) both of whom attended Ivy League schools and were from prominent families, he never felt he fit. He was an outsider. Eventually, however, he embraced this renegade persona. It worked for him. People respected him. I’m a cowboy, he thought. But I don’t know if I will ever ride off into the sunset. My sunset may be darkness and a dirt nap if I’m lucky.
He liked to think he was responsible for maintaining the delicate balance between humans and vampires. He didn't hate all vampires-- just the bad vampires.
The Secret Service employed Magnum on a regular basis. He was kind of like an unofficial member.
He needed to quit thinking about his mother, who he could barely remember. Instead he should focus on Roland, the new project. He and Pierre would get Roland ready.
Magnum’s cell phone rang, and he found a room to duck into so he didn’t disturb Roland and Pierre.
“Magnum, this is Agent Watson.”
“That didn’t take long,” said Magnum.
“I wanted to see how things are going.”
“Hard to say at this point, but I think the boy has potential. Just a feeling I get.” More or less, Magnum believed what he was saying, but he also needed to sell the decision makers on the importance of the mission as well as the likelihood of its success. The longer the mission lasted the more profitable for him it became.
Magnum would fight vampires for free, but he would be un-American if he didn’t want a payday. Any self-respecting vampire hunter would demand some form of payment.
“I can’t say a lot about the mission over the phone because we need to keep information on an as-needed basis, but there’s going to be a meeting tomorrow early in the morning. I will text you the time and location.”
“I guess it involves the White House.”
Watson laughed, “Always trying to find out more information than you need to know earlier than you need to know.”
“That’s why I’m good at my job.”
“True. Just follow instructions.”
Magnum knew what the job would consist of.
Pierre hadn’t always been so friendly to humans. Although he possessed an amiable and kind nature—for a vampire—he had been vicious in the past, and he wasn’t proud of this.
The last time he murdered a human though was in the 1920s in New Orleans, and it cured him of the desire to consume human blood. He couldn’t do it anymore because he hated himself afterwards; whatever momentary satisfaction he may have felt always dissipated when he thought of his brutal vampire nature.
For a few years he subsisted on animal blood until he heard about private blood banks in Chicago. Then he moved there and began buying up blood for food and thinking about ways for humans and vampires to peacefully coexist. If he were going to continue existing, he needed a purpose, one befitting the memory of Quinta.
Pierre watched as Magnum talked to Roland, and he could see the flickering flame of doubt in Roland’s eyes; but he also saw some recognition of the reality of the situation.
Pierre climbed some scaffolding at one end of the cavernous warehouse, and he pulled a rope, which drew up a rubber dummy dressed like a vampire. Then he placed the vampire on a hook attached to a clear microfilament fiber. The vampire could be released at the appropriate time, and, once shot (assuming it was hit solidly), it would fall off the filament to the ground.
Once the dummy was secure, Pierre went to the other side of the warehouse at the middle of the field. He secured another vampire and prepared it to be released at the appropriate time.
He then secured several other vampires. They would be used to train Roland.
Then he glanced down and watched Roland and Magnum talking. Roland reminded him a little bit of Louis Abellard (the man he brutally killed in New Orleans) except Roland had seen more horrors. The only horror in the death of Louis Abellard was Pierre right before he drained him. So much regret, he thought, so many things I could have done differently.
If I hadn’t caught the eye of Servus Marcellus, vampire name of Drago, I would never be in this position. I would have died hundreds of years ago, naturally, like I was supposed to.
Now he needed to be strong, to be practical, and to focus on the task at hand of training Roland. Pierre had a job to do, and none of this would mean anything if he failed at his job.
Roland wanted to learn more about hunting and killing vampires, and Magnum was eager to teach him. The idea that a vampire could be in favor of killing other vampires perplexed Roland.
"I don’t understand how Pierre wants me to kill vampires or how he supports the killing of any vampires. In fact, I am still unsure that vampires exist in spite of what I saw"
Magnum considered this a fair question. "From what I've heard of Pierre and from what I've observed, he understands the need for coexistence between humans and vampires. He is almost 2,000 years old. He knows vampires are as old as humanity. The two have always existed beside each other, but it has always been a precarious balance.
Magnum led Roland into the large, dark warehouse where Pierre had been setting up. He flipped on some faint lights. He climbed up on what appeared to be scaffolding with a clear plastic shield over it. Behind the shield was a control panel.
"I have no idea what to do," Roland shouted up to Magnum.
"That's okay. You will learn. Take the quiver filled with silver arrows and the silver stabbing stakes. Then put on the holster and the gun with silver bullets. Then pick up the crossbow.”
Roland did as he was told. "Now what do I do?" he shouted.
The lights went off. Roland felt a rush of air pass him, and a spotlight shone on a pallid dummy with fangs. Instinctively, Roland rolled to the right, and the dummy swooped past him. Then he felt another rush, from the right side. He was ready this time. He shot the crossbow where he felt the presence of the dummy. He heard a metallic ping.
"Great shot!" Magnum cried out from the darkness. "Vampires move so quickly you must develop a sense of where they are moving and how they move. If you try and aim at them from a distance, you will miss. There are so few good vampire hunters because few know how to shoot a vampire.
"The idea is to strike a death blow with the first shot, but this is not always possible. The silver arrow, however, will slow down the vampire. This is key because if the vampire is slowed down then you will be able to attack it with your silver stake. The silver stake will slide deep into the vampire with relative ease, but the trouble is being able to aim properly and getting a clean stab.
"Okay, let's practice more. You haven't much time to train for your first hunt is tonight.” Roland’s palms began to sweat, and he felt his blood race.
“I believe it important to send you out right away. Don’t worry because you won’t be alone. There is a particularly nasty vampire in the South Side of Chicago, and we need to get rid of him. I will be there with you, but it is important you make your first kill. Restoration vampires are growing in number everyday. And this is a mission that will go on and on because we will never be able to eradicate bad vampires."
Roland knew he possessed unusually keen skills. However, he felt unsure. “Isn’t it a little soon to be hunting vampires?”
“No. You learn by doing. I will be there with you.” This answer didn’t satisfy Roland. A lot about this situation didn’t satisfy him, and it pissed him off.
“That’s bullshit,” Roland shouted losing his temper. “How the hell am I supposed to be ready to hunt vampires so soon? Let’s assume you are telling the truth. If I screw up, I die or worse yet get made a fucking vampire!”
Magnum chuckled, and, before Roland could get even angrier, Magnum responded to Roland, “Roland, I know this is a lot to take in, but you can handle it. We need you.”
“Save all the 911 Merica bullshit. I’m tired of that. I heard enough of it in the military.” Then he calmed a bit, and said, “What if I’m not ready?”
“You will be ready for the ultimate test when the time comes. We don’t have any other choice.”
Pierre walked out of the shadows. “You did fine with the first few dummies, but that isn’t enough. You need to be able to kill real vampires, and there isn’t much time. You need to be ready soon. Tonight you will get your start. Either you will do well or you will end up dead or undead and a vampire. It’s your choice.”Pierre turned around and walked off into the dark warehouse.
Posted by The Scribe at 2:04 PM
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Tuesday, January 5, 2016
Posted by The Scribe at 6:44 AM