Bloody hell! I log on here for the first time in a while, because Christmas was stressful, and it turns out there’s some terrifying, godforsaken spider in my house, which has grown big enough and sentient enough to WRITE BLOG POSTS on my behalf! This is Eden, by the way, in a state of ABJECT HORROR, just as any sane immortal would be, upon learning that some unthinkably vast arachnid is lurking about, studying me and reporting my comings and goings, as though I were a rat in a laboratory! WHAT’S MORE, this perverted spidery git covets my girlfriend, and proudly confesses to scuttling all over everybody’s TITS while they’re asleep!
Now, as I am an intelligent and above all LOGICAL vampire, naturally I would suspect this to be nothing more than some foul and gruesome scheme dreamed up to drive me insane, but Kate and Clara aren’t arseholes, Samuel’s been too busy carousing drunkenly in the snow with Frederick, and Rob, my prime suspect, would just have turned those rambling spidery blog posts into an endless fart joke, also serving as a self-aggrandising monologue about how big his DICK is!
So it’s true! It HAS to be fucking true! These laptop keys that I am presently touching have all been scampered about on by a big fat hairy insect! (Yes, yes, I know they’re not technically ‘insects’ but I hope to insult ‘Lord Bartholomew’ as much as he has besmirched every tit in this house! I am APPALLED AND FLABBERGHASTED!!)
Christ… I dread to think what else dwells in the shadowy corners and disused bedrooms, the tattered velvet drapes of this ancient manor… I’ve never envied all the boring little humans with their boring little houses that were only built fifty years ago and have no character whatsoever, or worse still those vile gleaming apartments with their nasty cold fake-pine flooring, glittering silver taps and beige fucking everything, but at least if you live somewhere with no soul, you know full well it’s not going to contain sinister, antiquated beings who’ve developed near-human intellect and preternatural skill with a laptop! I mean, what else can he do, this sodding…bloody… whateverhisnameis, Lord Bartholomew the Spider?! Dare I seek him out, and attempt to fight him?! Exactly how big IS he? He claims to hide behind the oil paintings, but our oil paintings are HUGE! I may well be a vampire, and yes I do feed on human blood every night, I also frequently massacre my victims – I fear NO MAN, but…well…I am still quite allowed to be mildly arachnophobic when the creature in question could be the size of a hairy tarantula-stallion in possession of unnatural and FIENDISH INTELLECT!
I think it best to avoid this unholy spider… Samuel has other ideas, you know what he’s like – this spider is an unparalleled scientific wonder, and that means he has just become Samuel’s latest obsession. Samuel wants to befriend the monster, and then talk to it, at length! (I despair…yet I am far from surprised. Samuel may seem the sanest of us all, but the grisly truth is that he considers unspeakable demonic hauntings and severe poltergeist attacks to be ‘absolutely wonderful!’ – I shall never forget the sight of him standing on our sweeping marble stairway, a terrifying array of knives and forks circling him in a whooshing tornado, as a waterfall of hallucinatory, half-clotted blood sploshed over his boots. Samuel was grinning delightedly, shouting over the chaos ‘Is this not a WONDER!’, while I had to be carried out of the house by Rob, slashing and gouging at my own wrists in terrified delirium, attempting to bleed out the demons which were SHRIEKING WITHIN MY SKULL, scratching runes into my bones and screaming at me to murder my own lover, and oh god…oh god I’m not even talking about this anymore – if I believed in therapy I would still be lying on a couch ‘til this very day! Even when we almost fucking DIE, Samuel finds these heinous supernatural events the highlight of his year! It’s alright for him, 800 years old, fearless and completely sodding indestructible, but some of us have more delicate constitutions! And also a profound dislike of anything that SCUTTLES…)
*sigh* Well, I suppose that now I’m here, probably being observed by that furry eight-legged shitball, I may as well update you on everything that has occurred since our spidery narrator last talked about me behind my back.
As you know, we now have two brand new pet dogs, and they make me feel a great deal safer, and more cheerful, in the knowledge that Bartholomew the Bastard Spider could be scuttling about. We intended on rescuing just one dog, a lovechild of Kate’s and my own equally, but as the bloody Spider explained, that didn’t quite work out. In fact, the dog situation is not quite working out at all. I am feeling decidedly off my game – usually, I can look into the eyes of an animal, especially dogs and horses, and commune silently with them. I can understand their thoughts, though not so clearly as a human’s – eye contact is annoyingly almost vital with animals, especially at first, and even then, the language is smudgy, blurry, I have to squint with my mind’s eye and it becomes exhausting, but finally, they understand me, and we reach an agreement. I understand what they want, and more vitally, what they need. And sometimes, what they need isn’t me. Yes, I can provide shelter, food, love, but animals are far more complex than that, believe it or not; they all have personalities and desires, just like anybody else. Sometimes it means rehoming them with somebody they like better. I can’t be offended. People treat pets like babies; they’ve got them, and now they’re stuck with them, ‘you can’t choose your family’ and all the rest of that crap, but the simple fact is, it isn’t true with a pet. You did choose them. But they probably didn’t choose you, and neither do they have to. If an animal doesn’t enjoy your company, nor you his, why make both of your lives miserable? We’ve passed on dogs and horses before – they found us too loud, too anarchic, or they simply didn’t like the smell of vampires; many animals find us intimidating, just by scent. All of them found their true families in the end, and lived happier lives for it, though admittedly we do have the power to bewitch a human into loving a dog forever, and I personally have the power to tell the dog in no uncertain terms not to eat their new owner’s chaise longue, nor to urinate all over the cat. Simple requests go far, with dogs.
So, usually, we acquire our animals, and I commune with them – I show them around the house, ask about their dietary preferences, their likes and dislikes (it’s sort of like a first date, I suppose), and then we see how we get along. Learning to understand them in depth takes longer…such blurry, blurry language…
Our new dogs consist of my own beautiful Fiend (also known as Pudding), and Kate’s vulgar little brat, who is named Heisenberg, but generally referred to as Sod. Kate and Sod’s relationship irks me – as a baby vampire, Kate has no experience communing with animals, I am the ONLY ONE who has worked hard enough over the centuries to manage it, and yet I would swear that Kate is in some way managing to bypass decades of hard work when it comes to Sod. That makes me grumpy. I hate it when people are better at things than me! Kate and Sod are getting on famously – she bought a ghastly oversized black and purple hoodie with a huge fleece-lined pocket at the front, like a kangaroo’s pouch, and is generally found wandering about the place with Sod’s strange little fur-bristling face and crooked ears peering delightedly out of it. She’s even taken Sod out flying, and much as I hoped the little bastard would fall out and learn his place in the pecking order, he took to it quite happily, yapping into the wind as we sped towards the city to hunt. He even has a taste for human blood, and Kate has taken to feeding messily from her victims so that Sod can lick up the excess.
Why does this annoy me? Well, partly because whenever I go to kiss my girlfriend, a small growling toilet-brush emerges from her midriff and scowls at me, but also because Sod is the perfect Vampire’s Dog, and yet he chose Kate over me! My dog, Fiend, is a far more spectacular creation, at least six times the size of Sod, some kind of Irish Wolfhound, Newfoundland and Mastiff mix, at a guess, as though somebody had sought to breed the biggest and most intimidating canine on Earth. He is jet-black, vast, muscular and shaggy, with bright golden eyes that nearly glow. He looks scary as shit, but sadly, appearances can be deceiving. He possesses the most powerfully deep and terrifying growl-bark, but the trouble is, it seems to scare him – he lets out an Earthshaking, imperious WOOF, and just as I think, ‘Aha! My dog truly is a FEARSOME CREATURE, a HELLHOUND at my side!’ he begins to whimper and hides behind my legs, scared to pants-crapping extremes by the volume of his own voice! What the FUCK is wrong with my dog?!
What’s more, he lets Sod bully him perpetually, to the extent that they have to be fed in separate rooms, or Sod will devour everything in sight, while Fiend steps nervously back and whines pathetically as his dinner is sucked down into the ever-expanding gut of Sod the Walking Toilet Brush. Bedtime is another adventure. Obviously, if Kate and I plan to fuck, both hounds are locked outside the room, and loud music is played to block out the distracting sounds of claws scraping on ancient wood and their howls of betrayal and misery. But when we sleep, the nightmare cannot be avoided! We eventually had to settle on purchasing two equally huge dog beds so that Sod wouldn’t push Fiend out and make him sleep on a sock or something, but even so, I like my dogs to curl up on the bed with me, warming my feet and guarding my castle 🙂 This too, has been vetoed by Sod. Sod will not allow Fiend onto our bed, unless Fiend hides behind me, taking up at least 1/3 of our vast four poster bed, which would feel snug and cosy and mildly sexy (Oh for fuck’s sake, I’m talking about the proximity to Kate’s tits, not about buggering my dog, you vulgar perverts!), except that should I make advances towards Kate, Sod will immediately bound up the bed, lick her ear until she giggles, then the horrible git turns back and fixes me with his uniquely bizarre scowl – one eye brown, one eye blue, one ear up and one ear down, face like a befouled lavatory brush – he is not to be tangled with, and Fiend provides me no protection against this canine menace!
I think I was quite correct in initially naming Fiend as ‘Pudding’. It suits him rather better. I was hoping, at the beginning, that he would be my Pudding, and everybody else’s Fiend, but instead, he appears to be an enormous purebred Pudding. Still, Kate loves them equally, and I love Pudding even if he is a useless 200lb lump afraid of his own voice, and if Kate is happy, even wandering around the house with a tiny bristling maniac stuffed into her hoodie, then I suppose I’m happy too…
We stayed in for New Year’s Eve, and simply got blisteringly wasted, but once the dogs have settled in, I think we are well overdue a winter holiday.
For now, I shall continue in my as-yet-futile attempts to break into Sod’s tiny mind, and encourage him not to be such a repulsive little arsehole to me, while also trying to convince Pudding that he is a fearsome, almighty Demon of a dog, and not…well…an overstuffed Pudding. As for that ungodly bloody Spider that’s been posting on this blog, let it be known that I have my EYEBALLS on you, Bartholomew! Think yourself lucky that Samuel wants to speak to you, because otherwise, your days would be SEVERELY NUMBERED! PS, don’t you DARE come near Kate’s tits in the night again!
Yours, vexed and irked,
Eden the UNHOLY!