In this interview, a vampire named "Anubis" describes his initiation into the world of necro-romance,
and the day his mentor crossed the line.
I remember as a boy going to funeral homes with my father. I was five, and my job was to hand him the tools he needed to repair things before he asked for them. I prided myself on my ability to anticipate his needs, but it wasn't long before I would wander off into the casket rooms, running my fingers against the linings. I used to imagine how it would feel to sleep in there I always wanted to try it out.
After visiting the staff and charming my way into their hearts, I'd slip into the prep room to see Frank. He would let me watch him embalm, even asking for instruments, like my dad. I learned a lot about the business, about the arteries and veins and how to access them. I loved the sights, the sounds, even the smells of the prep room. I remember the first time I saw the rich flow of dark, almost black blood creeping down the shiny, stainless steel table. Watching the blood of a dead girl ease towards the sink drain and disappear was the saddest and most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I wanted to taste it because I thought that if I could sip a little before it was all gone I could save her memory.
Frank encouraged me to learn all that I could about everything in life. He was patient with me, answering all of my questions no matter how complex. Dad had told him that I was intelligent and he could discuss anything with me that he thought I could handle. I was afraid to ask Frank if I could taste that girl's blood. I thought he wouldn't understand my belief in its power, so I didn't ask him.
In another funeral home, there was a guy named Don. He was more in tune with the the blood force. I was older by now, eight or nine, and I asked if he would let me taste the blood of a teenage male we were working on at the time. Don said it would be dangerous to taste microbial blood, so he sterilized some for me in a beaker and said I could taste all I wanted. He warned me that I probably shouldn't tell anyone because people wouldn't understand the natural curiosity. He said something like: "It's not wrong to be curious and to want to understand everything. It's just that in our world there are things that are supposed to be right and wrong and people think that everyone should stick to those things." He was very open-minded.
Everyone at the funeral home liked me. I was thrilled to have adults encouraging my intellect, stimulating my curiosities. I felt grown up. When I could read, I scoured journals of dying prisoners and embalming procedure manuals, medical books and nursing books; I read theology journals and spent all of my free time in cemeteries and funeral homes.
There were other funeral directors. People who really loved their work and who wanted me to join them in their enthusiasm for it. I'll tell you about John. He was a fanatic. Once, he actually met the very person he was going to embalm. Her name was Laurie. She was only twenty-four, very beautiful. I was twenty at the time. John arranged her appointment for a time when he knew the other directors would be busy: he wanted her all to himself. Laurie had an advanced case of leukemia. Two weeks before, she had been fine, laughing and playing tennis with her boyfriend. She had just won her match when she fainted, falling face forward into the grass court. She was rushed to a hospital and the diagnosis came quickly. Her case was rare and too advanced for any reasonable therapy, so she came to us. "I went right from the doctor's office to my grandma's house to inquire what funeral home handled papa's arrangements," she said, her eyes nervously darting between John and me. John shot me a look. I knew what it meant.
John was a real pro. His performances with the clients were legendary, but he reminded me of the Grinch. John's lips curled up with delight at the thought of Laurie's helpless, naked body lying flat against the cold steel of his embalming table. He already knew what I was only beginning to understand dead men tell no tales. Neither do dead girls.
John sealed the arrangements with the customary handshake and escorted Laurie to the car. He played the sensitive gentleman, opening her door and gently closing it. She opened her window and thanked him for his kindness. John patted her arm in mock consolation. All the while he was transferring these mental images to the holding tank in his brain. He would use these "life-pictures" later.
I arrived late the night Laurie's body came in. Mostly, I cleaned up the place, you know, a little vacuuming, dusting and emptying of the trash. I had to inspect all the doors and windows for security, then go to the Ready Room. The Ready Room is where all removals are stored upon arrival. This room is marked by brilliant white tiled floors and walls, stainless steel tables and instruments, and lots of shelved bottles filled with red, blue and brown chemicals. There were glass bottles and jars of specimens: toes, intestines, a nipple or two. John was working late. My job was to sterilize the instruments he used in embalming procedures, so I went in and started working. He looked up at me and appeared startled at my presence, but then he told me he was glad I was there.
John scared me. He taught me some basics of embalming procedure, explaining every possibility in painful detail. In the beginning, I thought it was normal for an embalmer to palpate cold flesh, searching vaginal and anal cavities for abnormalities that could obstruct arterial flow. He noted the importance of assessing each body to eradicate impediments to the centrifuge. After doing my own research, it became clear to me that, while John was an exceptional craftsman, he was taking unauthorized luxuries with the dead. At first, I thought his indiscretions were an aberration, a fluke restricted to a select few professionals. I was wrong. I later discovered that John's erotic desecration was shared with an elite club of practitioners.
That night John directed my attention to the tabled remains. Rules of conduct require that sheets completely cover all arrivals. His hands caressed the body through the sheet, predicting difficulties with preservation before even glimpsing the flesh. Then he yanked the sheet down dramatically, revealing the raw materials for his work-of-art: Laurie.
Her body was ashen gray. There were a variety of black and blue marks dispersed over the surface of her swollen form. Her facial tissue was unusually clear with only a couple of depressions. Her eyes were open, a stunt coordinated by John to enhance his dramatic unveiling. (The eyes of the deceased are typically closed by the time they reach a funeral home, a fact unknown to me then.) John had planned for me to be present at Laurie's debut. He had already initiated the preparation of her remains and had been waiting for me to come in.
As I watched, he ran his fingers around her blue lips, giving special attention to the area just below her nostrils. He stroked her arm and gazed into her empty eyes. I backed away but watched closely as John spooled his "life-pictures" of Laurie onto his hard drive, reenacting the moments between them two weeks earlier. Although I felt guilty, I took a seat in the corner to watch.
John leaned down and pressed his lips against Laurie's cold flesh. His kiss was passionate, suggestive of some response. I surmised that this interactive play was imaginary, but set in John's head so vividly that his body was behaving as though Laurie were really alive, as though she were kissing him back. He spoke to her softly, nibbling her blue ear lobes and smiling. He fondled her breasts and ran his hands across her belly, while his fingers slid in and out of her navel. He became increasingly aroused, removing his shoes, then his clothing. When fully naked, he leapt upon the table and straddled the corpse, with feet and hands ceremoniously placed on her thighs and shoulders. He was like a mosquito positioning itself for the insertion of its stinger, psychically linking himself with Laurie's spirit. John was trying to pass some of his own energy into her cold body, a stab at jump-starting his lifeless lover.
After a few moments of this silent ceremony, he lowered himself into Laurie and began moving his sweaty body against her cold frame. I was appalled. Never had I imagined that any man could be turned on enough to do this. But here it was right in front of me.
John was adept at keeping himself balanced on the precarious embalming table. As he slammed into this lifeless body I began to feel horrible about watching them. I felt sorry for Laurie, to see her remains so desecrated. John's orgasm was violent, a blast from his groin into this dry, non-responsive receptacle. He then dismounted, kissing her sweetly, and said goodbye.
He turned to me, drenched in sweat, and said, "Well, what did we learn tonight?" Too stunned to reply, I swallowed hard and shrugged. After calmly dressing, John walked over and whispered in my ear, "We learned that there is so much more to be learned."
This was excerpted from Katherine Ramsland's Piercing the Darkness: Undercover with Vampires in America Today.
fingers against the linings. I used to imagine how it would feel to sleep in there I always wanted to try it out.
manuals, medical books and nursing books; I read theology journals and spent all of my free time in cemeteries and funeral homes.
The Ready Room is where all removals are stored upon arrival. This room is marked by brilliant white tiled floors and walls, stainless steel tables and instruments, and lots of shelved bottles filled with red, blue and brown chemicals. There were glass bottles and jars of specimens: toes, intestines, a nipple or two. John was working late. My job was to sterilize the instruments he used in embalming procedures, so I went in and started working. He looked up at me and appeared startled at my presence, but then he told me he was glad I was there.
his dramatic unveiling. (The eyes of the deceased are typically closed by the time they reach a funeral home, a fact unknown to me then.) John had planned for me to be present at Laurie's debut. He had already initiated the preparation of her remains and had been waiting for me to come in.
