Welcome.
I’m a high school student.
You can call me Jonathon8.
And yes – I am.
If you’re new here, I recommend you Start From The Beginning. Saves time.
If you’ve been here before, recent posts are listed at the bottom of the page. You know your way around.
Let the carnage begin – and don’t say I didn’t fucking warn you…
– Jonathon8
Hey.
Shh. We’re waiting. Look up there.
No – look. There. See it? Up in the corner of the ceiling.
Yeah – I know it’s dark. That’s because the first thing you do is disconnect the fucking lightbulb of course. You some kind of amateur? Bet you would have tried to break in at the bloody door too, when there was a perfectly good window left ajar at night…
Anyway – are you looking? Yeah – that’s the one. Lean hungry black spider perched up there. Small and fast – those are the little fuckers you have to look out for…
Huh – check it. He’s coming down – daintily, confidently dropping in on a new hunting ground, leaving long lines of silken trip wire.
That reminds me. Help me move this sofa – we’ll need some room, and it helps with the initial disorientation…
Now – where’d he go? Look out. He’s on the floor somewhere. He’ll be creeping – gently, stealthily, feeling his way, all senses attuned for…
Oh. There he is. Just crawling up over your shoulder there…
Oh for fuck’s sake. It was a joke. Shut up with the screaming. It’s not on your shoulder.
It’s there, climbing across your ankle.
Just fucking sit still, all right? He’s not interested in you tonight. He has other things to bite.
See? He’s on that table leg now. Would you get up and get back behind the chair? – do you want to be seen when the door opens?…
Shit – look at that. He’s full on spinning a web. Fucking amazing. Evolutionary engineering: perfect organic death trap. Sticky silk spokes and spindle, so delicately played out they can rarely see it coming. Beautiful lethal mesh, stretched ruthlessly, deliberately, inevitably across the path most taken. The fine art of murder, planned and executed in minutes - and once the victim enters, there’s no way out.
Because waiting quietly in the center in the dark is the perfect natural death-dealer – patient, practised, with the hunger and the love of the kill rising in its cold tensed body.
He’s done this before.
Hey.
Shh…
Ah.
That’ll be a key in the door.
Patience now…
(Iphone buzzes angrily on the bench. One new message. Kane.)
We are not fucking okay. But
have you spoken to Carly.
She fucking disappeared. Was
bitching about me contacting
you. Guess she got her wish.
But only because I have to.
We are not fucking okay.
(Hit reply. Text. The truth.)
No. Haven’t spoken to her.
Sorry man.
(Delete last two words. Press send.)
[Another collection of the most witty, intelligent and entertaining questions I get asked. Oh - and some fucking ridiculous ones too...]
On Culinary Delights…
What did you eat for breakfast today?
Your mom.
What’s one food you’ll never eat again?
Cat.
What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?
Chicken. You can guess what it tasted like.
If you could have an endless supply of any food, what would you get?
Blonde.
What’s the most delicious meal you’ve ever had?
Don’t you mean who?
On Recent Events…
So, Mr. 8. Bored yet with eternity?
I was, six months ago. But then I started blogging, and things got fucking interesting. In a holy-shit, what-the-fuck kind of way, of course…
If you could change one thing that happened last year what would it be?
Fuck. Good question. Probably – probably should have just killed Kane that very first week of blogging, shouldn’t I…?
Why are you so sneery about humans: surely you were one once?
My best friend is a human. Sure – might eat her some day, but that’s nothing to sneer at…
Why do you let Py push you around?
Dude’s a fucking legend. Been a fan of his exploits for years. And sheesh – if having him around for some bloody fun means putting up with some occasional shit, fine.
When last did you take a bath?
Had a lovely bloodbath on the weekend, and needed to shower after that. Do either of those count…?
What did you dream about last night?
Not Carly. Shut the fuck up.
On History…
What’s your earliest memory?
Watching my older brother being taught how to gut a pig. Juicy…
How did you die, and how were you turned?
Met a girl in red. She saw red – I bled red. Then we played in blood for decades. Old habits die hard, I guess.
Did you have anything to do with the missing colony at Roanoke?
Well. I gotta be honest. Amelia and I did go travelling just after I joined the flock…
What’s been your favorite meal – or at least a highly memorable one?
The Mary Celeste crew made for a fun dinner party, now I think about it…
What’s the oldest piece of clothing you still own and wear?
1950s double-breasted waistcoat-thing. Fucking love that vest – got it tailored for some swish party in Eastern Europe, and I’m still dragging the old thread-bare thing around with me…
What were you doing a hundred years ago?
Hmm. Ate Crippen’s wife around then, I remember – dude flipped when he found the body and messed up getting rid of it. Fun times.
On Sense and Nonsense…
What do you miss most?
Fucking awesome question. Sneezing. Seriously.
Can you fly?
Do I _look_ like the lurid spandex and fucking underwear-on-the-outside sort to you?
What’s your favourite smell?
You mean other than you?
Why are vampire emotions so different from humans? Maybe you don’t know, but it seems odd that as a human you would have felt emotions but they all vanish when you become a vampire, never to love again.
Death tends to do that to you.
Have you ever, or would you ever, have a relationship with a human? Could it be physical?
Depends what you mean by ‘relationship’. It’s not like I do the ‘love’ thing… And I’m carnivorous, not castrated…
Just out of curiosity, have you ever killed a pregnant woman? I realize no one is completely safe from you; I’m just wondering if I can relax a little bit when walking to my car at night.
Sob-story victims are not a wise choice – too high-profile a kill. But then, ‘hungry’ can outweigh ‘wise’…
If you could choose, how would you want to die?
Bloodily. Worked well for me the first time…
On Entertainment…
What inspires you?
To violence? I like to consider myself self-motivated…
What career are you looking to follow?
You mean other than smart-ass serial killing blogger? Seems to be keeping me occupied for now…
What’s your biggest phobia?
That Twilight will become a worldwide phenomenon – oh. Wait…
If you could have the starring role in one movie what would it be?
“Musings of a High School Vampire” – it’s gonna be next summer’s blockbuster, boys and girls…
How long before your need for anonymous attention becomes the end of you?
Fucked if I know. But then – I like to ‘live’ dangerously…
If you could rid the world of one thing, what would it be?
Brix? Sunlight? No – I know. Stephenie Meyer. You can thank me later.
So. What to talk about today. How does one follow up recent events with pithy fucking chatter?
Let’s talk about the weather, eh? Who’s for some fun vampire trivia? Show of hands, please…
We don’t really feel cold. Or heat. And before you start, it’s not because of any kind of sexy, chilly, Twilight-esque bullshit, okay? I might be dead, but my circulatory system works just fucking fine, thanks. Any chills I give off are the actual scary sort, and not because I’m a spiky-haired, ‘vegetarian’ popsicle.
That means heightened senses, yeah – but not ’sensitive’. Getting the difference? Functioning at physical perfection sure, but all the safety devices are turned off. I can run you down, throw you off, hear and see you coming a bloody mile away, and heal up faster than you can say “Fuck me, that was fast” – but you won’t hear me complaining about the unseasonably warm spell or the sudden cold snap.
Okay, yes – I’ll admit nocturnal means minor light-sensitivity. I don’t enjoy a fucking nice sunny day, if that’s what you’re asking. But you feel discomfort at heat and cold as an internal health and safety regulation, whereas I can’t get dehydrated, hyperthermia, hypothermia, feverish, or catch cold. Unlike you, I could live in a sauna or nap in a snowstorm – because it’s not like it’s gonna kill me.
Hence – I don’t shiver, pant or perspire either. Fucking ew. Like I say – safety gauges all turned off. When it comes down to it, I’m a hot-blooded cold bastard. No matter how the weather looks, or what bloody unnatural disasters pass through my ‘life’, I’m telling you - categorically…
I don’t feel a thing.
Story time, boys and girls. Settle the fuck down, and listen up. This is what happened after.
So a long time ago, Little Red Riding Hood killed the wolf, of course - because he started it. But killing wolves must be lucky, or unlucky, or some such shit, because then she was hungry. A lot. And soon it wasn’t just wolves – it was young mothers and little boys and old women and wayward brothers. They were all just goodies to her.
But the law of fairytales says you always want what you can’t seem to have. And the law of desire insists the most attractive fascinating thing in the world is the very thing you probably shouldn’t do.
And Red Riding Hood took these laws to an artform. She craved. She craved with all the gluttony of gingerbread-house vandals and gold-hoarding dragons and magic-curse inevitability. Everything you shouldn’t – she wanted.
She broke hearts in two and made the metaphor a frequent actuality. She ate when, where, what and whom she pleased. She played tricks on her neighbours and games with her family – stealing their self-assurance and hiding it, gobbling up their personal space, breaking off pieces of newly-made py.
And she made a small, dark pubescent monster in her image, and set him loose upon the world.
For a while the prodigy was a new plaything. Then she kicked it while it was down a lot, and neglected it for a while, and when she came back ready to play with it again, the little bastard bit her back. So to speak. It made her heart ache when she left - but only for a little while. Because it meant her offspring was growing up to be just like her after all – doing all the things he shouldn’t. Aw.
So Little Red Riding Hood packed her basket and set off to re-visit him: her favorite – ‘relative’.
Of course, being a fairytale, you never get told motivations or – hell forbid – feelings. So who the fuck knows why she did it, or what the plan was, or how the game was to end. Maybe she wanted to remind her boy about his origins and who he was – fairytales are into all that kind of bullshit, right? Maybe the outcome was just as she’d decided. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it was a nice little stroke of luck. See, if a lost princess knocks on your door before you’ve even had the chance to sell any more poisoned apples, well – that’s just peachy, isn’t it?
Or maybe – she just got bored. Because ‘ever after’ is a very very long time – and when it comes down to it, you just have to take the amusement as it comes….
 | Ordanik on Musings of a High School Vampi… |
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 | Rosemarie Fullerton on Musings of a High School Vampi… |
 | mizelissa on Dear Jonathon III |
| rose fullerton on Ask Jonathon8 |
