The Sacred Bite

When the lights flashed and blinked out, Robert stood in the center of the dark unfamiliar room. He had entered the Victorian house by invitation finally to meet the man he had most wanted to confront since Annie Blaine had disappeared. He hoped the man would assist him in finding her. Now, moments before the meeting, the lighting failed. The room filled with a blackness that felt tangible.

 Unwilling to move for fear of colliding with one or more of the priceless antiques he inspected as he entered, he concentrated on the deathly silence while considering what he might do next. He waved his hands in front of him.
 As he started to move, a narrow band of brilliant white light slashed across the wall where he had entered. Before it extinguished, the gold plated door handle that bore the mask of a hideous creature, mouth wide in a scream of anger, long curved teeth tipped with what Robert believed represented rabid saliva or blood burned his retinas.
 Again, in total darkness, Robert waited for his eyes to readjust, but the light came again before they could.
 This time, the white band appeared five feet closer to him illuminating a four-foot tall ceramic urn bearing lines of Egyptian hieroglyphics with at least ten different pharaoh’s cartouches that still bore the colors applied millennia earlier. Above their row, symbols from the Book of the Dead, told a brief tale of one who acted as a guide for lost souls.
 While Robert understood that much, the light went out before he could decipher the names of the pharaohs whose souls had apparently been lost.
 Lifting his arms, now determined to find the door and escape, something fur-like brushed roughly across his face, the side of his head, followed by four sharp but thin objects that sliced long gouges into his cheek.
 Blood slithered down his face, his neck and dripped onto the white marble floor underneath him. He heard the sound of the drops splashing the floor echoing off the walls.
 Panicked, Robert hastily backed up, now not caring if he destroyed everything in the blackened room in his haste to escape.
 Heavy weight landed on his shoulders. Warm breath that smelled of rotted flesh, combed across his nose, filling his head with its misery. Taut muscles pressed the back of his skull as the intruder’s body bent Robert’s head forward. Needle sharp claws dug into his shoulders.
 Robert slammed into the wall to dislodge the creature. Its weight disappeared. The breath that a moment earlier had lifted bile into his throat, lingered like a bleak cloud of death.
 He swung his hands before him, hoping to dispel the stench, but froze when he heard the sounds of thick paper torn violently. Wood splintered as if the hands of a giant effortlessly ripped a wide, thick board lengthwise.
 Positive his racing heart might explode Robert pushed his hands against the wall, felt movement under his palm as the wall shredded upwards.
 Please stop it now,” he cried finally able to speak through his terror.
 Long cold fingers reached from within the wall behind him, probed his throat as if feeling for a way down into his chest, pressed firmly against his arteries, tracing their length. An arm of steel muscle followed, pinned him helplessly against the wall, lifting until his weight balanced on his toes. Robert struggled, and then stopped when he realized he could no longer breathe.
 His legs weakened, but the arm held him in place. He felt life and hope dissolving quickly. Then, the brilliant white light returned. This time it traveled the length of the room until one edge cut across his face and chest.
 Robert glanced down, and saw nothing. He glanced up, at the sound of footfall, and faced a tall blond haired man with emerald green eyes standing at the opposite side of the five-foot wide band of light.
 I am Edwin Blutleer,” the man said in a deep steady voice. He did not blink, or move. “I believe you wished to speak with me.”
 Robert could only stare speechlessly. He nodded, rubbed his throat, gingerly brushed his severed cheek, and found it was untouched. His fingers were clean. He felt no pain.
 Who are you,” he pleaded. “No man can do what you just did to me.”
 No they could not.” Blutleer lifted his hands, palms down and waved them outward and back. The room illuminated fully. A large white cat with deep blue eyes wound affectionately around his ankles, lazily walked to Robert and did the same to him.
 You know who I am,” Blutleer spoke in a cultured Germanic voice. “I need to know who you are and why you wish my assistance.”
 I’m Robert DeLancey. I’m here by invitation.” He jammed his hand in his pocket and lifted out the card he’d received in the mail, folded twice. When he first read it, he felt surprised since he rarely received physical mail. He lived his life online mostly.
 Nervously, he unfolded the card, checked to be certain it was the right one, thought, What else could it be? Then he held it out like an offering.
Blutleer nodded. The card disintegrated leaving behind a small flutter of white powder.
 Robert glanced at his hand, rubbed his thumb across his palm, thinking that the card might have singed his flesh, and shrugged suddenly no longer surprised at Blutleer’s powers.
 He’s doing this to me for a reason, he thought. Making me feel this way as if he is a normal man and we’re meeting like two acquaintances.
 Effortlessly, the white cat leaped onto his shoulder, wrapped her tail around Robert’s neck while purring in his ear as if to welcome him with her affection.
 It seems that Amanda finds you of interest,” Blutleer commented as if amused by the idea. “I’m afraid her bite is far worse than her purr, however.” He chuckled, spoke in German, which Robert did not understand, and the white cat settled to the floor soundlessly.
 Robert glanced around the room, and observed a small sitting area that appeared arranged for an informal get together.
 Blutleer pointed towards it.
 Please be seated.” He followed Robert and the white cat.
 You do understand that the path you’ve now chosen is irrevocable don’t you?” Blutleer sat in a plush red velveteen wingback chair that towered over the tall man’s head.
 Robert hesitated, and sat on a cane seat maple wood side chair that wobbled slightly.
 What do you mean?” he asked nervously.
 You do seek Annie Blaine, yes?”
 How did you know? I did not tell you why I needed your help.”
 Robert DeLancey, age 26, born in Hackensack, New Jersey. Your mother is an English teacher. Your father owns an automotive repair shop specializing in German cars. You graduated from Rutgers with a Masters in Education, but after meeting Annie, you decided to pursue her rather than an assistant professorship at a local community college much to your mother’s disappointment. You and Annie formed a company called Annie Blaine, LLC.” Blutleer stared at him. “How am I doing?”
 Robert frowned, felt diminished somehow, and hoped it did not show in his eyes, or become audible in his words. “Where did you learn about me and my family?”
 Blutleer shrugged. “Where is not important. Now answer my first question.”
 Do I seek Annie Blaine? Of course, but since you already know I am why bother asking?” Robert spoke boldly, and was surprised, and then pleased. Until he watched, Blutleer raise his right hand, make a fist, open it, and toss him a two-inch diameter silver sphere that expanded rapidly as the ball traveled lazily between the two men.
 When it reached Robert, the sphere had grown to about two feet in diameter. He caught it defensively, and its weight knocked him over.
 Lying on his back with the sphere, resting heavy on his chest, he stared as it grew larger yet, rolled off him, and then became translucent. Once the sphere was about four feet across, and as clear as window glass, Robert saw Annie Blaine crouched inside in a fetal position. She wore a diaphanous white gown that exposed the one-piece white garment she wore beneath that covered her with modesty.
 Annie? Can you hear me?” Robert sat on the floor, heard desperation in his voice, felt it spreading in his chest. He reached and carefully touched the sphere thinking it was an illusion. He pressed both palms against the curved surface.
 The sphere’s exterior felt like a bass drumhead tight but with some give. He ran his fingertips across it, felt warmth, and thought he also felt small pinholes that might allow air circulation.
 He looked up saw Blutleer sitting with a woman whose beauty might be unsurpassed by any woman he had ever seen before her. She had long thick platinum blonde hair and large deep blue eyes.
 After an extended moment struggling with the feelings that raced through his mind, he cleared his throat. “Is Annie alive in there?”
 I find that to be an intriguing question, Robert. Do characterize alive for me.”
 Robert tilted his head to see clearly around the edge of the sphere. “I don’t understand your question. I mean alive as in living.”
 Am I alive?” Blutleer asked seriously.
 You certainly seem to be alive.”
 Blutleer stood, walked over, and laid his palm on the back of Robert’s neck. His hand felt like dry ice.
 Shivers rocked Robert’s torso as the cold drilled deep and drew his core body heat out. He felt his heart slowing, found breathing difficult and then Blutleer lifted his hand and Robert’s body slowly warmed.
 I am not.” Blutleer sat again. “Annie Blaine sought me too, although not directly, but you are aware of that much.”
 Robert started shaking his head to disagree, but stopped and nodded instead.
 Annie was not seeking you, but you’re the one who found her in the train station–“
 Yes, ten miles to the west of Dunigineton, Tennessee,” Blutleer finished. “Why did you stay home when you knew she was strongly determined to destroy the last vampire?”
 You know too much about us.”
 Robert, I know everything about you and your fifteen vampire slayer friends. Of course, what you do not know is that there are now five left including you.”
 Without thought, Robert stood, knowing he could not remain seated and escape the man sitting ten feet away.
 Please do not leave us, Robert. Annie has waited for you to find her and I would hate for her to be disappointed now that you have. I mean, what would I tell her?” Blutleer asked mockingly.
 Tell her I was never here,” Robert stated and heard his voice squeak as a hand settled gently on his left shoulder.
 Slowly, he turned his head and when his eyes examined Annie’s delicate features, saw the paleness of her flesh, the rose red lips, and the twin incisors as she smiled her greeting, Robert thought he might pass out.
 Robert, I missed you,” Annie said sweetly as she lowered her head to kiss his neck tenderly. She gripped the sides of his head with more strength than he could escape.
 Please, Annie, I’m sorry I didn’t get up in time to help you, but you knew I worked late and,” he stopped when he felt the pinch of her bite, and sagged as his blood drained from his head.
 I love you, Annie,” he whispered and knew then that he truly did and would forever.
Copyright 2018 Gabriel F.W. Koch all rights reserved

Into the Valley

I looked down into a valley filled with stones. A light breeze rustled my hair, lifted odors of dried and freshly cut flowers to surround me with the mystery of their presence.

 I think life occasionally demands more than we feel we have to give, filling us with doubt, stripping away encouragement leaving us soul-naked to stare into the blank blue sky and seek answers that can only be found by looking within. Yet we do not know where to look in those dreadfully frightening moments and reach outward instead.
 We go about the task of living, envisioning ourselves as if standing above the fray, examining nuances, seeking ever seeking. Interaction with people, places, objects, animals, all seems somehow shallow, as if the surface of life was peeled away revealing a different, but identical surface that is now a mirror reflecting time but not us.
 We stroke through bewilderment, as if we’re swimming against rip tides, losing but unwilling to lament, to relax, and think through what we are experiencing, why we experience it.
 It is not until we tire to the point of spiritual exhaustion that we fall, fail, and finally understand. Life does not demand more than we have to give. Life teaches us how to learn to give anew. It is not about doors opening or closing, time passing or standing still. It is about whom we are, our choices, our paths, and why we make them, why we walk them. The message was not hidden except when bombarding words cluttered the air to obscure our thoughts and vision.
 Then the waters flowed around us and flooded the valley with new life.

Warning for Women abt Heart attack symptoms

An ER nurse says this is the best description of a woman having a heart attack that she has ever heard. Please read, pay attention, and SHARE……….


I was aware that female heart attacks are different, but this is the best description I’ve ever read.

Women rarely have the same dramatic symptoms that men have … you know, the sudden stabbing pain in the chest, the cold sweat, grabbing the chest & dropping to the floor that we see in movies. Here is the story of one woman’s experience with a heart attack.

I had a heart attack at about 10:30 PM with NO prior exertion, NO prior emotional trauma that one would suspect might have brought it on. I was sitting all snugly & warm on a cold evening, with my purring cat in my lap, reading an interesting story my friend had sent me, and actually thinking, ‘A-A-h, this is the life, all cozy and warm in my soft, cushy Lazy Boy with my feet propped up.

A moment later, I felt that awful sensation of indigestion, when you’ve been in a hurry and grabbed a bite of sandwich and washed it down with a dash of water, and that hurried bite seems to feel like you’ve swallowed a golf ball going down the esophagus in slow motion and it is most uncomfortable. You realize you shouldn’t have gulped it down so fast and needed to chew it more thoroughly and this time drink a glass of water to hasten its progress down to the stomach. This was my initial sensation–the only trouble was that I hadn’t taken a bite of anything since about 5:00 p.m.

After it seemed to subside, the next sensation was like little squeezing motions that seemed to be racing up my SPINE (hind-sight, it was probably my aorta spasms), gaining speed as they continued racing up and under my sternum (breast bone, where one presses rhythmically when administering CPR).

This fascinating process continued on into my throat and branched out into both jaws. ‘AHA!! NOW I stopped puzzling about what was happening — we all have read and/or heard about pain in the jaws being one of the signals of an MI happening, haven’t we? I said aloud to myself and the cat, Dear God, I think I’m having a heart attack!

I lowered the foot rest dumping the cat from my lap, started to take a step and fell on the floor instead. I thought to myself, If this is a heart attack, I shouldn’t be walking into the next room where the phone is or anywhere else… but, on the other hand, if I don’t, nobody will know that I need help, and if I wait any longer I may not be able to get up in a moment.

I pulled myself up with the arms of the chair, walked slowly into the next room and dialed the Paramedics… I told her I thought I was having a heart attack due to the pressure building under the sternum and radiating into my jaws. I didn’t feel hysterical or afraid, just stating the facts. She said she was sending the Paramedics over immediately, asked if the front door was near to me, and if so, to un-bolt the door and then lie down on the floor where they could see me when they came in.

I unlocked the door and then laid down on the floor as instructed and lost consciousness, as I don’t remember the medics coming in, their examination, lifting me onto a gurney or getting me into their ambulance, or hearing the call they made to St. Jude ER on the way, but I did briefly awaken when we arrived and saw that the radiologist was already there in his surgical blues and cap, helping the medics pull my stretcher out of the ambulance. He was bending over me asking questions (probably something like ‘Have you taken any medications?’) but I couldn’t make my mind interpret what he was saying, or form an answer, and nodded off again, not waking up until the Cardiologist and partner had already threaded the teeny angiogram balloon up my femoral artery into the aorta and into my heart where they installed 2 side by side stints to hold open my right coronary artery.

I know it sounds like all my thinking and actions at home must have taken at least 20-30 minutes before calling the paramedics, but actually it took perhaps 4-5 minutes before the call, and both the fire station and St Jude are only minutes away from my home, and my Cardiologist was already to go to the OR in his scrubs and get going on restarting my heart (which had stopped somewhere between my arrival and the procedure) and installing the stents.

Why have I written all of this to you with so much detail? Because I want all of you who are so important in my life to know what I learned first hand.

1. Be aware that something very different is happening in your body, not the usual men’s symptoms but inexplicable things happening (until my sternum and jaws got into the act). It is said that many more women than men die of their first (and last) MI because they didn’t know they were having one and commonly mistake it as indigestion, take some Maalox or other anti-heartburn preparation and go to bed, hoping they’ll feel better in the morning when they wake up… which doesn’t happen. My female friends, your symptoms might not be exactly like mine, so I advise you to call the Paramedics if ANYTHING is unpleasantly happening that you’ve not felt before. It is better to have a ‘false alarm’ visitation than to risk your life guessing what it might be!

2. Note that I said ‘Call the Paramedics.’ And if you can take an aspirin. Ladies, TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE!

Do NOT try to drive yourself to the ER – you are a hazard to others on the road.

Do NOT have your panicked husband who will be speeding and looking anxiously at what’s happening with you instead of the road.

Do NOT call your doctor — he doesn’t know where you live and if it’s at night you won’t reach him anyway, and if it’s daytime, his assistants (or answering service) will tell you to call the Paramedics. He doesn’t carry the equipment in his car that you need to be saved! The Paramedics do, principally OXYGEN that you need ASAP. Your Dr. will be notified later.

3. Don’t assume it couldn’t be a heart attack because you have a normal cholesterol count. Research has discovered that a cholesterol elevated reading is rarely the cause of an MI (unless it’s unbelievably high and/or accompanied by high blood pressure). MIs are usually caused by long-term stress and inflammation in the body, which dumps all sorts of deadly hormones into your system to sludge things up in there. Pain in the jaw can wake you from a sound sleep. Let’s be careful and be aware. The more we know the better chance we could survive.

A cardiologist says if everyone who sees this post would Share or re-post, you can be sure that we’ll save at least one life.

*Please be a true friend and SHARE this article to all your friends, women & men too. Most men have female loved ones and could greatly benefit from know this information too!


.`•.¸¸.•´•• Thanks for visiting my Page daily and for passing my posts around!

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McKaybees Chronicles 1st Chapter

After the gulf war, I returned home to mixed reviews. Some Americans believed saving Kuwait was necessary. Others felt all OPEC nations should be left to defend themselves, or not.

I didn’t give a damn one way or the other. I enlisted with my best friend after a night of bar hopping. We actually broke into the recruitment center, managed to get past the computer password and filled in our enlistment papers before dawn. I suppose if we’d not successfully enlisted, we’d’ve been arrested for several crimes.

Basic training sucked as did subsequent training, but we did okay. Then Bush the elder decided it would be war. Shit, I’d thought. This can’t be good in any way.

Finally, my enlistment time ended and I almost regretted signing over my weapons. However, I concluded I’d used them plenty, and as a civilian I’d not miss a firefight.

But shit really does happen.

Why I chose to start a private investigation company is still an unanswered question even to me. I didn’t need the income. I inherited a fortune. Yet that, money I mean, wasn’t enough. Perhaps serving my country instilled a need for true purpose. Whatever it was, I began helping people in the New York metro area.

What I hadn’t anticipated was the reaction. A year after my first job, a pissed off husband hunted me, nearly killed me. That day altered my future. I wasn’t about to quit. Instead, I got a federal carry permit.

With that in hand, I went to a gun shop in New Jersey where I lived. The moment I wrapped my hand around the grip, I felt an odd sense of comfort. As if the contact included a warm voice that said, “welcome home, friend.”

It wasn’t until my long absent father decided he should appear like an unwanted poltergeist that I actually needed to use the weapon. At the time I was tempted to turn it on him after he’d managed to get a gangbanger to threaten us with a semi-automatic Uzi, which forced me to kill the drugged up hired gunman. Self-defense gone awry.

And Come Day’s End by Gabriel F.W. Koch | AnyFlip

Lenny Oliver’s secrets ended his life—lies he dressed up in detailed and occasionally elaborate finery. But only the secret holder is fooled in the long run, as Lenny discovered in a dark alley in the Wall Street neighborhood. Michael McKaybees is a private investigator working in New York’s five boroughs. He specializes in money crimes like insurance fraud, with the occasional cheating spouse (his partner’s favorite since she thinks all cheaters should be flogged in public). Now, however, he has been forced to expand his investigative work to include homicide. Implicated in his best friend Lenny’s death, Michael finds himself entangled in a web carefully woven by someone who wants to destroy him—and there’s no doubt he’s up to his neck in shit. Then there’s his father, Marlowe Black, who has decided now is the right time to show up after an absence of more than three decades. Hell, Michael didn’t even know he was still alive. Marlowe’s reputation as a combat-hardened PI is well-known among the City’s criminal element, making him a hated man. And he, too, is a suspect in Lenny’s murder. When McKaybees discovers the body of Lenny’s wife, Jill—Michael’s childhood sweetheart—hidden in his apartment, murder becomes seriously personal and the need for vengeance demanding.
— Read on