Dave started feeling the vibrations in his fingers when he was about fourteen. This was around about the same time he started meditating in that ever exhausting quest to seperate his ethereal body from his physical one, known as the art of astral projection.
It wasn't as if these vibrations suddenly appeared like some sort of divine revelation, it was more that he could still his mind enough to realise they were there. Always had been there; it was just a matter of tapping into them.
He had always been into the unexplained phenomenon of the supernatural kind, but it wasn't until he met Dale that he really started trying to discover his inner talents. He revered Dale like some kind of holy prophet that seemed to have the answers to all Dave's questions, not realising that this was just the naivety of a teenager coming through. In truth Dale knew no more than he did; had been put up on a pedestal by his peers that knew nothing of the things they would discuss during the many lunch breaks of that year at school, though fascinated by them nonetheless. If Dale in his absolute wisdom could see the future, if he was so wisened like the sage he was made out to be, then why hadn't it been revealed to him that in several years time he would join a cult led by an apparent neo-shaman, who charged twenty dollars a head thrice daily for his followers to sit in his living room and ask him questions pertaining to the mystery of life that only he could answer? Why was it that when Dave's brother, Shaun, died a year later and the boy had sought council from his spiritual warrior, the enlightened one could think of nothing else to say except "I'm sorry"?
But all that was irrelevant, for Dale had provided Dave with the only true kernel needed when walking the path of spirituality; that being the inspiration to practice and train oneself in the understanding of mental stillness.
Dave found that these vibrations, as subtle as they were, sped up when around others, especially those that were sick or injured in some way. Sickness felt as though a large crescendo of spikes were cutting through his own vibrations, whereas pain felt more like a speeding up of the frequency being transmitted on each throbbing pulse. After practicing for hours on end, Dave found that by using his imagination he could latch on to these displaced  waves. He remembered reading somewhere about psychic vampires, who sucked energy from their victims instead of blood, and used this concept to pull vibrations toward his aura, visualising the muscles in his shoulders, his back, his fingers all the way down to his toes, as seperate breathing entities that inhaled the the displaced energy, supposing that what he was doing was some form of Reiki.
Dave became so good at this that he actually started to heal whenever inhaling other peoples energies, and the thought crossed his mind that what he was doing was more like a vampire than it was a Reiki master, but the many people he practiced on claimed they could feel some form of healing taking place, so he kept up with it. It got to the point where Dave could raise his vibrations to the vibrations of others and subconsciously leave them there, so that even on an empty stomach his solar plexus would fill, making him feel as though he had just eaten a large meal. He could even feel the energy enter his blood stream as nutrients would if he had in fact eaten real food. By the time Dave had reached this point in his quest to become the psychic equivalent of Dracula, Shaun had long since passed, and Dale had long since been hooked by the claws of the Benevolent Orange People; The Charles Manson Redux or whatever he wanted to call it. At least they got fed soup for breakfast, lunch and dinner, so that was something.
The neo-shaman had actually managed to convince them that his energies had been cooked into this soup, and that's what gave it that amazing flavour Dalewas tasting. Dave just thought it tasted like bland cardboard when his old sage had invited him to one of the cults meetings, offering to shout him the twenty dollar entry fee.
"The money goes toward making the food, and providing for Master Vish, as his wisdom is available anytime we need it, and as such he has no time for work." Dale had said excitedly as they walked the less than kilometer route it took to get there from his house, which he rented with another couple that had been hooked by the master washing whatever it was they had bouncing around in their heads, because it certainly wasn't brains.  
When they got within a hundred metres of the brand new convertible sports car parked in Vish's driveway, Dave noticed people coming out of houses along the whole street, dawdling along like zombies who'd just caught whiff of a still thinking human; headed in the same direction him, Dale and his house mates were headed, where they eventually all met in a large lounge room and started singing and dancing to some wierd up beat tribal tune that was crossed with the hippy vibe of a John Lennon song.
So here was Dave, standing in the middle of a drum circle, that Dale had initiated, feeling like he was about to be devoured by some cannibalistic tribe that had somehow gone along existing undetected despite its clan members living on the same street. Maybe that was the secret to its survival. Whatever, at least he had the powers of his psychic-vampirism to keep him safe. That's when Dave realised why they had accepted him so easily into their group; because he was just as bat shit crazy as them, even though Reiki was something that had been respected in Eastern culture for many hundreds of years.
Once the dancing and singing and farting and sniffing had finished everyone sat down in the middle of the lounge room facing a step where a comfy looking chair had been set up along with a computer connected to a flat screen TV that looked about the same size as the screens from the local cinema - all for the benefit of his audience of course - waiting for their prophet to finish doing whatever it was he was doing up stairs, which was probably laughing at them, or drugging that infamous soup Dale wouldn't stop raving about. Dave wondered how much of the money this divine being spent on his twenty first century shamanistic healing tools went to all those poor children in the photos he had gained a reputation of "helping" - the ones that lined his hallway walls - when he was travelling the world and learning the arts from African and Brazilian Witch doctors with nothing more than a degree in psychoanalysis under his belt. A bored rich boy with nothing better to do than travel the world and get high in other words.
Dave figured that the Edwards guy from TV his mum was heavily into had a similar degree in psychology hanging from his wall. He reckoned that if he were a swindler he could get by quite happily just by preying on the gullibility of these fools. It was a good thing he was preying on their energy instead, because it meant he could feel the jagged spikes radiating from this devil in disguise the moment Dave entered his house. At least they offered him some form of entertainment, unlike the dull vibration of the crowd which reminded him of an out of tune E string on his bass guitar.
After about fifteen minutes of waiting, in which people kept babbling and giggling like they were about to meet a famous rock musician for the first time, a figure dressed in nothing but a white robe -  his hair short and growing back as if he had only recently  sported a Tibetan monk's shaved head, his cane woven sandals ancient and eerily reminiscent of the ones Jesus wore in all those paintings Dave had seen - floated ethereally out of a dimly lit door and took seat next to his array of expensive electronic products. The crowd stood at the first sight of him, and only sat down again once Vish had scanned them, his eyes pausing on Dave for more than the boy would have felt comfortable, and released there binding with a flick of his hand.
He sat smiling at them in what could have easily been seen as a warm and gentle smile, but there was no mistaking that glean in his eye and that subtle canine protruding from the corner of his mouth that reminded Dave of a Lion he'd seen on an Attenborough special just before it had decided to chomp down a whole gazelle for lunch. Yet there was no denying that here before him was a powerful man; one who could turn a whole street of followers into believing that he was some kind of messiah here to bring them salvation, while blatantly waving the money spent for that salvation in front of their faces in the form of a multi million dollar house filled with things like gigantic flat screen TVs. And what had these people got for their waste of time...
"Nice rings." Vish said casually, noticing the silver knuckle dusters that were hanging off Dave's fingers. On his left hand he had a honey comb patterned ring his girlfriend, Jess, had bought him tacked onto his thumb, a Celtic pentacle for the middle, and on his right two wolves ripping at each others throats wrapped around his fourth finger, a plain circular ring on this thumb, and a vampire ring - no surprise there - that he had tried to instill with quantum energy one night whilst lucid dreaming, on the second bird flipper. Dave didn't really think this had worked, but for some reason it was the only one that gave a wierd rash after trying this experiment, and was the one he'd eventually end up leaving with Dale as a promise to come back the following morning with Jess,  a manner similar to how a used car salesman had convinced his father's friend to hand over his credit card for "safe keeping".
"Thanks." Dave had made a mental note to keep it short and sweet. If he was going to be probed by Charles Manson's brother, he was not going to make it easy for him to find that nice little spot to exploit with his knowledge of psychoanalysis.
"A man of few words. Cool. I like that." Vish flashed his cunning predator's smile once again, and a brief chuckle rippled through the crowd. They seemed tense, as if they did not approve of the newcomer's one worded reply; as if subconsciously they knew this was not the way one was coerced into devoting his time and energy to the supreme overlord.
"So what do you do for a living?" Vish asked casually, but Dave could feel those spikes in his energy aura stabbing out furiously as if trying to break down some invisible barrier that had come between them.
"Electronics tech." Once again a short answer, and this time Dave jolted as he felt a sudden barrage of energy hit him like a gust of wind. He figured it must have been Vish's anger.
"Cool. I wanted to be an electronics technician at one point. Had to give it up due to my being colour blind." Dave doubted this. Doubted this very, very much. Oh what a shame it would have been for poor Vish to be stuck in greyscale after taking a hit of that Peyote and Jage root the real shamans used to see the dead and talk to their ancestors. This whole getting on the same page thing Dave had expected from such a charlatan, but he had not expected it to be covered so soon. He hoped if he politely pissed Vish off a little more, the white wraith would go and bother someone else. This was worse than vicariously listening to a medium over the telephone while his mum was seeking the answer as to why Shaun had died.
"I've never needed colour vision doing it as a career." Dave replied just as casually, and this time he was hit by not one wave of energy but two; one from Vish and one from the crowd, who now had his insolence as well as his intelligence to deal with.
The plan worked a treat. Vish stared at him a moment longer then flicked his eyes toward a woman sitting next to Dale with her hand raised, widening them and tilting his chin up as if giving her permission to ask her question, but could not be bothered actually saying it; as if he were a high school teacher and she were his lowly student. The woman asked something about the journey she was on, and Vish broke out into some ramble, that Dave noticed subtly steered directly clear of her very question. An hypnotic "oooohhhh" came from the crowd, who thought whatever it was Vish had said was more philosophical than anything that would have come from Plato's mouth.
Dave saw Blake sitting there zoned out, taking in the energy of his master shaman, like Dave would have done to him once upon a time before the one who chose the white path's - as opposed to Dave who chose the black one, something that Blake had actually come to the conclusion of - energy had become tainted with the poison of sheer stupidity. That was a dish Dave wanted no part of, because even vampires had standards. Vish could have farted in Dale's face and the boy would have thought it was just de-light-ful.
Eventually the infatuation - Dave found this the best word to describe whatever it was that had just taken place - ended, but not before everyone got up to dance and chant on last run through of coombiyah, Aum Shinrikyo style. He just hoped that whoever had made the soup they were about to consume had taken a page out of Jim Jone's recipe book, because Dave would have chosen being poisoned to death over being part of this wierd ritual a third time. There was just something so out of place about being the only one not buying into Vish's deception while taking in part in it that gave Dave the creeps. Maybe there was some sort of subliminal messages embedded into its rhythm and the chants that deactivated the logical part of the brain.
The cult all moved in one fluid pulse, breaking off into the living room one by one so they could take their pre-arranged places at the table, which was really four that had been pushed together and draped with a table cloth made of that same silken weave Vish had been wearing.
"Seriously, dude, once you have a taste of this broth, you'll feel all the love and emotion that's gone into preparing it. I guarantee you, it won't be like any other meal you've ever eaten. Your days will seem brighter like you've been bathed in a brilliant aura of light....that aura is Vish's by the way". Dale winked and whispered this last part so only Dave could hear it, as the energy breather sat down next to him, willing to bet he could find something infused with more divine energy at Micky D's down the road.
"What's in it?" Dave asked, hoping for a food with an allergen he could use as a get out jail free card, but was dismayed to find that the wonder dish didn't even have tomatoes in it. It was a boring combination of potatoes, cabbage and really not much else, if you included the few herbs that had been sprinkled lazily on top of the water. There went his backup plan of claiming an allergy to nightshades.
Dave dipped his spoon in the soup, very aware of the four tables worth of eyes staring at him and the dead silence they were going out of their way to make as he did so. He wondered if there was some powerful hallucigenic that had been added to his especially; something that would render those normal coherent thought processes into something like his dementia ridden uncle Vince, who, coincidentally enough, started going down hill after sitting through the thirty third and final degree of his Masonic lodge. Dave took a sip and closed his eyes, waiting for his memory to be wiped clean so Vish could whisper things in his ear; could jam a hand up his buttocks and use him as a puppet just like he did with everyone else.
Nothing but a bland, starchy zing of parsley and pepper, and something that he thought could have been that lovely aura Dale had been talking about, but turned out to be rock salt. No wait, what was he an idiot....that was definitely iodized table salt; the cheap stuff you buy when you are entertaining a crowd of people but don't have enough respect to consider them as human beings.
Dave decided he'd had enough of not just the soup, but also these poor strange people that had to have someone do their thinking for them.
"Well thank you for this lovely meal - and you are right Dale, I could feel the love cooked into it, and things definitely do seem clearer to me - but I am afraid I must be going. I promised Jess I would pick her up in five minutes, and she is currently waiting over half an hour away." Dave stood up to leave and found the eyes that had been staring at him had all turned wide. Vish just smiled and waved them off casually like he was Julius Caesar himself.
"It was a pleasure having you Dave." The white robed being said, and as if in an act of contradiction a gust of something that wasn't wind hit Dave harder than any of the others had.
"You will bring her tomorrow wont you?" Dale had led him outside holding the vampire ring Dave had surrendered none too easily when the white walker had started guilt tripping him into coming back, and was starting to become hypnotised by its gaze.
"Sure, you have my ring so I'll have to come back." Oh how Dave really did not want to leave this thing - an unholy relic - in the hands of someone who'd probably give it to Vish for safe keeping.
"It feels very heavy and full of...evil... energy." Dale said, still not looking at Dave.
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, seeing as you took the dark path and all. But come stay with us for a month and we will fix you. There's even a spare room here if you need it." Suddenly Dave's appetite for the spoiled energy that belonged to Dale changed. He imagined a web of claws protruding from his breathing muscles, gripping his gullible friend by the head and then inhaled as hard as he could, willing himself to pull the soul right out of his stupid body and sever the silver cord that bound the two together. Dale faltered and dropped the ring, then bent down hastily and picked it up again, clearly embarrassed he had been so careless with such a sentimental object. They had practiced psychic warfare between one another when they were younger, and Dale knew Dave was exceptionally good at the visualisation technique, especially when it came to putting up a barrier, but he never dreamed Dave would ever be better than him at it. Maybe it was all that hollow head washing Vish had been putting him through.
"He just caught me by surprise, is all it is." Dale thought to himself, as Dave pulled out of the driveway, then he walked back home and went to bed, feeling exceptionally drained for some unknown reason. Usually Vish's soups gave him all the energy he needed to stay awake until the early hours of the morning. Unbeknownst to Dale, he wasn't the only one that felt this exhaustion after spending a few hours in Dave's presence.

Jess wasn't particularly fond of the idea of Dave going back to see Vish. She could see his charade for what it was and did not want her husband to wind up dead in robe and a chalice in his hand, so when he'd told her his need to go back to get his ring, she agreed to go with him and make sure he didn't switch course and go over to the path of the white.
They got there early in the morning and walked with Dale back to the two story building with the well kept garden. For some reason drum circle had been cancelled - apparently this special ritual was only reserved for lunch and evening times - which Dave had been extremely grateful for, though he never said it.
Vish once again, after entering the room and seeing there was a new face with one he'd met the previous day, smiled and began his prying for any information he could use to his advantage, but Jess only gave the same vague answers Dave had - he had actually got the idea from her - and so Vish dismissed her quite early on, moving on to Dale, who was to be the centre of a very special announcement Vish had to make.
Apparently during the night, Dale had made such spiritual advancement that he had been promoted to the name of Rish instead, which meant night owl - or some sort of nocturnal animal, Dave hadn't really been paying attention, understanding this as nothing more than a reward for Vish's apprentice bringing him two fresh servings of prey.
Next came another question from the woman who had started Vish off on his philosophical detour, this time claiming she had negative entities attached to her, but before she could finish her story, there came a booming yell from Vish, who had cupped his hands into a ball, then pushed them outward toward her with such rapidity, that for a moment they had become nothing but a blur. The woman jumped, then her head slid forward and she knelt on the floor twitching as if a ball of energy had passed through her, and was still cleaning out whatever was left inside. The whole thing reminded Dave of a Dragonball Z cartoon he'd seen on TV when he was a young boy. The word Vish had shouted even sounded the same as the one they'd used; "Kamehameha"
"He just threw a ball of Chi energy at her. It's so cool you got to witness that. Man you guys are lucky." Dale - Rish as he now reminded everyone - said, looking at his master with the utmost admiration that he could have been holding a secret crush for him. Dave and Jess just looked at each other, and brain-waved a "you have got to be kidding me" thought, that only a dedicated couple could have understood. Here was the great shaman Vish, who had studied along side the even greater tribal Witch doctors of Africa and Brazil, using ancient Oriental magic to rid one of his pupils of demons. Hallelujah. Throw out the bible, Jesus has arrived, and he just so happens to be a chaos magician. And Dave thought he was bad, thinking he was some kind of Reiki-vampire hybrid that could feel the vibrational energies of others in his fingers.
When the couple left they did not bother leaving anything else with Dale - Rish as he kept insiting they call him from now on - that would pull them back to the vortex that was Vish's house. Dave and Jess simply pretended that they were "way into it and totally believed in this dude", just to shut up his gullible disciple.
Half an hour after they left, Dale - Rish as he was now reminding them to change his name to in their phones - called them and said that Vish was willing to cut their entry fees in half on account for the long drive they would have to make when they came back the following week.
"Great. Can't wait. See you then, then." Dave replied, hanging up the phone. He looked at the cursor that was highlighting "Dale" and moved it over to the delete button instead, pressed it, then threw into the back of the car. That was one chapter in his life he could forget about, hopefully in the same way Vince had forgotten everything about his own.