Thursday, September 29, 2016

An Audition For A Blood Club

Bathory, now an immortal vampire, has existed for centuries. In modern day New York, she and her lover and creator, Anton, own clubs that offer unusual entertainments. After World War 2 vampirism was made legal. This excerpt concerns an interview at her club:

I was to interview new performers for our blood club. You had already interviewed them. I was pleased for I knew if they got past you, they would be suitable. They looked attractive. Full-lipped and sensual, both of them. They greeted me respectfully, which I liked. “You wish to work here?” I asked. They did. “You must be up to it.” “We are,” they assured me, speaking in unison. I invited them to perform an audition.

“There is a girl waiting. She knows what is expected.” Then, glancing at you, I smiled. When you smiled back, I knew it was going to be a successful audition. The girl was lying on the bed, naked, patiently waiting. We sat at a table. “You may begin,” I spoke pleasantly, and not with the tone of an order, which in reality it was.

After a few moments, our applicants appeared. I was pleased they’d shed all their clothes. Some vampire actors really are a waste of time. These two weren’t. They were handsome, too. The woman had full breasts, not artificially enlarged but naturally full, which is so much better for our purposes. The man was already erect and holding himself. He was quite endowed, but not too big.

Then, in the most graceful of movements, they fell upon the girl, their hands and mouths moving slowly over her body, paying particular attention to her breasts and the area between her legs. I began to touch myself as I watched, aroused.

You leaned over and whispered, “Je t’aime,” as you reached into my blouse to touch my breast. “Not now,” I said. You sighed to show me how disappointed you were. You are such a manipulator. They would feed now. Some blood oozed out as they bit into the girl’s white flesh. She responded by crying out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. That was good. I made a note. They knew enough to feed gently. She started to tremble and moan but that was because Danielle was always responsive. I had taught her to be; that is, you and I both did. These applicants fed for quite a while. I stood up to catch a better view. We didn’t want something untoward happening.

You realized I was worried and mumbled something that sounded reassuring. They changed places once again; this they did a few times. The feeding had excited them and they were in no rush to finish. I went to make certain Danielle was all right because there was a great deal more blood now. She saw me and smiled. “I feel good,” she said.

I smiled, grateful to have such a professional human performer in our special theater. You were watching us. When I looked up at you and saw your demeanor, I understood. “If you would care to spend the evening with us, Danielle,” I said, “it would be a pleasure to have you. Lucerne will be there.” What a leading comment that was. She was delighted. The two had been lovers for a long time. As for our new performers, they had already been summoned to see you. You would tell them when to report and how they were going to be compensated. As vampires they not only fed pleasurably, but they would be financially compensated..."

"5 stars Her best work yet!"
A blood-soaked rendition of the fictional life of a real-life multiple murderer, history's 'Countess Dracula'"
"Solid Gothic horror from Gill!"

Tuesday, September 27, 2016


FRESH FEAR: An Anthology of Macabre Horror* is a collection of horror from some of the genre's best writers of dark fiction. In the introduction, a selection from W.J. Renehan's The Art of Darkness: Meditations on the Effect of Horror Fiction, we are reminded that, "Horror serves to reconnect us with our primal selves, provides temporary respite from the droning conditions of modern life." 

With over 450 pages, Fresh Fear is packed with stories written by both masters and up-and-coming maestros of the horror genre. Tales steeped in psychological horror sit alongside visions of strange worlds and fantastical landscapes drenched in blood. 'Quiet horror' sits comfortably next to more visceral portrayals of the monsters that lurk deep within the human heart. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, famously once said, "where there is no imagination there is no horror" - the horror expressed by the authors in Fresh Fear show that imagination is indeed tantamount to excellent story-telling.

Prepare yourself for 28 tales of fear-inducing horror from some of today's best authors of dark fiction.


Scathe meic Beorh – God of the Wind 
Robert Dunbar – High Rise 
Ramsey Campbell – Welcomeland 
Lily Childs – Strange Tastes 
Lincoln Crisler – Nouri and the Beetles 
Jack Dann – Camps 
Thomas Erb – Spencer Weaver Gets Rebooted 
Brandon Ford – Scare Me 
Carole Gill – Raised 
Lindsey Beth Goddard – The Tooth Collector 
JF Gonzalez – Love Hurts 
Dane Hatchell – ‘takers 
Charlee Jacob – Inside the Buzzword Box 
K Trap Jones – Demon Eyed Blind 
Tim Jones – Protein 
James Ward Kirk – Block 
Roy C Booth & Axel Kohagen – Just Another Ex 
Shane McKenzie – So Much Death 
Shaun Meeks – Perfection Through Silence 
Adam Millard – The Incongruous Mr Marwick 
Christine Morgan – Nails of The Dead 
Billie Sue Mosiman – Verboten 
Chantal Noordeloos – The Door 
Don Noble – Psych 
WH Pugmire – Darkness Dancing in Your Eyes 
William Todd Rose – The Grave Dancer 
EA Irwin – Justice through Twelve Step 
Anna Taborska – Out of the Light 

*WARNING: R 18+ - Contains graphic scenes of violence and psychological horror. Not suitable for younger readers. 

purchase at:

kindle and paperback

Sunday, September 25, 2016

A Vampire Gathering

Bathory, now a vampire, remembers the first 'entertainments' her creator and lover, Anton held for her. This is an excerpt of one such occasion. 

"What a gathering it was. There was music, too. The musicians were dressed in finery, and they, too, were vampiric. Then, when it came time for the celebrations, human men and women came forward. They kissed all of the coven members. Then, they undressed.

When they were naked, they were swarmed as the vampires began to feed from them. It was arousing to see. I was quite excited by it all and wished to partake. That is when you said the important thing is not to drain the human supplicants... you stared at me a rather long time when you spoke those words. I took it to be an admonition of my living life, which you were justified to make.

A number of females greeted me afterward, many looking longingly at you. I knew they were your lovers and wondered if they always would be. I soon had my answer for the revelry lasted four days. More feeds and worship, as you explained it. “Worship is the act between individuals of our species. Whatever their sex, they feed and copulate, sometimes at the same time. Such things are never wrong for our kind, my love.”

With that, you brought a dark girl toward me. I know her now as Lucerne. She called me to her. “I am an offering for your enjoyment,” she said as she disrobed, revealing an exquisite body. She was vampiric, yet I was worried. What if I fell into a jealous rage and drained her deliberately? I would have to subdue such feelings..."


The story of the infamous Blood Countess, Erzsebet Bathory, a sexual sadist and predator. She bathed in blood because she thought it would keep her from aging. Her name was not to be spoken for a 100 years after her death.

- 5 stars "A blood-soaked rendition of the fictional life of a real-life multiple murderer, history's 'Countess Dracula'"

Saturday, September 24, 2016


Young Rose Baines lives with madness. There is evil there and sin, too. And it is that sin that will lead her to the vampires and The House on Blackstone Moor.

A Prequel to The House on Blackstone Moor

"My aunt is ill, that is why I have come to her. She is my mother’s sister and she is dying, but I fear we too are dying for we live with madness. It is like another occupant, a lodger who won’t leave. No writs will drive it away. It remains and kills all who live there. And so the house sickens too, as we all have.

Today, as I’m away from those oppressive four walls, it feels like a reprieve, albeit temporary. But I can’t stop thinking about that house, my father’s house, for today, I’m even farther from my loved ones. I cannot protect them from the evil that shrouds them.

Is a house a living thing, do you think? And when it harbors madness, does it show, I wonder? Will those walking past it know or suspect that there is great suffering occurring there, even if they don’t hear the screaming from within?

Perhaps those discerning individuals who stand apart from most of us as being particularly sensitive to various phenomena—might they know?

My bedroom window faced the street, and I quite enjoyed gazing at the houses across the way, wondering how those families lived. Then, if I happened to see them up close, I studied their faces for signs of suffering.

I often did that. I recall a childhood friend of mine—some nice little girl I knew before my father’s illness damned us all. She visited us often and he was kind to her. Then she moved away, surely never dreaming that he would change. But he did.

Before my father’s illness.

A great and meaningful marking in my life: before and after. Life before, life after. Was there ever really a time when I worshipped him, when I thought him kind and caring? Do I actually recall my mother smiling lovingly at him with no fear tainting that smile?

My brother and sisters, poor things, will not have known that happy time for they were too young…

Yet, can I be certain it ever really existed?

I used to think some dreams were real. Often, I would wonder about such things, as I stood and gazed out of my window, wishing I could save my mother from the madness. If I were granted one wish I’d save them all. And then, one further wish perhaps just an extension of the first wish; that my father be put down as any rabid dog is.

Take him away that he might sleep forever.

Each day passed as most of our days did, with us searching his face for signs of anger so that we might be prepared. There were the questions we asked ourselves: had we not smiled in the right way? Was the roast not to his liking, was he comfortable or was he too warm or too cold?

Moods were discerned by careful searching; his face being key to this. If I wasn’t searching his face, I was examining my mother’s expression that was always a good indicator as to what sort of evening and night lay ahead for us all. The best thing he could tell us was he that was going out.

“I am going for a stroll now.”

None of us, especially mother, ever questioned his plans; to do so was far too great an infraction upon his liberty.

An innocent word or expression could set him off. One careless unguarded moment, a slip of some kind, just one tiny mistake might light the fire and conjure the beast for the beast was there.

If he whirled around suddenly, we’d all try to steel ourselves for the fire and brimstone.

“Are you suggesting I should not leave the house?”

Immediate and vociferous protestations from Mother—“Of course not! I never meant that…”

Her protestations could never be freely given. She had to give them careful consideration before saying anything lest the wrong word be uttered. Even a well-intentioned plea might very likely be misunderstood.

“I wish you wouldn’t take it up that way. I never meant—”

“Madam! Are you suggesting that I don’t understand what you are saying? 
You’re not suggesting that I cannot understand what a stupid, insignificant creature such as yourself is saying, are you?”

“Of course not, dear…”

‘Dear,’ ‘darling,’ any such word would have done; whatever might soothe the enraged monster and calm him.

It seemed his rages had a life of their own.

I can recall, too, falling asleep during such rowing. His angry voice would shout at me, “Do you dare to sleep before this is resolved?”

At these dreaded times I’d try to see what my mother wished me to do. Searching her face wasn’t easy as he was watching me carefully.

That was all part of it. When you are watched by a madman who is enraged, you had best be mindful of each and every thing you do. You cannot afford to make a mistake!

I had learned, as even my sisters and brother had young as they were. My mother certainly had.

I would know with the highly developed instincts of an animal that something was wrong. One particularly vicious day, I felt it at luncheon and after, and then at dinner. There were more than one or two signs. Mother and I exchanged secret looks.

The evening was spent as most evenings are. Mother sewed; although how she steadied her hands I didn’t know.

I read, though I was not able to absorb much. Still, I kept the poetry book open on my lap lest he’d notice my trepidation.

My brother played with our sisters. The youngest hugged her doll to herself, looking up occasionally with frightened eyes, but then looking away. She was only five but she was learning!

And father, the source of all the trouble. The center of our storm, the very heart of the matter—he was most fidgety, which was a bad sign if ever there was one.

I saw him brush imaginary crumbs from himself and from the sofa. Then he’d take books from the bookcase, muttering to himself all the while. He’d sit down, flip through them and stare at each of us.

Occasionally, he’d pass a remark about the quality of reading matter in the house, none of it complimentary and occasionally most of it quite rude.

Sometimes he’d walk to the window to gaze outside, smiling to himself. Now, that was terrifying.

Occasionally he’d complain about the outside noise—the few carriages that came up our street, the far off sound of a barking dog.

I thought it likely we’d be in for it and I think my mother did as well. Still, we carried on, hoping for the best.

The children went to sleep at seven. Mother took them away. She did not request that they kiss their papa good night because by this time he was smoking a cheroot and laughing in a queer and fearful way.

I wanted so to flee from the room but I didn’t dare. Mother returned and sat back down to her sewing. Finally, the clock struck ten and he rose.

“I shall go to sleep now.”

Go to sleep and die, why don’t you? Please? Oh please, die in your sleep and leave us in peace!

He left but not before touching my hair to ruffle it. I cringed at his touch, although I tried so hard not to.

Mother and I did not speak or even whisper for fear of being overheard. Eventually we turned in, she and I silently embracing.

It began some time later. I heard his angry voice and then mother’s pleading one. Would her pleas work? Would he stop? Of course not. His raised voice grew louder by the second. She continued to plead, whimpering and begging. I listened for the sound of a slap, but I heard none.

Be grateful for small mercies. They are like little miracles.

But I was fooled! I was relieved too early for suddenly there was the sound of a slap. Mother didn’t cry out but I did.

“Stop it!” I shouted, loud enough that he would hear.

And then as if to answer me, he pounded on the wall—it was a warning.

I listened and waited, barely breathing, then I heard one further shout and the sound of his lunatic footsteps stomping out of the house.

He was gone. What joy! Alright, he’d be back but meanwhile we would enjoy the freedom. What greater gift is there than freedom in captivity though it be brief?

My sisters opened my door. Five year old Annie and eight year old Lucy were crying.

“Come Rose, Mama is sick and we don’t know what to do.”

Mother sat on the edge of her bed. She was in tears, yet, she managed a weak smile for us.

“Let us go to the parlor.”

I lit the lamps and saw how pale she looked, then, as I searched for signs of a beating I smiled, for I saw none; just the tell-tale sign of red finger marks on her fair skin.

I was thankful it was not worse.

Her lips trembled slightly but she smiled back at me. The two little ones needed to be held by her. I saw that. She spoke quietly to them—sweet consoling words, all lies really.

It takes a long time to understand the necessity for lies. But then one does. I think it is the reality of maturity, the first of many lessons one learns that accomplishes that.

Soon, my brother Daniel joined our sad little group. No doubt he was hiding under the bed again. Poor Daniel, trying so hard to be brave at twelve.

What a sad little circle of misery we were. Each of us trying to look brave for the other. My own shaky voice sought reassurance.

“Are you alright, Mother?”

She nodded and I smiled. Had I ever smiled with happiness? I couldn’t remember.

Or could I?

Had I forgotten everything? After all, it is easier to block out everything than to be selective sometimes. Memories can hurt and oftentimes be fatal.


I recall my father standing in the doorway to my room on many nights. Lurking like a shadow. But then he’d move and I’d feel his closeness as he sat on the edge of my bed.

I’d pretend to be asleep, breathing as evenly as I could, not permitting an eyelid to flutter for that would be the worst thing I could do.


A whisper in the night; the sound of my name like a dagger in my heart.

Shhh! He’ll go out. Be still! If I was lucky and he did leave, I’d pray. No more visits tonight, please…

“I only want to touch you…”

Ah, but some touches are killing things and some acts are criminal.

He didn’t do it to my sisters; I know I listened at the door, a conscientious sentry ready to spring to the aid of my younger sisters lest the beast hurt them by taking away their innocence.

Where was my mother then? Why wasn’t she my protector? Why did she never help?

She didn’t know. But she had to have. She was barely there herself most of the time.

Fragile and child-like. He used to call her his child-bride even though she was twenty when they married.

I think, looking back on it now, he enjoyed thinking of her that way.

She was a shy, fragile creature—so wrong for him.

She had been such a beauty, like a Rose. Her name and mine.

“He did love me once, Rose.”

Her sad pronouncement was a confession of sorts, an explanation declared to me between tears and the now vague and fleeting memories of love.

But had she been correct? Or had his madness always been there, lurking—hidden behind a smile and a tender touch?

She had been a quiet, refined girl. Her mother was a widow; there wasn’t much money, so when my father came along there wasn’t much consideration. Perhaps his request to keep company was too easily granted.

“He was alright at first. I was happy, truly.”

But happiness and strength do not always last. Life with him had created so many chinks in the wall.

I knew he was killing her slowly. I wondered if she knew it.

She was fading. Truly she was. I could see it. The others couldn’t they were too young but I could.

She had been with him the longest and who knew what really went on behind closed doors? What had he really subjected her to?

Yes, I did hear fearful noises—shouts and cries and the sound of hitting. And her veiled up—two three, four layers of veils sometimes for days on end. But she said she was alright. She always reassured me, telling me it was a headache and nothing more.

And if that headache seemed to last too long, she’d just smile and say it would soon be gone and attribute it all to needing new spectacles.

“Really Rose, I read far too much.”

She read but that was another lie, a lie that had to be seen as truth in order for the entire house of cards not to collapse.

I have come to the realization that there are devils among us. Devils and demons and they possess those we once knew making them different.

I tried to recall how he had been before his illness, before his crippling illness that affected his speech and his walking, as well as his mind.

Something evil had made a nest there in his brain and it grew and would continue to grow.

Imbued with the evil was the falseness: the big smile, the chummy wink and the presents. Oh yes, there were presents when I was a child. Not now, but then, yes. I remember one book he gave me, a book about legends.

“Read this, Rose. It is about the legends of the world!”

Yes, he was always giving me things then, like pretty ribbons and scented soap which I always threw away. He wanted me to use them for him!

“I like to see you look pretty.”

More rubbish for the rubbish. But the book—that gift I loved. The book fueled the dreams and the dreams calmed my heart and gave me promises. And those promises gave me hope.

Yet sadly, hope that is unrealized is another kind of punishment.

I read that vampires existed. That they were real and came at night. The legends said they had to be invited in.

How funny I thought that was—to invite in such a creature and yet wish to bar the room from my own father.

I think he gave me the book to frighten me, but I was not afraid. The only fear I had was of him.

When I was a bit older I used to imagine what it would be like… a tap on the window and some handsome prince of a vampire wishing to be admitted.

“I will let you in, kind sir but do you promise to love me?”

“I shall love you for all time, Rose.”

I smiled for I was dreaming again and I believed that was the stuff of nonsense. But I dreamed for there could have been no happiness in my reality. Because I lived with the monster.

And the monster always returns. What a sad lot we were his wife and children, mother’s once beautiful face marked by all the suffering she had endured.

“I’m alright, children. Please go to your beds,” she so often told us.

Why would she want this time to herself, to be alone with such fear?

A reassuring tap on our hands and a sweet smile, but the eyes never smiled. They shone with tears and reflected my hovering reflection.

I didn’t wish to leave her you see, I wanted to protect her from him even though I feared and dreaded him.

At last I would go. After kissing her and hugging her, I was off to my own room.

I would sleep and if I was lucky I’d dream of love and find myself in another place. A place far from that house, a place where there was love that was all for me.

My eyes would shut—the tears blinked away—and I’d sleep, dreaming once again of a lonely man who needed my love; a man I knew not.

I remember smiling in my sleep. It was the dark man I dreamed about. The one who I fancy dreamed of me, too.

But then I thought of the other night at home, a night I wanted to forget like so many others…


My eyes opened and I saw my father silhouetted in the doorway for he had come home.

At the very least I should have heard his key in the lock. I had trained myself to hear things only a cat would hear. Yet I had failed this time.

And if I hadn’t heard the lock, I hadn’t heard his shuffling footsteps, either. The uncertain walk--a symptom of his illness.

Did it mark his life, taking that which was good from him and replace it with evil? Or was the evil always there?


You’d never know he was shouting vile words at my mother not an hour since. His voice was soft and loving, a whisper in the night, spoken amongst the shadows.

He repeated my name. No, please. I’d best pretend to be asleep that’s the best thing I can do. He’ll go away then. He usually does.

He hovered by the door for a long time. At one point he stepped into the room and I held my breath.

I felt his hand upon my hair just briefly. He sighed and in between the touch and the sigh he was gone, and the door closed softly.

Peace at last. I prayed then for I was leaving the next day to see my aunt. I prayed that they would all be alright, not him of course—I do not care what happens to him.

It was already light by the time I drifted off. I dreamed that I had lost my way. I rushed this way and that only to find myself staring into a fathomless pit.

I wavered for I was standing at the very edge. Then, certain I would fall into it, I cried out. But strong arms grabbed me and I cried, this time with relief, for I was saved.

When I turned to see who my savior was, I didn’t see anyone. Then, realizing I was alone, I continued to cry in silence for I knew it was the dark man I dreamed of.

“It is but a dream,” I whispered. “A dream and nothing more and dreams rarely come true.”

Still, I knew even then, those were my dreams to keep for as long as I liked.


If she dreamed of him, he dreamed of her. He was damned through no fault of his own; a creature whose home was neither in Hell nor Heaven. He was but a damnable entity one who must exist forever, neither living nor dead, without peace or the hope of salvation.

Love had claimed his heart in the course of his existence, as had hate. The only things that steadied him were his own dreams, for he dreamed of love amidst the corruption that he knew… amidst the sin and wickedness, he dreamed of someone, somewhere, needing him.

He imagined a girl called Rose. A girl who existed on the other side of his sad eternity.

His eternity… what was it but endless longing for perfect love, for love that would calm his tormented heart and soothe his tortured being.

Was it ever not tortured? Perhaps in the eons of time he had existed he did love. And sadly, love and loss are one sometimes.
He opened the French doors and gazed up at the stars he remembered seeing when time began and with it, the world. This one and others. Yet, in all that time, love, the sort he dreamed of now, had rarely been his.

Still, there was the hope of it because there was the dream.

But there was sadly his own reality, he was what he was. And because he was, he winced, for the pain in his stomach was worse. Like an evil creature quite apart from his own being it gnawed at him, demanding food. Making itself known.

The moors were his feeding grounds for there is much wildlife there, yet when the pain becomes insurmountable he would have to seek different sustenance: human blood. This is not something he wished, but there were those occasions when that other part of himself needed to be satisfied.

The night air was sweet, for truly there was nothing like it this side of heaven.

A wry smile curled Louis Darton’s lips as he stepped into the night, cursed creature that he was..."

Copyright 2011 Carole Gill


eFestival of Words 2014: Best Villain, Eco/ Best Horror, The House on Blackstone Moor

Top 10 Books - 2013
Aoife Marie Sheridan - ALL THINGS FANTASY
Publisher, Ultimate Fantasy Books 

92 Horror authors you need to read right now
Carole Gill -- the Blackstone Vampires series
~Charlotte Books - EXAMINER

"The figure of the gothic child was there. Stoker's horror was there. Along with the romance! At the heart of her writing one stumbles upon a genuine search for that darkness we lost with the loss of Stoker."
~DR. MARGARITA GEORGIEVA ~ Gothic Readings in the Dark

Unimaginable horror awaits Rose Baines in The House on Blackstone Moor.

Her journey into the dark begins with the murders of her family by her insane, incestuous father. Evil has found a way in, as has the world of the undead. Will she become one of them? 

The horrific discovery causes her to be incarcerated in two madhouses. Doctor Bannion, superintendent of Marsh Asylum, helps his favorite patient obtain a position as governess at Blackstone House, but why is he so adamant? The house, her charges tell her, is built on haunted moorland. Nothing is as it seems for Blackstone House, and its inhabitants have hideous secrets; the greatest secret of all being that of the blood. 

Amid the unimaginable horror there is love - which comes at a terrible price. The House on Blackstone Moor is the first novel in Carole Gill's Blackstone Vampires Series. It is an epic tale of the eternal struggle of good vs. evil, and a story of love that strives to prevail, despite all odds.

Friday, September 23, 2016

Another confession by the demon, Eco

Eco, a demon reveals yet another confession. This one about a black mass at a ruined abbey. 

"The sabbat  was held in a ruined abbey, one of those sacked on the orders of Henry VIII. Hundreds of monasteries had been ravaged for their wealth; the excuse being it was for religious reformation when in fact the old boy wished to rid himself of a wife and take another.

Those doing the sacking were rewarded with the spoils. Ah yes, many a great house owes its very existence to those abbeys, for they are built with the very stone that encased those former holy walls.
Once again, we travelled by riverboat as it was not far from where we had gathered the previous night. The boatman, I realized, knew Eve for he seemed taken with her.

She for her part was aloof but I think that was more to impress me. If she thought I’d ever think her prim, she couldn’t have been more wrong.

As for our sojourn, there were fewer boats that night because of the weather. It rained and we laughed about it being our baptismal.

We came ashore near the village of Mereton. It was typical of villages back then; just a cluster of thatched cottages and a church. Few people were about—only the smithy looked to be working.

“It’s just beyond the church,” Eve said, pointing toward a copse of trees. I was not surprised as most ruined abbeys and chapels are often near the newer houses of Christian worship.

It was growing dark when we saw the structure with flickering light from within and figures moving about.

If I expected to see an abbey, albeit a ruined one, I did not see one. I saw instead a shell of something that looked nearly shapeless owing to the fact that it had been raided so many times.

“There is a back to it, a garden of sorts where the summoning shall take place.”

As we neared the ruin, several hooded figures rushed toward us, as if to challenge us, but Eve spoke to them and they stood aside to let us pass.

We were led to the entrance, which was little more than a breach in the ruined walls; walls and nothing else. We found ourselves in a courtyard of sorts.

“This is the garden?”

Eve nodded, not quite getting my sarcasm.

I have to say it was quite dramatic really, what with the vast open space and hooded figures, each of them holding a candle.

They were chanting too, singing in voices so low, I could not make out one word. They moved toward us and Eve whispered, “It will begin now.”

One of them approached us. Though she was hooded, I could see she was a woman. “Enter the domain of his Satanic Majesty and take ye the fruits of his love!”

Eve said we were to walk to the altar then. I hadn’t seen it before, but now I did as the celebrants stepped back from it. As soon as they did, we began to hear the cry of children.

Eve whispered. “They are the offerings. It is how it must be. It is his command.”

I had no doubt it was.

It began at once with chanting and singing in strident voices. I recognized the chants as Latin sung backwards. This was a Black Mass in the fullest sense.

BOOKS 1-4, $2.99

Dark and gruesome equates to beauty

This being the third book in the series still has me wanting more! It's like watching a scary movie. Better than the first two!  

The ending left me with my mouth hanging open it was so surprising.


"92 Horror authors you need to read right now"
Carole Gill -- the Blackstone Vampires series
~Charlotte Books - EXAMINER

Thursday, September 22, 2016

Recollections of Lash Lady!

Having been created as a vampire, Bathory finds a changing world where she is able to provide special services to those who wish it. Apparently, business was never better!


WE WERE glad to have Jo and Bill, whatever state they were in. The trip was very enjoyable. We spoke and got to know our new friends in all sorts of ways. No one was jealous either, especially me. If we changed partners, we did it with dignity and were good natured about it. Johann liked Gisele rather a lot, and when he asked her to whip him, I was quite astonished and pleased that Wentworth didn’t mind. Johann had the time of his life, after which he told me I would make a wonderful Lash Lady.

“That is what you should call yourself! I give you my blood, Lash Lady—all you require!” I liked the name and what he said. And really, being food for vampires is just about the most submissive role people can have. I think I referred to it as slave then, which he liked. We discussed so much. I began to recall our playrooms and the equipment we had. We discussed Sebastian and his penchant for whipping and bondage. He always said I’d be a natural.

We did have some fun in our stateroom as well, do you recall? I was dressed rather provocatively, bare breasted except for a kind of mask you rigged for me. Johann’s wrists were tied and I whipped him. But then he stopped me and said, “No, you have to say why you are doing it.” It really was a game! So I went along. “I am whipping you Johann so you will be a good boy. I must punish you for acting weak. You have no control!” This I said as I held his erect penis. “There! You see how you cannot control your emotions. This is a test.”

I nearly started to laugh, but I controlled myself. As I thought Eisel could be a problem during this, we had her go off with you and Wentworth. Gisele, who’d also joined you, told me you had quite an orgy. Someone even complained about the noise! Johann was an enigma to me. Here he was, a tall, handsome man—looking like a Norse God—and he enjoyed being whipped. I wanted to ask him why but thought it would spoil the fun for him and make me look silly, so I didn’t.

Rather, I thought of variations on the whole thing. I would whip him and admonish him. Then, I’d whisper endearments as to how I didn’t wish to hurt him. But if he wept, I’d slap him. Oh yes! He quite liked having his buttocks slapped. He also enjoyed being fed on as I whipped him. This, Gisele did when she got bored with the orgies. He’d cry out with insane pleasure. It was really the most amazing thing. It wasn’t long before we spoke about the whippings. You said we would continue as we had. “But,” I said, “we have to get a lot wilder with it. We must use our imaginations and even film our clients...masked, of course..."

"5out of 5 stars HORRIFIC VAMPS & GREAT STORY!!!
I'm hooked on Carole Gill!! I prefer more details about a Vampires life, knowing they're Satan's creatures, and love that this author portrays them as they are!!! Intense read and that there's real history in her novels, makes it even more interesting!! If you're offended by language, sex, bondage, and savagery, look to the Chic lit on the paranormal!!! Carole Gill is phenomenal!!!!"

- 5 stars "A blood-soaked rendition of the fictional life of a real-life multiple murderer, history's 'Countess Dracula'
Her best yet!"

4 stars - “Solid gothic horror from Gill."

A Demon's Recollection of Meeting The Decadent Mistress of Blackstone House

There are more confessions to read. This tells of Eco meeting the depraved Eve Darton, vampiric mistress of Blackstone House. A wanton, degenerate vampire, she only exists for pleasure and sin. She is, by the way, the second most depraved character I've written of, the most, being Countess Bathory! 

"Having seen her, I knew I would not destroy her. I reasoned I could hurt Louis differently than that. I could take her from him, corrupt her—ravish her and do what I wished.

Corrupt Eve, I hear you say, that is an impossibility. It is, but I could not know that then.

I was there all night. She finally emerged the next morning. I realized she probably had consumed that horrible tea so that she could go out during daylight hours.

Needless to say, I followed her. She must have realized my eyes were on her because she turned around. I made no move to hide.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

It was the first time I heard her voice. Throaty and heavily accented, the French tones sounded musical.

“Well?” she asked.

When I did not answer, she looked flattered and intrigued. So I at last introduced myself. I said I was a former acquaintance of Louis and she smiled.

Her smile, though beautiful, was slightly mocking for the corners of her mouth turned down. The result made it look false or at least somewhat wicked. And with the flash of her dark eyes, she looked every bit the wanton I suspected she was.

I imagined Louis’ sexual desires were entirely satisfied with this beautiful woman and I hated him even more for it.

She asked me if I should like to come and see Louis some time.

“I saw you out here. I know you were here all night.” She smiled again. This time it looked real, genuine. “You may call on us whenever you wish, but if it is me you’d care to see, then that is also fine. I am Eve, by the way.”

Eve, like the first woman. What was I then, the snake? If I was, could Louis be the hapless Adam? Was she indeed Eve or was she more like Lilith, another vixen I have loved?

Though her face was beautiful, her smile was intoxicating. Rose, it is only on rare occasions that I have known myself to have a heart—this was such an occasion for I felt it flutter. I think she knew and her smile reflected that awareness. “If you would like to accompany me…”

I needed no further urging and followed her along like a little lap dog.

Can you imagine the scene? Me sitting in a dressmaker’s shop, ignoring the amused expressions on the dressmaker’s face.

Something told me Eve was promiscuous. Any man or demon knows who is, believe me. That in itself, despite what men say, is enthralling. We are all egotists and if a woman is so inclined, who are we to dissuade her?

It was after we left the dressmakers that she stood and looked at me boldly. “The children are alright. I have help.” Another of those mysterious smiles. “Where are you staying?” Her eyes now burned with a different sort of fire.

“Come, I will show you,” I said.
At last we came to my lodgings. They weren’t bad as lodgings go, but clearly it was not up to her standards. Still, she said nothing. Her lips curved and she began to undress.

When she stood naked before me, I cried out: “You have the beauty of Venus.”

She giggled and drew me to her, her hoarse voice whispering to me. “I want you to taste me. I want you to make love to me with your mouth and your tongue. I am yours for this afternoon and after that, too, if you should like it.”

Oh, Rose, forgive me, for I shall not be too descriptive so as to offend your sensibilities. But truly, this was an experience I would never forget.

She would become my addiction. Yes, Rose—Eve would become a raging fever, an exotic disease I would contract and treasure. I never knew anyone—vampiric or human—like that. Insatiable, her desire knew no bounds, which only intrigued me more!

Sometime later, a wench poked her head in. She apologized but Eve invited her in. Actually, she did more than invite her in; she began to fondle the girl.

“You might as well know now, my love,” she said to me. “I like variety.”

I watched them for the longest time, and then joined in. Our lovemaking went on for hours. It wasn’t until the girl slept that I told Eve I knew what she was.

“You are a creature of the blood as I am.”

She didn’t ask me how I knew. She only smiled. “Let us feast on this girl,” she said. “And then I shall tell you about myself...”

"Dark and gruesome equates to beauty"

"This being the third book in the series still has me wanting more! It's like watching a scary movie. Better than the first two!"

"The ending left me with my mouth hanging open it was so surprising."

$2.99 singly 

or $4.99 for all four novels in the omnibus

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Vampire Entertainment at Cleopatra's Court!

Eco, the demon--having fallen in love with Rose Baines, The House on Blackstone Moor, or so he says, has penned a confession of all of his sins to demonstrate is honesty. By so doing, he hopes to gain her confidence. This is his recollection of an orgy at Cleopatra's palace. 

“The Queen and Antony will be there. They are enthused about magic. Wait until they see what else you do!” The palace was opulent; in truth I hadn’t expected it to be so fantastic, what with its great colonnades and spectacularly tiled floors. We passed down a long hall; in the center of which were great shimmering pools and fountains. As we walked along, we began to hear the most haunting music.

It was light and pleasing to the ear and I told Faruk. “They are the palace musicians,” he announced proudly. “The Queen’s own favorites.” The Queen! Where was she? Faruk saw how excited I must have looked and he smiled. “Look there,” he said. “You see?” I turned and my eyes at last beheld her.

She was dazzling; far more beautiful than I expected. She wore a draped dress of white linen—her shawl looked golden. That is, it had what appeared to be glittering threads woven into the cloth. Around her throat, she wore a jeweled collar. I had never seen such stones for they seemed to have a life of their own. Her hair, as black as ebony, was done up in an intricate design of tendrils; there was no mistaking she was a queen. We were motioned forward by a eunuch.

He was quite tall and beautifully garbed. He bowed his head and asked us to proceed. “Her magnificence wishes you to come forward!” The queen acknowledged us with a little smile. Antony, handsome in his Roman finery, sat near her. He gazed coolly upon me but had a special smile for my wenches. If Cleopatra noticed, she didn’t show she had. “And what will you do for us?” she asked. This was not a command but a coquettish sounding question. I smiled. “Magic, your magnificence. I will dazzle you with it!”

She nodded for me to begin. I started simply. I didn’t wish to overwhelm her, so I conjured small winged creatures. There were gasps and applause, so I conjured more. I created wind and fire, too, which caused alarm at first but then joy and amazement at how easily I controlled my magic. All of this magic I had learned from Imtep. Yes, I am most grateful to him. My conjuring went on for some time but when I felt the moment right, I called for Ankata to enter. “The Priestess, Ankata!”

Near pandemonium erupted in the place. People stood to see her. She came in and bowed. The place went wild, and even Cleopatra applauded. Ankata had never looked more beautiful. She was dressed in lilac colored linen, so sheer, she looked nude. She bowed to the Queen and walked to my side. I reached out and drew her veil down so that she was naked. I disrobed, too, and gently pushed her to the floor. We made love first, easy and gentle, just fondling one another. But then we began to feed on each other, in the most amazing of places. The spectators were thrilled and shocked. I heard their gasps and whispers.

None of them enjoyed it more than Lucius Aratas—a Roman official Faruk had told me about. The wenches came out next. They were entirely nude. The men followed, and soon they began feeding and copulating with them. It seemed there was no difference between the feeding and the orgiastic pleasure they gave one another.

Cheers rang out as the Romans, initiated by Antony, shouted their approval. Cleopatra laughed whereupon Antony took her right there where they were seated. Others joined in until the entire room was one big orgy with Scaba and the wenches pleasuring each other and any man that wished it. I never saw so many naked bodies copulating as they were.

Shrieks of pleasure resounded in the hall— such that I’d never heard. Even the eunuchs joined in, pleasuring one another in wild abandon. It went on for hours. People only stopped when they were satiated. It was as Faruk had said—desires of the blood. Odd that sexual excitement transpires from vampiric feeding, is it not, Rose? At daybreak, Antony summoned me. He wished to know my name and something about me, where I was from, and so on. “I told him I was from Antioch. He asked me what I was about. I think strangely enough he thought me to have eyes for the Queen. I smiled and said I wished to take my troupe to Rome for I dreamt of the place and had done for a number of years.

He looked quite impressed with that. He was not only handsome but also arrogant. “Yes, Rome is the beginning and end of everything. Tell me,” he added. “Are you not staying? Are you intending to go soon?” I think he asked this hoping it was soon, for he had seen the way Cleopatra watched me. “It will be very soon,” I said. He looked relieved. “Do make plans to travel. I am certain you will sail for Rome before you know it!” I thanked him and as I turned to go, he called me back. “In the interim, could you leave a few of your wenches? Faruk will show you where to send them. I quite fancy them.”

He shocked me, Rose, as humans often do. Later, Faruk introduced me to Lucius Aratas. He was quite a handsome man, tall and distinguished looking. He looked every inch the aristocrat he was. “I have watched you,” he said. “You must tell me of your plans. I could not help but to overhear that you are leaving for Rome.” I agreed that I was. “That is good. I shall escort you there, if you will permit me.”

We shook hands then. His touch was interesting; I cannot always say I have an inkling about a person just from their touch, but I did rather have it about Lucius. I thought him most promising. For all of Faruk’s many gifts, I offered him the gift of immortality. He fell to his knees and wept. “Master, I cannot speak, I am so honored.” “Then you shall listen. I have seen how you look at Scaba, and I cannot part you two. She is yours forever if you wish it.”

He fell prostrate before me and wept, but these tears were of joy. And so I did create him and he fed upon myself and Ankata and Scaba, too. Then they fell about making love, for they were so entranced with one another. We would leave the next day. As for Faruk, he and Scaba were to remain in Alexandria because it was his city. From what I understand, they had many successful vampire brothels. Scaba, as wanton as she was, came to care for Faruk and as far as I know, she may care for him still.

And so we left the glittering Alexandria behind. Our destination was Rome. Rome, the city of cities—the new power in the world. I could not wait to see it for I knew much of my destiny awaited me there. And it did, Rose. Oh my, yes it did..."

"Darker than the first! Chilling and impactful.

"A novel that is filled with dark horror that is evil, grisly and very horrific"
Nancy Allen, AVID READER

"5.0 out of 5 starsMust read"
My Cozie Corner Book Review

each book in the series can be purchased singly for $2.99

The Blackstone Vampires Omnibus comprises all four novels, $4.99

Monday, September 19, 2016

With Dracula as The Groom It Is a Wedding Night Like No Other

Excerpt from The Fourth Bride (of Dracula).
It is Dia's wedding night. Dracula is the groom but she is to love the other brides as well...

“I don’t want to sleep...”

“Yes, little one. You must sleep, and you shall. And you will dream.”

And so I did. I dreamt I heard soft murmurs all around me. It was not unpleasant for I was reminded of fairy tales and magical legends. I heard singing too; the sound of sirens perhaps. The songs were haunting, sad and beautiful all at once.

I saw three figures in the shadows. I reached out to touch them in my dream, and they came forward. 

“Sister!” they called.

Something cool yet comforting touched my lips. I opened my eyes to see a graceful hand lingering there. A woman was smiling at me. She leaned over and kissed me on the lips. And although her lips were icy, it was pleasing.

“Am I dreaming?”

She smiled. “Yes, some of it.”

“Who are you?”

She didn’t reply, she only took my hand in her cold one and kissed it. “ Dia...”

“How do you know my name?”

“The master told us.”

I was suddenly aware of other voices. Voices that answered in perfect unison. “The master,” they repeated until it sounded like a chant.

Then, in the soft glow of candlelight, I saw three women. They were strangely beautiful, garbed in long flowing white gowns. Suddenly they began to float up toward the bed ever so slowly, their fingers reaching out toward me as they called, “Sister.”

Were they ghosts or spirits from another world? Before I could ponder that question any longer, they began sweeping over me. I was frightened but thrilled at the same time, for there seemed about them the promise of joy and untold pleasure.

Their icy hands sought the top of my night gown, which they peeled away until I was naked. First one reached over and then the other two, each of them touching me.


A soft sigh sounded in my ears as cool lips touched my neck.


I moaned as the hands continued to sweep over me. Gentle yet persistent fingers probed my secret places—places previously unexplored—caressing and invading my body.

Lips replaced fingers. Icy lips, blue with undeath but soon to be reddened with life, my life—but I did not know then, that would be one of my very first lessons.

I felt two at my neck and one at my breast. Then I felt something sharp stab into flesh and nearly cried out but fell silent. For there by the fire stood a man. I could only make out that he was tall and slender. He moved toward the bed. Not to help me but to watch...!

At last I knew I was not dreaming. There were three women touching me and whispering as they did.

“Yes, now,” the man said.

Once again I felt their teeth upon my flesh. “We drink you and love you...”

It was only painful for a moment for when one bit me, another caressed me. And so it went on like that for an eternity it seemed.

I drifted away then, retreating into a warm place full of shadows, a netherworld so near the living one. How I wished to remain there.

In my mind I saw myself covered by three female figures and a male as well. I opened my eyes to see Dracula’s own burning like two red coals. I saw in their depths a new world I would soon be entering.

I watched as his mouth sought my neck and then my breasts. I felt the sharp sting of his teeth and the pressure of his suckling and drawing out of my blood. Yet, it was pleasurable and I wished him to do whatever he liked. There had never been a greater pleasure than this for me. I cried out in ecstasy.

After he fed he pulled away and in the semi dark I saw my blood on him. . “Beloved!” he cried.

“Now you shall drink from me, for it is our wedding. I watched as he slit open his chest. “Drink and you shall never know death.”

And so I did.

I was thirsty and lapped it up. There was no wine sweeter than this; his own ruby port.

As I swallowed, I saw images of a life...a boy becoming a man. I saw battles and bloodshed, joy and sorrow. In the light and darkness of the visions appeared faces of creatures I could not identify. And then I saw the sisters calling out to me.

At first I thought I was still dreaming, but then I smelled their blood. “Sister, you are one of us now,” they said in unison.

I watched as they bent over me, each taking a part of me as though I were a feast set before them.
“They drink from your fountain for you are the new covenant. You are ours now and forever,” Dracula said.

The night was endless it seemed, and if there was pain, that pain would soon disappear and have pleasure replace it. Fathomless pleasure, the joy unending, for this was the beginning of the ritual of the blood.

“Love the blood,” he whispered. “The joy is in the blood...the passion is in the blood...endless life is in the blood...!”

I felt him mount me then. His eyes swept over my body before he took me in sight of the sisters, those who I would soon call the brides.

It was sometime later that I heard them whisper. “Dawn is breaking. Let us take her to the crypt.”

This excerpt if from The Fourth Bride

it is book 4 in The Blackstone Vampires Series. 

It can be read as a standalone. It is included in the box set for $4.99

2014 - Amazon Bestseller in Dark Fantasy - THE BLACKSTONE VAMPIRES OMNIBUS

2015 - Amazon Bestseller in Vampire Horror - THE BLACKSTONE VAMPIRES OMNIBUS

Dormaine G's 'Blood Thirst, An Eternal Romance' ON SALE NOW!

Blood Thirst

An Eternal Romance

Now available!

Octavia, a human, appeared into this world with a mysterious past unknown to even her. Victor a cultured man of influential prestige was born a savage vampire. They should have never been but their attraction was so profound neither could deny their love.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He came to stand in front of her after hearing no more words of resistance cross her lips.

In a split second, he wished he could sire her and take her for his own. He wanted to tell her everything. This world, his world, about vampires, but he could not.

Victor gripped her face within his palms. “I cannot let you go. I will not,” he exhaled, caressing her lips. “But if you want me to, I will leave you be. Forever…”

“This is madness…” Octavia gazed up at him speechless. She tried to resist him, but the words of refute would not flow.

“And I cannot breathe when you are not near. I cannot think when you are not by my side. The last few days have been murderous knowing that I could not have you” He kissed her, not allowing her to refuse him.

He would never let her go.

About the Author

Dormaine was born in Long Island, New York where she lived most of her life. As an adult she liked to travel out of the country, though her favorite places to explore were her fantasy worlds as an author. She may be a nurse by profession but her heart has always belonged to writing. As a young child she spent many Saturdays in the library nurturing her love for books. There she discovered her fascination for the paranormal genre through reading and watching movies.

After many years of working in hospitals and travel nursing, she took time off to pursue a career in writing where she likes to push the limits of the imagination and delve into the world of the unknown. With eight books published so far, in her office is where she spends hours, at a time, spinning more tales about the supernatural world.

Dormaine is available for speaking engagements, interviews, and appearances. She is also happy to speak to reading and writing groups via telephone.


Book 2 coming in October!

Sunday, September 18, 2016

Bathory's Vampire Friends Were From Prestigious Backgrounds

 Bathory was probably a snob both alive and undead. That was the least of what she was! With regard to her  immortal friends, those vampire 'buddies' of hers, some looked like what they really were, That was the reason there were so many masked balls! 

Lucerne, an immortal friend 
"Lucerne came from a noble family. In fact, you told me most vampires did. Vampirism had grown steadily in France since early medieval times. You showed me a book, one of hundreds in your library. I had never seen such a collection of books and atlases. You said that the returning Crusaders brought vampires back with them. Some were taken as curiosities to be exhibited.

“No one considered the ramifications of it then, but when there began to be an interaction between both species, that was something that would have grave consequences.” You were by far the most intelligent person I had ever known. I was enthralled by you. You knew this. You knew also that I would find the sexual proclivity of the vampire, its natural wantonness and need for sex and feeding, to be perfect for me. I remember thinking I was in my element.

Those early days and nights of my turning were filled with blood lust and passion, feeds and sex. But, in truth, after a while, I wanted only you, my love. That is how I had been changed. Of course, we both know that did not last. Still, I am sorry I corrupted you, for I know I did. Or did you wish it? Let me continue on; perhaps the answer will be forthcoming.

I remember being pleased when Jacques said he wished to speak with me. He was your greatest friend, as well as your creator. “I am like his father for I gave him unlife. That is a kind of living.”

We spoke of so much while you slept. He told me of his living life in ancient times and of love affairs, too. I could tell he was choosing his words carefully, for he did not wish to be offensive. Funny, don’t you think? I found I quite preferred him speaking of you.

When he told me you had saved him as much as he had saved you, I wept. “Sometimes, that is how it is, one vampire saving another. The living call it kismet. I think of it as a gift of the blood. A vampire’s existence is not an easy one,” he admitted. “Most of us tire of our existence. And when we do, if we are fortunate, we find a reason to go on.” He said he had because of you. “When I created Anton, I had to help him in his new world and in turn, this helped me as well.” As he spoke, I wondered what he knew of me. But then he confessed he had quite some knowledge. “I knew because Anton said where he was going and why.”

I turned away, for I could not face him. “No, you must accept it all, Countess. It is your fate. There is nothing to be done about it. Perhaps your transition will be more to your liking...”

Than the blood monster you were in life, I finished it for him in my mind...