Saturday, July 30, 2016

WHAT THE SIRENS COULD DO!


This is not your ordinary circus. See for yourself. Here's an excerpt. WHAT THE SIRENS COULD DO! 

"Dorinda pulled the other sirens close to her and they giggled and touched one another. And while they did this, they began to change—from women with beautiful hair and fine bodies they changed into men, then into animals and birds. They could do this because they had never been human.

They loved the changing, as they called it. In each form, they explored different ways of pleasuring one another. This transforming and pleasuring lasted for hours and still, the clowns slept.

The clowns woke to seeing the sirens looking as the dancers they knew. “Eat, my love, eat,” they coaxed. This they said as each held a handful of the food they had brought to them. Happy smiled for he no longer cared what he was given. He opened his mouth and ate, savoring the taste.

Each followed his example. Noble and Danny ate and all the while, the dancers sang. There was joy in the songs—joy and promises of a darkness none of the clowns could imagine.

 “You will have bounty after bounty—nothing shall be wrong… no act despised, no desire denied,” Dorinda sang.

She led them out afterwards. “We shall take you places you have never dreamed of…”





“This is horrific in the best way! It is extreme ... and disturbing.

"Riveting. Imaginative. Chilling. Fantastical."

"Wonderful horror with a side order of ribs."

"Outstanding story line and strong characters. I felt like I was right there and a part of the sideshow.

"An awesome little creepfest!"

"Never going to the circus again!"

"True horror!"

“Scary from beginning to end! Sit back and read your way into a horror filled tale! Enjoy!”

Friday, July 29, 2016

99cents each! What's Your Poison?


Two vastly different types of horror fiction on offer for 99 cents! Read up:



Gothic vampires or darkest horror that will give you night mares? Do you want to go gently into the night or do you want it as dark as hell (literally)? It's up to you because you can pick and choose or just go nuts. Each acclaimed book is 99 cents on offer!

THE HOUSE ON BLACKSTONE MOOR
After discovering her savagely murdered family, Rose Baines is plunged into a nightmare of hell. She is incarcerated in two madhouses, after which she is helped to obtain a position as governess at Blackstone House. Located on haunted moorland, nothing is as it seems for the House and its inhabitants have hideous secrets. There is unimaginable horror there, and love too--love that comes at a terrible price.

UNHOLY TESTAMENT - THE BEGINNINGS
Rose and her children find themselves held captive on a ship staffed by vampires, overseen by the mad and evil demon Eco. The last time Rose saw Eco he tried to destroy the children, and now he tells her he loves her. 

“I saw you leave the house that day, Rose. That terrible day you discovered your family butchered. I saw you…” 
Eco, believing he has fallen in love with her, pens a confession documenting all sins he has committed during his immortal existence. 

From Ancient Egyptian vampire cults, Roman vampire brothels, The Dark Ages, The Crusades, The Black Death of 1348, on to his meeting with the child murderer and former aide to Joan of Arc, Satanist Gilles de Rais, and concluding with his wicked, blood-soaked affair with the Blood Countess herself, Erzebat Bathory. The pages are filled with debauchery, vice and murder – how can one stained with so much blood and evil possibly be trusted?

UNHOLY TESTAMENT - FULL CIRCLE
Vampiric orgies and satanic rites fill the pages of this book. All of the hideous secrets of Blackstone House are revealed. Every evil that Rose Baines was subjected to is closely examined, as are those who committed the worst sins against her.

Rose and her children's ordeal continues. They are still held captive on a ship staffed by vampires, overseen by the demon Eco.

There are more blood-drenched confessions to read. Rose has no choice but to finish the journal. Eco, mad and as unpredictable as ever, can snap at any time. But will he? 

The rest of the journal tells of the sick and twisted obsession Eco has had for Blackstone House's former mistress, evil and debauched Eve Darton. There are aristocratic devil rites, both in England and France, including satanic sacrifices. There is the Great Fire of London 1666, plagues, vampire destroyers, witch hunts and resurrection men who supply a necrophile doctor. 

The novel comes full circle as all the hideous secrets of Blackstone House are revealed, as are the reasons Rose’s father killed himself and his family. 

Eco, first seen in the previous book, has documented all of the sins he has committed during the course of his immortal life. Trying to get Rose to forgive him, he forces Rose to read his journal by holding her children hostage.
Dracula makes his debut. He is a friend of Eco's. He and the other vampires have killed a child's mother.  The dying mother begs Rose to take the child and she does.

THE FOURTH BRIDE
Dia, the child Rose adopted grows to adulthood and marries. But after the tragic and sudden death of her groom, Dia, cursed by Dracula as a babe, is taken to his castle. Once there, she is seduced and turned by the count and becomes his fourth bride. The other brides are to be her sisters. All are to love and feed upon one another. Dia's tale is full of erotic sex and graphic violence. It is a tale of love and lust but mostly of blood, for the blood is everything.

REVIEWS


2014 - Amazon Bestseller in Dark Fantasy - THE BLACKSTONE VAMPIRES OMNIBUS
2015 - Amazon Bestseller in Vampire Horror - THE BLACKSTONE VAMPIRES OMNIBUS
AWARDS:

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

"In the attempt to find the just measure of horror and terror, I came upon the writing of Carole Gill whose work revealed a whole new dimension to me. 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

Each novel 99 cents 7/29-8/4

How about cannibal clowns and sorcery? A circus on the road to hell? If that's your thing try this for 99 Cents!



Serious horror for dark horror fans. Follow them on the road to their next engagement which might be a hell of a gig! 

“This is horrific in the best way! It is extreme ... and disturbing.

"Riveting. Imaginative. Chilling. Fantastical."

"Wonderful horror with a side order of ribs."

"Outstanding story line and strong characters. I felt like I was right there and a part of the sideshow!"
"An awesome little creepfest!"
"Never going to the circus again!"

"True horror!"

“Scary from beginning to end! Sit back and read your way into a horror filled tale! Enjoy!”

Remember! Price is 99 cents for Circus of Horror

JULY 28 - AUG. 3



Tuesday, July 26, 2016

FREE READ! This Story Inspired Circus of Horrors!

Here's the short story that inspired 'Circus of Horrors!'

GRAPHIC VIOLENCE! 


 WEIRDEST SHOW ON EARTH!



“Tell me somethin’, do you ever get nightmares, you know. About stuff, Hank?”

Hank was fixing his bow tie. He was only three and a half feet tall but when he was dressing for a show he felt like Fred Astaire. He sighed. “Sure, after what we been through. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, well—it’s now that counts, right?”

“Sure is, my friend. Our luck turned around didn’t it? Don’t I always say to look on the bright side?”

It was true. Tommy always helped him. He always would. That was why they were pals. Friends forever—literally.

They were part of a circus. Granted it was small, but it made up for that by its uniqueness. And like any circus, aside from midgets,

it had animal acts, performers and clowns. What’s a circus without clowns?

Yup, considering its size, this circus was pretty popular. People like to be entertained. Times were hard in this, the third year of what would come to be known as, the Great Depression. Yet, despite that, people came; all kinds of folks. Rubes and hicks mainly—because they never played the big cities; just small towns. Sebastian said it was better that way. They didn’t want any trouble. Not that they couldn’t handle it and then some.

Yet another show was about to start and the boys were glad. When they heard the brass band start up with Entry of the Gladiators they were in ecstasy. Tommy rubbed his hands. “That’s it. Getting all revved up now, how about you, kid?”

Hank smiled. “Yeah. It’s magic, ain’t it?”

They both laughed heartily at that. When the music stopped they heard Sebastian go into his spiel. “Ladies and Gentleman—prepare yourselves for the best circus show you’ll ever see. . . ”

No hecklers tonight, well one only; some yokel showing off to his girlfriend. The boys could hear him making loud noises and acting like a real smart ass.

The boys got ready for their entrance. Sebastian liked them to come out first and greet the audience, talk to them and get a sense of what kind of folks they were. They liked it too because they enjoyed sniffing the air. People’s blood always smelled so different. It was amazing.

They locked eyes onto the heckler as he was still going strong.

“Could be worse,” Tommy said. “Could be a few of them.”

Just then the heckler called them both runts. Runts, they didn’t like. Runts did more than rankle. But the stupid bastard finally shut up when the clowns made their appearance.

There were three of them. They wore distinctive clown make up. One was sad—there were tears painted under his eyes and his drooping lips were done up artfully. He had learned makeup from another clown he killed and ate. Well, no one’s perfect.

The other two clowns were also uniquely made up. Happy was the jolly one. He had this big ass smile plastered across his face. Sometimes he had the remains of food stuck in the corners of his mouth.

“Hey, that ain’t lipstick, is it?”

The two other clowns would often tease him.

“Oh shit!” He’d invariably say. “I am a messy eater!”

He was; he often had bits of flesh and blood scattered all over his costume. Lou used to admonish him. In the last town Lou actually found a half-eaten eyeball stuck onto Happy’s oversized shoe. He gave it to him for that. Lou didn’t like to yell but Happy had to get it together.

Still, they remained friends.

The third clown’s make up was more unusual. He was the clowns’ clown. Dave was the one the other two would pretend to pick on. His make-up was very old fashioned. It was the way clowns were made up in mediaeval times.

All three began to respond to the audience, especially the children.

They’d make these exaggerated motions. They just mimed; they never spoke. One child had already been chosen by one of them because he was fat. Lou loved fat little boys, all dimply and doughy looking. The last boy he had eaten lasted a whole week! Boy oh boy that little tub of lard was tasty. Happy did him up in a special glaze.

Happy liked to cook.

“It’s gonna be a good show,” Lou said—sounding very upbeat. “I can feel it in my bones.”

That’s when the orchestra started up again; just a few notes, after which Sebastian introduced the trapeze act: the great Waldini and his wife.

These acts, from the trick rider and her horse to the trapeze couple, including the brass band as well as the lion tamer and lions, were odd looking, expressionless. They performed well enough though. It was only when you looked closely at them that there was a sense something was radically wrong, as in weird, fucking and odd.

Only one person noticed. He had seen the show a few times, following them from town to town throughout Ohio. He was studying the acts. Something wasn’t right about it; something just stunk about it. He didn’t know what it was, but he was determined to find out. It would make his career as a reporter, he felt sure.

He watched the lion tamer strut out. The guy was attired in a glittering, white outfit; pith helmet, whip and everything. The whip cracked as the tamer barked out commands. The lions growled a few times, nothing remarkable. In fact if anything, they looked bored. It seemed their growls and raised paws didn’t have a sense of realism which was most strange but then again, they had been conjured.

The midgets came out next. Dressed as always, very dapper. They wore make up, nothing too theatrical, or clownish. It was just enough to be interesting. Their faces were made up so that they looked like manikins. Their faces were white and their eyelids were lined in black. They wore lipstick and circles of rouge, too—their hair was slicked back like George Raft’s and they flirted a lot with the ladies. They seemed mischievous.

Actually they were interesting to watch because they were animated and lively. The young man didn’t think anything untoward about them or the clowns—not then.

*

They loved chow time. They ate around a big table in Sebastian’s trailer. It had been some movie star’s house car in the twenties. The rumor was it had been Mae West’s. Whatever the story, it was ace.


Everyone loved it particularly, Sebastian. In fact it was his home. He had his own bathroom and kitchen area and bunks too—like plush sofas they were.

The clowns always behaved themselves when they came in. They were always polite and made a real effort to be pleasant.

The boys (Tommy and Hank) were dressed well; they’d shower in the special shower tent before. They were very fastidious; much more so than the clowns. The clowns had to be reminded of personal hygiene periodically, but Sebastian didn’t mind. They were okay guys.

He smiled at the phrase. That was one of the 20th century expressions he loved.

They were all enthused about the town and the show and everyone started speaking at once. Sebastian had a few things to say but he bided his time. He’d save it for last.

He was grinning at them. His gaunt face and pronounced cheekbones gave him a skull-like look sometimes. He could have altered his appearance from the tall, imposing man he was but he didn’t.

Every so often he did, but only if he had to. At last he spoke. “I have a special menu for you guys tonight.” This he said as he revealed a beautiful roast.

The clowns were excited. “Dave said he smelled something cooking earlier. Didn’t you, Dave?”

Dave agreed. “I bet I know what it is!”

Happy and Lou nodded. “He’s been driving us nuts all day. Saying how he can’t wait to bite into a nice fat buttocks. Anyone we know, Sebastian?”

Sebastian started to answer but looked over at Tommy and Hank.

They were looking as though they felt ignored. “Now boys, no one’s forgotten about you.” He said as he handed them two tumblers. “This is fresh, it’s nowhere near clotted.”

They oohed and awed and sniffed the giant tumblers.

“Rich, ruby port! Might we know where that came from?”

Sebastian shook his finger in a good natured but teasing way.

“Don’t pry it’s rude. Let’s just say that heckler paid for calling you guys runts.”

Hank and Tommy clapped their little hands together. “Thank you!” they cried.

Dave wanted to know where the rest of him was.

“He’s been put away for tomorrow’s grub, is that okay?”

Happy and Lou were shaking their heads. “Dave, you gotta cut down on the calories. You’re going to get too fat for your clown suit!”

Tommy started to laugh which only inflamed Lou. Well the clowns and the midgets used to argue, coming to blows occasionally. Of course the midgets always won. They were little, but they were strong as vampires are.

Sebastian gently admonished them. He loved his boys as he called them. They had been tossed around from circus to circus. In the last place they had been, they were beaten constantly. When Sebastian saw them, they were almost dead.

He killed their tormenter, but by that time, they were both gone. He raised them up because he would not see them dead. When they rose up and realized what he had done, they cried. Vampires do that. Sebastian had seen it happen a lot.

He explained it all to them. “You’ll live forever, boys! You’ll never be afraid. You’ll never be harmed or frightened. Isn’t that good?”

Eventually they grew into their undead existence as vampires do.

That was just after the war in Europe. It was 1918 when they were turned.

Sebastian’s circus had grown quite a bit since then. There were the acts he put in. They weren’t real people or animals. They were creations of his sorcery. That was Sebastian’s story. Everyone in a circus has a story.

Tommy was teasing the clowns again. Why the midget picked on them was anybody’s guess. Sebastian didn’t like it. He felt sorry for them because they were life’s victims too, but in a different way.

The three of them were former mental patients. Yes sir, right out of Storeyville, Georgia. They had this sadist bastard of a doctor, Dr. Nichols who liked to do experiments on them. When they had enough of his hole drilling and failed (but painful) attempts at lobotomies—or was it just torture by another name—they escaped; walked right out of that house of horrors.

Sebastian always wondered when they became cannibals. He had asked them but they’d laugh and ‘say never you mind;’ although they did fess up to eating Dr. Nichols and two orderlies.

He told them that it didn’t matter. He said they’d have jobs and a place to stay as long as they liked. Of course they’d have to learn clown stuff. They were eager and in no time were performing perfectly.

Sebastian could see how much they looked up at him.

It was funny how they found one another. Sebastian caught them ripping open a family of four. The kids were nothing more than ribs and hair but these three guys were still gnawing away on the father and mother when Sebastian called out: “Hey, what are you doing?”

Whereupon the three threatened him. That was when he showed them. He had the remains of their meal rise up from the ground. Up this stuff went, all pieces of flesh and gore–spinning and turning—coming closer and closer to them!

They screamed but Sebastian only laughed and began to taunt them. First by having the gnawed parents begin to dance with one another.

It got so bad that the guys pleaded for him to stop. “What kinda shit is this? Who the hell are you?”

That was what he was waiting for. “I am Sebastian and I come from another place and time.” He told them how he had made a pact with Satan so that he could live forever. “It was easy—I gave up my soul. What the hell did I need it for? It was no use to me. Not during the Black Death it wasn’t. That plague killed one-third of Europe in the fourteenth century.”

He told them how he could raise the dead and make things move.
He often spoke about the many centuries he had lived through.

The midgets were fascinated by stories of the little people and Sebastian never disappointed them. He had a number of special people (he hated the word freaks) he had saved from one circus or sideshow over the years. He came to think of them as family.

*

Even now, these meals were special family dinners. Sebastian ate regular food but the others didn’t. The midgets only subsisted on blood whereas the clowns were meat eaters. Real meat eaters.

It was toward the end of the meal that Sebastian brought the subject up of the young man. That got their attention. In fact, Dave dropped the eye ball he was nibbling and Tommy nearly spilled a goblet of blood. Now that would have stained the table cloth.

“There’s this young man. I don’t know what his racket is, but I find him highly suspicious. I think we will have to deal with him soon.”

You could have heard a pin drop.

“No shit.” Hank said.

Sebastian nodded. “The sooner we take care of him, the better.”


*
They found him talking to the lion tamer. It struck the clowns funny and the midgets too, but it didn’t make Sebastian laugh because he was too intent on his purpose.

“May I help you?”

The guy turned around and smiled, albeit nervously. “Is there anything wrong with him?” He asked gesturing toward the blanked-eyed lion tamer. “Is he in a stupor? I mean is he alright?”

Hank and Tommy sauntered up from behind Sebastian. “What’s it to you, bub?”

The man shrugged. “Nothing really,” he smiled, trying to appear casual. But when the three clowns suddenly appeared, he stood up to run.

Flight or fight.

However since it didn’t look like he’d get away, he tried to reason.
“I’m a reporter. . . I’d like to do a feature story on your circus.
That’s all. . . ”

“No kidding!” the clowns replied in unison. Then they all turned to look at Sebastian.

“We can’t afford any publicity. It’s just the way it is, the way it’s always been. Let me explain. . . ”

*

The last thing he saw were the teeth. Long, yellow teeth sharpened to a fine point. They were covered in his blood. He knew that because he felt so weak.


Still, he hadn’t been conscious most of the time they were feeding. And really he started to weaken when the midgets were draining him. They assured him they wouldn’t kill him though because the clowns hated dried-out food.

When they said that, he screamed. Naturally it didn’t help him.

Sebastian liked a good screamer, and so did his guys. After all, they worked hard to put on a good show and they liked some entertainment in return. Why not?

Sebastian waved his arms and the toy-like circus performers rose up from wherever they were: the lion tamer, the lions, the horse and rider, even the great Waldini and his wife. They rose as the toys they were, created by Sebastian’s magic.

He nodded toward the brass band to start playing. It was amazing. All those toys—obeying as they did. Sure enough, the circus music started, Entry of the Gladiators, Sebastian’s favorite.

The lively tune boomed out, masking the reporter’s agonized screams. In fact as he slipped into the great and vast beyond, he smiled because the closer he got to death the more he didn’t mind. And really, whatever came after this had to be a whole lot better... "


Copyright   ©  2013   Carole Gill

This story inspired my novel, Circus of Horrors 



The story first appeared in this best selling collection:


Monday, July 18, 2016

SEXY EXCERPT: 'JUSTINE.'


"Biding my time or not, I was furious. Rage flowed through me like an angry sea. I was so preoccupied with Oriani and his family having left Paris, I didn’t care if I was seen when I returned to the crypt.

As it happened no one was awake. I had just made it as the sun was starting to rise. I hurried to my own coffin. My mind turned over what had happened. I wondered where they had gone to in England. It wasn’t that far I knew. Someday somehow I’d get there. Gascoyne would be fairly easy to manipulate I was certain of it. I’d employ seduction.

This pleased me, this way to control another and a vampire at that! Something I had never felt before coursed through me. I thought of Gascoyne and smiled. He was handsome enough; it wouldn’t be unpleasant to have sex with him. As I lay there I imagined how I would feel as I recalled the shape of his lips and his eyes. They were large and black. His skin was the color of cream—all vampires are pale, but his was tinged with something else, just a hint of tawniness. It could have been from a recent feed, I wasn’t certain.

If I had power over him I’d first have to defeat that bitch of a vampire, Carmen. I recalled all too vividly the feel of her slap, the sting of it but at least she feared me now. I was lying in my tomb when I heard something. Someone was moving about the crypt. I heard it plainly; footsteps and the rustling of fabric. I was on my feet in a moment. I didn’t see her at first. Then I saw movement in the shadows. She must have felt my eyes upon her because she turned quickly.

I grinned when Carmen gasped and fled into another chamber. There were many I knew, though I hadn’t seen the whole of our dwelling place, I knew it to be vast—full of tunnels and passageways. Gascoyne said it had been that way from ancient times.

We both could move fast, but I outran her and was upon her in a moment. I said nothing; I only sank my teeth into the back of her neck. She fell, paralyzed. I let her lie there staring wildly, her eyes pleading. She even begged. I said nothing. Not a word passed between us. In fact there was no sound; just the noise of me sucking her dry.

I fed viciously and voraciously. Her blood tasted of wine. I was able to tell what her last feed was like. I saw images of her living life—a life spent in poverty and want. I saw her death too yet I felt nothing. And when Gascoyne raised her I felt jealous.

When she was drained, I tore her head off. It wasn’t easy, but I managed. I flung it against the wall where it rolled a few times until at last it came to a stop. Her eyes were half open; just starting to glaze over.

I knew the others were up, I had heard them—even when I continued my savagery. Clearly Gascoyne was not among them or he would have stopped me or tried to.

“Justine!”

So he was there now. I turned and smiled madly at him. “What do you want?”

He looked horrorstruck. The coven looked frightened. He wasn’t. He was angry if anything and shook me. “How dare you!”

I only laughed. “Bitch!” he cried. He pushed me so hard I fell over backwards. Still I laughed loud and raucous cackles for I was extremely pleased with myself. “I’d do it again.”

That did it. He moved so quickly even I was surprised. His slap was fierce. “Is that the best you can do?” I asked.

He reached over to pull me up but only succeeded in tearing my gown from me. I saw his eyes sweep across my naked breasts. Then taking some of Carmen’s blood from my chin, I smeared it on both my breasts.

We eyed one another there in the company of the coven. There wasn’t a sound. I sat there waiting for him, smiling at him. He was upon me in a moment but there was nothing sexual about it. He was too angry.

The coven had moved closer so as not to miss anything. I was stretched out when he tore at my hair, bending my head backward, he sank his teeth into my neck. But then he stopped himself. Instead of biting he was kissing me and fondling me at the same time.

I stretched out waiting for more. He began to lick the blood off my breasts then-- Carmen’s blood. I laughed while he did..."


End of excerpt



AMAZON

MONDAY, SEPT 5 - SUNDAY, SEPT. 11, on promotion for 
99 cents/99 pence


“Top of its genre!"

"Wonderfully erotic!"

"Revenge, betrayal, passion, bloodshed, lust and love are just a few of the elements of this dark and spellbinding book."


"Justine, realizes she as a vampire could actually love and in fact is in love with Gascoyne. I think that was the turning point in the story."


"This vampire romance is rich in history, deep in blood sex and exotic locations and is very highly recommended."

"Vampires have their own allure and none more so than the female."



A vampire prince and a beautiful Parisienne meet in the 18th century City of Light. 

Born in pre-Revolutionary France and orphaned as a child, Justine Bodeau is taken in by a family friend who employs her as a seamstress. Eventually, she winds up to work in the court of Queen Marie Antoinette. A strong-willed survivor, defeat does not occur to her. When she fights off an attack by an aristocrat and kills him, she is given refuge but is soon betrayed and winds up on the streets of Paris, where she is attacked and killed by rogue vampires. But for whatever reason, love will not let her die. 

Justine goes from wishing to be destroyed to wanting to survive, when she feels passion for the one who brought her back, Gascoyne — the one they call the Vampire Prince of Paris. 

Justine - Into The Blood is a powerful story of betrayal, passion and revenge in 18th century France and England.

Saturday, July 16, 2016

Suzie and Bruce Lockhart Prolific Horror Writers!


LATEST FROM SUZIE AND BRUCE LOCKHART!

ON SALE NOW AT AMAZON! 99 cents!!




Their other publications!


BIO:

Convinced she was destined to be an artist, Suzie Lockhart attended The Art Institute of Pittsburgh after graduating high school, but the gnawing urge to write always remained with her. She originally wanted to write romance novels, but after discovering the innate ability for macabre storytelling, Suzie embraced her inner-creepiness. When her son Bruce realized he had the same passion for writing chilling tales, they teamed up. Four years of working together have produced over forty short stories, in a dozens of paperback publications and a variety of eZines

After building a solid reputation, they were asked by a small U.K. publisher to edit an anthology. ‘Nightmare Stalkers & Dream Walkers’ took second place in the 2013 P&E Readers Poll. Four more anthologies yielded another award for ‘Fractured Realms’, a charity anthology benefitting the Autism Trust. The duo was also featured in an article last year, by Kurt Shaw, in the Sunday Tribune Review, for their work with The Art Institute of Pittsburgh’s Alumni Show.

Presently, ‘Team Lockhart’ is focusing their energies working as Acquisition Editors for Digital Horror Fiction, and writing their YA novel.


SUZIE'S AMAZON PAGE:

They can be reached at suzienbruce2@gmail.com


_

TEASER: "I, BATHORY QUEEN OF BLOOD."


Countess Erzsebet Bathory was a sexual sadist with absolute power. I wrote a novel about her. Creativia have it and it will be available for purchase very soon. Meanwhile, here's a teaser from it! 

Excerpt:

I, Bathory, Queen of Blood

Chapter 1

New York 2016

Think of it, Anton, the blood monster is going to write her memoirs! Erzsebet Bathory, known to the world for the past four centuries as a bloodthirsty monster is to recall her living life, as well as her undead existence. This, when all I’ve wanted is to forget everything. 

I was asked to do it, but it was an easy choice to make, for I would do anything to save you, to bring you back to me! 

Anton, my one and only love, you hover close to the great abyss, the pit of darkness from which no vampire returns. Of course, I will do whatever I can to save you the pain and horror of that. 

The doctor has just left and I am doing what he recommends. He advised me to write my memoirs. It is to help you ostensibly, so that you might recall things when you waken. I think he also wants me to occupy myself so that I don’t madden further—for I walk a fine line now. You see, I cannot imagine going on without you, Anton, my dearest. We have been together too long. 

As for you, my love, he fears your memory will not be intact when you waken. Yes, I am going to be optimistic! He’s implored me to be. In his experience, he said, it is the only way to be. He’s knows for he is a vampire himself!

What a time it was when vampirism was legalized. Now we have clubs and businesses. We can purchase what we need. No one has to die to feed us. This is an uncomfortable thought for me, as it was my insane butchery of one of our own performers that caused you to be so ill. My heart, though it does not beat, is filled with guilt for I know I have caused this sickness in you. 

Your skin is ashen, normally cool to the touch; is turning colder. I do not want to think what that may signal, so I will not!

Do you recall the day that preceded this, your deep sleep? This frightening, trance-like state you are in? The modern word is coma. Interesting how our vocabulary adapts itself continually as we endure. We learn as we go, isn’t that right? 

That dreadful day began so nicely. You came to me while I showered, your face smiling and showing me how much you wanted me. Your hungry gaze swept over my body. Your touch was magic. I trembled under it, as I always have.

Yes, our kind enjoys sensual pleasure. It is what we exist for, sexual creatures that we are. Sex and feeding—what more is there than that to a vampire? All of our senses are heightened, as is touch. I smiled when I saw that familiar light in your eyes. 

I wrapped the towel around me, breathing in its fragrance. It was scented, of course, a luxury I insist on. Patting myself dry, I paused to stare at my nakedness, not displeased with how I looked. But then again, I am ageless. Ageless because of you, my love and your gift of immortality..."

End of excerpt. 
Back soon! 

Friday, July 15, 2016

DO THE UNDEAD FEAR THE DEAD?


Those dead the undead fear do not rest. They are caught between two worlds—as they have not passed over successfully. They tend to be lost souls—those in search of the heavenly peace that eludes them.

They are often architects of their own damnation like Rose's incestuous father in The House on Blackstone Moor. And because of his madness and evil, he murdered his family--a family who took their hatred with them.

Yes there are vampires in the novel, but there also the spirits of the dead that are seething with murderous hatred. 

From The House on Blackstone Moor:


At first I thought it was a mist-filled dream, a dream and nothing more. My mother, sisters and my brother were standing and looking at me. They were smiling and calling my name.

“Mother? Mother is it you?!”

“We are coming Rose!”

I spread my arms to receive their embrace, but Louis stormed in. “Get away from her!”

What was wrong with him? I pointed at their golden light, their warm glowing love. “I see their love it is all about them, Louis.”

“It is a fa├žade and nothing more. It is how they pretend to be.”

“You’re wrong Louis! Please they have come for me! They want me with them. How can you say no?”

“They are not your loved ones. They have been corrupted by their hatred, hatred like love never dies. They took that with them. Don’t you understand?”

“Please,” I cried. “No more platitudes I want my mother!”

If they were mist before, they seemed to change now, growing larger until they merged into one tremendous shape.

“They are changing!”


“Rose, come to us!”

So discordant were their voices, their heartfelt pleas. Yet I was greatly moved, I was desperate to obey for how could I possibly do otherwise?

“I am coming!” I cried.

As I hurried toward them the mist began to change into a cocoon from which a butterfly would emerge.

I waited, but then instead of a butterfly I saw them, as the dead things they were, floating just above the floor, sad bloodied things, gray with death, but stained red with the awful carnage of the fatal butchery. Their throats were gaping black crevices from which maggots danced. 

I covered my eyes, I could not look. They moved toward me then and I felt their presence, like icy mist they began to engulf me, freezing me and enveloping me in a stench filled fog..."
  
As Louis says, “I have some power against them, but not much, for the dead have much strength...!”

(End of excerpt)



Each book in the series is sold singly for $2.99




Or buy all 4 books in the omnibus for $4.99


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

"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

Top 10 Books – 2013
THE HOUSE ON BLACKSTONE MOOR 
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 HOUSE ON BLACKSTONE MOOR 
I for one found this gloriously gothic, refreshingly brutal, honestly horrific and a great read. 
~Taliesin Meets the Vampires











Wednesday, July 13, 2016

FREE TO READ! Some Demons Are Friends!


Frances

She saw him in the doorway, all glowing and brilliant. His magnificent bronze wings fluttered in greeting. Who said all demons were bad?  “Sit down, Dark Lord. I was just having breakfast.”

He looked quiet this morning, which was alright.  She didn’t mind carrying the conversation. In fact she didn’t mind anything as long as she was away from her mother’s sick room.

Fifteen years caring for her mother. Listening to a lost life, a life lived and ended sadly when illness and old age finally encroached upon the mediocre life that was there.

“Frances! Frances I want you!”

Frances sighed and glanced over at her demon. “You see, you see how it is?”

Dark Lord told her he understood. He knew because he came from hell and could always recognize someone else’s purgatory. Purgatory because Frances and all the Franceses who are driven nuts get mean and wind up toe dipping in the lake of fire no matter what they do. They get a taste of perdition beforehand. All the damned knew that.

“I know how you suffer, Frances.”

Frances closed her eyes. His voice sounded so caring. He understood everything.

“Frances!”

She was being summoned again. She wanted him to go with her, but he rarely did because he scared the old woman. “She sees me you know. She didn’t always but she does now.”

Frances understood that because it took her years of pain and anguish to see him herself.

Her mother called her name again. So she’s off, shuffling her flat feet along the dusty floors toward her mother’s room.

A big smile full of perfectly honed false teeth greet her. “Good morning, Frances.”

“Morning.”  Frances replied, reaching for the full bed pan.

Yeah it’s a tough life—no one gets out alive.

It’s early but the room is already hot. It faces the Harlem River and the last river breeze passed out and died somewhere on a Washington Heights’ street hours ago.

“Sleep well?” Her mother doesn’t always answer it depends on her mood or perhaps her increasing dementia. Actually Frances does feel sorry for her, it’s Mom’s purgatory too. “I can put the fan on.”

The fan starts up but it sounds like it’s shuffling cards.

“Can’t you make it quiet? It used to be quiet.”

Quiet, I remember quiet, Frances thinks. It goes with peace.

“No, it’s fucked up, Mom.”

Her mother winced. She hated swear words. “Frances please.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

Ah yes, the famous proclamation declared intermittently that all that is horribly wrong is actually alright.

“I’ll get your breakfast.”

Breakfast and lunch and dinner too, and then it starts all over again with work tomorrow. Perhaps Dark Lord might come along just for fun.
*
She never took him with her to work before. He was like that, aloof and sometimes difficult to figure out but he did seem to understand her need to have him finally come with her.

“Of course I will go with you, Frances. It is my pleasure.”

Ah pleasure, that was something she was sadly short of. At age forty something she was grossly overweight because her only pleasure came from over-eating, ice cream in particular. Pleasure is pleasure after all.

Ten minutes on the subway and they had arrived.

“This is it, Dark Lord.”

He was very impressed, she could tell the way he was nodding.
Into the lobby they went and across to the elevator.  “It’s on ten, Ten East, nuts are us—the psychiatric ward!” She expected him to smile, but he didn’t. “Watch your step!”

Buzzers and metal rattling and they’re inside.

A few of the other nurses greeted her, although a bit warily. She was after all Head Nurse and they were just little shits next to her.

She was eyeing each of them carefully to see if they saw her own personal demon. She could see none of them did.

Dark Lord would tell her later how proud he was of her. “It’s a demanding job you have here, Frances. You should be quite proud of yourself.”

She told him she was. They were in the nurses’ lounge when she told him that and more: “They’ll be nurses’ notes next at shift change. You’ll find that interesting I’m sure.”

He did. She kept glancing up at him as the nurses notes were read aloud all about bowel movements and medication and new arrivals.

It was a good night only one suicide attempt.

At last it was time to go on the ward. She had already briefed him.

“They’re mostly all delusional although some are catatonic. They’re a nurse’s best friend. They just sit around and aren’t any trouble at all. The doctors can be a major pain in the ass though. The one to watch out for is the administrator’s husband. But he rarely comes up--just when he has to, usually around accreditation time, you’ll be fine.” She declared.

A couple of new patients passed them without noticing him at all.

“They don’t see you.”

Dark Lord smiled. “Oh but they do, look!”

Frances turned and saw they had gone down on their knees apparently paying Dark Lord homage. “Isn’t it nice the respect you get?”

Dark Lord smiled. “It makes it all worthwhile.”
*
They had decided to go to the movies after work. She thought Donnie Darko was appropriate even though Dark Lord wanted to see The Devil’s Advocate. Well he was a fan of Pacino.

They were just leaving the hospital when they passed two cops. One looked after them. “Hey, Frank! Did you see that?!”


His partner looked but all he saw was a fat lady in white waddle past.


© copyright 2011 Carole Gill

“Carole Gill’s talent is a wonder to experience. She has the uncanny ability to craft horrors imbued in fairy tale finesse.”
.
“House of Horrors is a fine addition to my Kindle, and I’m sure I’ll be going to read this again and again…”

“A veritable blood feast for vampire fans everywhere!”

“If you are a fan of horror, you won't want to miss this one!! High marks to Ms. Gill.”

“There are so many different monsters in this book the no matter what your biggest fear is or your favorite one to read about you are gonna find it without fail.”

“I grew up with horror legends such as King, Koontz, Poe, Shelley, Stoker and I added Gill to that list.” 





just one of the stories in the collection!

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

I Bathory, Queen of Blood is Coming Soon!

The blood-soaked tale of Countess Erzsebet Bathory will be out soon! Creativia Publishing has it. It was not an easy novel to write. She was a monster in real life with absolute power. The more I thought about her, the more of a challenge I knew I faced. I love challenges! 

How to do it was the thing. I knew I had to get into her skin completely, to see the world as she saw it, lived it and murdered in it. I worked on motivation and based her character on two things, insanity and deviancy, her motivation was, as I see it, jealousy and the young girls who served her paid the price. She was obsessed with her fading beauty, with the horror in the knowledge that she would one day be old. By the way, I did become Bathory as I use what I learned when I studied method acting many years ago. It gives realism to the character I've been told and it helps me write as well!

In modern terms we'd say she was a bipolar sexual sadist with complete power. She was free to do whatever she wanted and she did. Her family name was so highly regarded, her husband took it upon their marriage!

The fact that she never stood trial but was instead walled up in her castle, despite the king wanting her to be tried, speaks volumes as they say.

This is not the whole story as I've depicted it. More about that in another post leading up to publication, book cover, link--etc!

Stay tuned!




Sunday, July 10, 2016

FREE READ! THE MONSTER INSIDE!



I wrote this story on Valentine's Day 2009. It is inspired sadly by my first marriage. As you will see, it is why I write horror. Some monsters are close to you, really close. 

The Monster Inside

Another night after another day and him rotten like always, using his eyes to frighten her, his mouth to curse her and torment her.

He’s let her leave the room this time. Sometimes he doesn’t. It depends on his mood.

She can’t even remember what the fight was over—something stupid but not to him, never to him.

He doesn’t beat her; his mode of operation is to kill her slowly—destroying her mind and wearing her down. He wants her to die or to lose what’s left of her soul.

She doesn’t even want to run away anymore. Those pitiful dreams have died along with hope. Hope, a barely remembered word something lost from long ago.

The funny thing is no one would believe the truth. Take this evening; they had guests all over the place. Nice, happy sparkly-eyed people; friends of his mainly. She hasn’t any friends now, they drifted away.

She’s protected his secret too long, you see.

“Don’t ever tell anyone, not a soul. Because I’d know, Joanna and you’d pay for it…”

She had a good friend once, they used to phone each other up and occasionally go to the movies but then she married Donnie. And Donnie wanted her all to himself.

It was flattering to her. She didn’t understand about possessiveness then. Besides, no one had ever paid that much attention to her before.

Even her mother was quite taken with him. “Where’d you meet him, he’s quite the thing, isn’t he?”

Quite the thing alright—a vicious blood monster that waited until after her mother exited the world before turning on her.

But first there were the plans.

They had been talking about marriage for a while. He wanted it a certain way.

“I want to be married on the beach in Oahu at dawn. I want you to wear flowers in your hair, a garland of white lotus flowers. I want the wedding to be special, Joanna because we will remember it for the rest of our lives!”

Oh yeah, she’d never forget.

They moved in together when her mother still lived in Encino. They were living in Boston then on a neat little street near the college.

She was proud of him in those days because he taught English literature and it was known that all the girls had crushes on him.

How many times had they been in a restaurant when some girl with sappy cow’s eyes would greet him and say dreamily, “Why good evening, Professor Mason…”

It didn’t bother her either because Joanna to her credit was not possessive in the slightest. Once upon a time she’d been an extremely well-adjusted confident, happy person with no hang ups but one. She hated flies but they were dirty yucky things and they spread disease. Aside from that she was pretty normal.

She hadn’t ever panicked about anything either. She lived her life on an even keel. When her dad died and her mother went to pieces, she saved her mother, staying with her until her mom got back on her feet again.

“You’ll see Jo, the rewards that will come to you for being such a good daughter.”

She met her reward two years later when she was working in New York. Laura nearly died when she saw him.

“He asked you out?”

Joanna laughed. “Thanks a lot! You put a lot of stress on the word, ‘you.’

Funny cute, well she could laugh then. She didn’t laugh now though. Laughter had become an alien thing buried as if it had died and was relegated along with other things like happiness and love to lie in a forgotten old cemetery.

Besides even if she did laugh she reasoned the hurt would be the same as when she laughed after her father died. It had been such an odd feeling, like ice cold pain in her chest. Yes, laughter could hurt.

Her poor father had died too young—barely fifty, probably because he had worked for a couple of monstrous bosses who drained him and used him and then spit him out.

Monsters. Joanna knew all about them. She now knew them to be all over. People nearly always ran into one or two or ten in the course of a lifetime.

Some people said they were the psychopaths that make up eight percent of the population most of whom aren’t criminal psychopaths. But Joanna didn’t think so. She just considered them to be generic monsters: bullies first and foremost; those whose sole occupation on earth is to torment.

They had within their ranks school children and teachers too sometimes. Their membership also included demonic bosses, bus drivers, cabbies and occasionally in-laws but in Jo’s case her husband.

So when had she first noticed it: this proclivity of his to change into a demonic being? Answer: their honeymoon--even there, even then. There was hell in paradise.

It had started over something stupid and inconsequential. She hadn’t finished her omelet or fruit salad. She didn’t know the rules yet you see.

They were having room service and it was lovely eating breakfast out on the terrace—tropical breezes bearing down on them. She felt so happy, but then again she hadn’t looked carefully at his face.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?”

She smiled and shrugged and even giggled, because she felt cute and mischievous. “No I’m not!”

He blew up in a flash. There was no time to prepare herself. His screaming lasted for ten or fifteen minutes.

She didn’t know then that it would last much longer normally. He only cut it short because he didn’t want to be over heard there in the hotel.

She was in shock afterwards. He left her like that. The phrase, what have I done, went through her head a few times. Then he came back all remorseful and sweetly sorrowful with a coral necklace as a peace offering.

“Hold out your hand.”

She forgave him for some idiotic reason. But that was because she was stupid and didn’t understand that his words of apology meant nothing and would continue to mean nothing.

When he did it again, over something else, she left him, walked right out. They were living in New York then in a sweet little apartment off Gramercy Park.

She felt right about leaving him. After all New York women are so confident. Or they have secrets too, some of them. Abusive partners are found all over the world in every city and town and village. Only those who are stomped on physically and verbally don’t like to discuss it much, so it’s often hidden and no one really knows how many people suffer the abuse of monsters.

She got herself a job and a little studio apartment on 19th Street, but then she ran into him. It must have been six months later. He was unshaven and thin looking, sitting in Paley Park off Madison Avenue.

She had just begun to eat her little salad from Gristedes when she saw him. “Don?”

He glanced up at her with the most amazing look of abject misery she had ever seen in her life. “Joanna?”

His face and his tone of voice touched her and she found herself near tears. They spoke for hours on neutral ground. She refused his offer to take her back to his place on the West Side. She was still being careful.

“How have you been doing?” her words asked gently because she did want to know despite being on guard.

He told her all kinds of stuff, some of it true. They would not see one another for some time. That is she wouldn’t see him, but then she did or at least started to.

“It doesn’t mean anything…”

Ah, but Donald and all the Donald monsters in the world know it does, they know that they have just managed to get one of their scaly, beastly feet into the proverbial doorway.

The sex was never better, there was tenderness like she had never known. Now, he was her best friend, her lover, her husband. So she listened to him when he said:

“Can we just try again, once more?”

Why did she say yes?

Idiot.

They are reunited and then it begins-her deliberate destruction.

Two years after the campaign, orchestrated as all good campaigns are—to defeat the enemy so that she has no self confidence, no self respect no self anything. She becomes in fact a hollowed out carcass that goes through the motions of pretending to live.

Talk about zombies!

Eventually they move to rural Connecticut. She’s not working but that’s because she can’t. She weighs 80 pounds because she has trouble swallowing. It’s a nervous thing. The doctor suggested a psychiatrist but this was of course not taken up.

“No, Joanna—stay on the medication and you’ll be fine, right honey?”

Yeah, right.

The beast works as an executive in Hartford. The closest neighbor is half a mile away. They never hear the screaming.

“What a nice man he is to care for her as he does…”

They just think he got stuck with a crazy lady. These are the people who came to their house for a little get together. They were flattered to be asked and consider the Masons (just Donald, truthfully) their “dear friends.”

The rambling Dutch Colonial house impresses them. People see what they want to sometimes.
“Please try to look normal, Joanna. You make the worst impression and our neighbors do want to visit.”

She’s putting her lipstick on thinking of how corpses are made up for funerals. It amuses her, this thought, which is pretty scary really.

The party is an ordeal, but she’s got enough Valium and Vodka in her to make it a surreal experience she can get through.

She smiles, frozenly and nods occasionally and then the stupid bastards finally leave. “I’m going upstairs.”

Ah, but he doesn’t want her to, because he’s pissed off. Maybe something one of the men said, and since he won’t take anything out on anyone else, least of all a man, he focuses his fury on her.

At some point she does escape. Somehow she manages to even doze a little. But then she hears him moving around below. Her one wish is that he’ll fall asleep drunk and maybe she’ll have a few hours in the welcoming dark to rest.

Sleep is more elusive than ever—normal sleep—although there’s that lovely deep, dark haze that sometimes comes to carry her off in its painless embrace—don’t knock respite even if it is brief.
Her thinking is muddy now—she’s losing it, she knows.

A smile curls her pale lips, better to lose it—better to sink into some eternal oblivion where she won’t care anymore.

The room is cold, he won’t put the heating on—he likes to think of her huddled up there—curled up in an icy ball, suffering—enduring.

She falls asleep or passes out, the relevance is irrelevant.

Later she awakens, stands up on shaky legs and looks at the door. It must be locked. There isn’t any reason to check he’s not forgetful.

A crash from downstairs—and she jumps, startled—clutching her bony chest. Her eyes light with a rare glimmer of expectation. That crash, did he fall down? Is he lying down dead, his monster’s head smashed open like an overripe melon?

But the hope is fleeting. “No,” she reasons, he probably just dropped something. She waits—but there’s nothing, no other sound. She walks on trembling legs to patter over to the door to listen. The TV’s on, she can hear it.

The doorknob—like a magical orb—waiting to be turned, waiting to lead her into; into what, the Promised Land? Hardly. Yet, stupid creature that she is, she reaches out to feel its smoothness.
I only want to feel it—it’s not as though I think it would actually turn! But the knob does turn—and her breath catches in her throat. It’s open! He hasn’t locked it! Dare she?

She dares. Soon, she is treading slowly—creeping along an inch at a time. Don’t let the floorboards creak!

She leans over the banister—there’s nothing to see. Just his briefcase he put down earlier from work. Briefcase! His work colleagues don’t know him like she does!

She pauses at the stairs, waiting—too afraid not to be waiting. Donald?
His name, not out loud of course, it’s only in her head.

She’s half-way down the stairs when suddenly she stops—she can hear him now, moving around in the kitchen.

Something leads her down the stairs—her will (somehow regained) perhaps—and she finds herself standing in the doorway. He’s bent over, looking in the fridge. He spins around.

She falls back—he’s covered in blood—blood down his arms and chest—and all over his mouth. He throws the food down and smiles, but his teeth look different, they’re yellow and pointed.

“Just snacking!”

Her eyes lock onto the thing lying near his foot—the sandwich. But then she screams because it isn’t a sandwich! It’s…! He reaches over and picks it up. “Young, best when they’re young, darling!”
She’s used to hell, but this!

He holds it up proudly. It’s a child’s arm! “There’s plenty for both of us!”

He begins to move sideways—dipping one shoulder first and then the other—then he smiles at her.
Something huge sweeps up from behind him—two somethings. He moves again and she realizes what she’s looking at. He has wings—great, black wings!

He laughs but the laughter changes—and becomes a hawk-like shriek.

She tries to run, but he’s too fast for her, swooping down and knocking her onto her back. Then, like the predatory beast he has finally morphed into, he begins to feed on her.

She was prey and nothing more: her home, his nest, her life, his sustenance.

© carole gill 2009



*
Just one of the stories in: