My Work and Upcoming Work

It's so ironical but all of the work that is published is dark. There's a 4-novel vampire series, book 1 of another vampire series and a horror novel about a circus as well as the darkest work about Countess Bathory. There is also my collected horror stories. All my books are published by Next Chapter Pub.  The irony is, I wrote these works during the happiest time of my life!

Truthfully, my life has been no picnic. Childhood was great but for about twenty five years after it, it was pretty awful. Traumatic actually. That's probably where the horror comes from. Those years tore into my soul and left a presence. Just the way it is. That presence is what I tapped into when I was married and wrote all that work.

I have written about hell, but now I really know what it feels like since my husband's death. I'm still clawing my way back. But I'm writing again and feel like myself. I have a work in progress which is going well.

Meanwhile, If you like dark horror, please check out my Amazon Author page:

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WHEN THE FAMILIAR BECOMES TERRIFYING

I think that's what the basis of Stephen King's genius was, turning horror on its head. Showing us the familiar can be fraught with nightmares!

Salem's Lot: No need to go to Translyvania for a good bloody dose of vampires. No! They come to a town that looks familiar, a town you kind of 'know.'

You start to wonder about that. About some monstrous being arriving on the proverbial doorstep. Your mind spins off into all sorts of directions as you think monsters can be anywhere! They can be on the train you take late at night. Perhaps in the last car. When will they come forward?

Creep comes to mind. A young woman finds herself locked in London's Underground Tube Station late at night. There are some horrific goings on there and the worst nightmare she can imagine.

I do remember an earlier film than Creep though. Death Line or Raw Meat (US). The gist of this grisly horror flick was there were cannibals existing on London's Underground.

Frankly this film was more horrifying (I thought) than Creep. A very interesting film if you haven't seen it.

The idea of something being out there, something dangerous, lethal--horrific is horrifying. And when it can be in your town or city it is terrifying.

Vampires next door? Zombies waiting to get you as you walk your dog. Maybe they're hiding in the back of the car. That's right check the rear view mirror now!

Creatures like Pinhead might be lurking in the washroom at work. And let me tell you if you ever pulled a night shift in a hospital or hotel it's damned scary and if you are a horror fan your imagination might cause you to think of some horrible things!


Is there something under the bed in an empty hosptial room, waiting for you? Are you sure those are security guards and not zombies?

I think the fear of something lying in wait for us within our own environment is the most terrifying nightmare I can imagine.

But, hey! That's silly, right? You never would think twice about opening a closet or turning the lamp off and going to sleep. You didn't really hear anything outside your door. It's the house settling.
That's right, just go to sleep.  

HAPPY DREAMS!         

Horror, Murder And Madness, Prophyrias Lover

I think we can find horror in the least likely of places. There is great darkness in Robert Browning’s Porphyria’s Lover. It is a tale of madness and murder; a tale offering so many interpretations it will obsess you!

One important note: porphyria is a disease but it was not identified as such when the poem was written.

Robert Browning wrote one particular poem that I find to be haunting! It is not only a work of dark beauty, it is also a puzzlement, you turn it one way in your search to unlock its awful secrets and just when you think you’ve solved it, you discover another explanation for its meaning, all of them valid.

Some background:

Porphyria’s Lover is a poem that was first published as "Porphyria" in the January 1836 issue of Monthly Repository. A possible inspiration for the poem is John Wilson's "Extracts from Gosschen's Diary", which is based on a lurid account of a murder published in Blackwood's Magazine in 1818. Browning's friend and fellow poet Bryan Procter acknowledged basing his 1820 "Marcian Colonna" on it, but added a new detail; after the murder, the killer sits up all night with his victim.

You will see that in this poem as well! Excited? Well, here we go:

Porphyria’s Lover by Robert Browning:

The rain set early in tonight,

The sullen wind was soon awake,

It tore the elm-tops down for spite,

And did its worst to vex the lake:

I listened with heart fit to break.

When glided in Porphyria; straight

She shut the cold out and the storm,

And kneeled and made the cheerless grate

Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;

Which done, she rose, and from her form

Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,

And laid her soiled gloves by, untied

Her hat and let the damp hair fall,

And, last, she sat down by my side

And called me. When no voice replied,

She put my arm about her waist,

And made her smooth white shoulder bare,

And all her yellow hair displaced,

And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,

And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,

Murmuring how she loved me — she

Too weak, for all her heart's endeavor,

To set its struggling passion free

From pride, and vainer ties dissever,

And give herself to me forever.

But passion sometimes would prevail,

Nor could tonight's gay feast restrain

A sudden thought of one so pale

For love of her, and all in vain:

So, she was come through wind and rain.

Be sure I looked up at her eyes

Happy and proud; at last I knew

Porphyria worshiped me: surprise

Made my heart swell, and still it grew

While I debated what to do.

That moment she was mine, mine, fair,

Perfectly pure and good: I found

A thing to do, and all her hair

In one long yellow string I wound

Three times her little throat around,

And strangled her. No pain felt she;

I am quite sure she felt no pain.

As a shut bud that holds a bee,

I warily opened her lids: again

Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.

And I untightened next the tress

About her neck; her cheek once more

Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:

I propped her head up as before,

Only, this time my shoulder bore

Her head, which droops upon it still:

The smiling rosy little head,

So glad it has its utmost will,

That all it scorned at once is fled,

And I, its love, am gained instead!

Porphyra’s love: she guessed not how

Her darling one wish would be heard.

And thus we sit together now,

And all night long we have not stirred,

And yet God has not said a word!

I don’t know about you but I find the poem dark and deeply disturbing.

The themes I see are madness and murder, the death by strangulation of a beautiful young girl by her deranged lover.

The gist:

There is a storm raging and Porphyria comes into the room where there isn’t even a fire.

Her lover has been sitting there, what in the cold? And if so why?

She sits down next to him and speaks to him although he doesn’t answer her, I see her as then trying to play up to him a bit by putting his arm about her waist.

She bares her shoulder; she then snuggles up to him so that his cheek is on her hair.

He knows she is his and just at that moment he strangles her, carefully assuring the reader that she felt no pain and that she smiled.

R for rationalization, I say!

He goes on to tell us she never cried out! Hard to I think when one is being strangled.

He further tells us she felt no pain but then qualifies it. "I am quite sure she felt no pain."

I imagine him possibly also thinking: “At least I hope she had no pain...”

He’s killed her, she’s dead so what does he do?

He opens her blue eyes and is pleased ‘they don’t look ‘strained.’ He then spreads her hair about her neck and gives her a ‘burning kiss’ (?!)

Charming!

He then goes on to tell us he props her head up and lets it rest on his shoulder.

And if this isn’t weird enough he lets us know that he sits with her corpse.

But it’s all okay apparently because ‘...God has not said a word!’

Please read:

I warily oped her lids: again

Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.

And I untightened next the tress

About her neck; her cheek once more

Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:

I propped her head up as before,

Only, this time my shoulder bore

Her head, which droops upon it still:

The smiling rosy little head,

So glad it has its utmost will,

That all it scorned at once is fled,

And I, its love, am gained instead!

Porphyria's love: she guessed not how

Her darling one wish would be heard.

And thus we sit together now,

And all night long we have not stirred,

And yet God has not said a word!

I mean I like to think of myself being as religious as the next person but what does Porphyria’s lover think, does he really believe God would have made his displeasure known by telling him?

It may be of some interest to know that in Browning’s My Last Duchess a woman is also killed by the man who loves her.

Pardon my glibness but I wonder what Elizabeth Barrett Browning thought of these works.

I do agree that there are many valid interpretations; I however feel that Browning was writing about a madman who rationalized the murder of his lover.

He does this powerfully having us witness all of it through the murderer’s eyes. I find that very moving indeed to see what Porphyria’s lover saw, from his own point of view.

I also then see a deliberate choice by Browning to call the poem, Porhyria'sLOVER as it is her lover who extinguished her life, motivated by his own mad reasoning.

So in essence, Bronwning, I think, has us witness the murder of a beautiful young girl who might have only chosen to love the wrong man. A man who after killing her is still so drawn to her, so obsessed by her that he sits with her corpse by his side, unable or unwilling to let her go!

One wonders just when he does let her go.

I do not see an end to this poem either, but a terrible continuation because somehow in my writer’s imagination I see him sitting there still, in a cold, darkened room for there is no longer a fire—chilled but happy to be near his long-dead Porphyria.

But along with this I hear the sound of a battering ram. I hear too the wood splitting apart as the door is being broken down and the terrible secret of Porphyria’s Lover is about to be revealed!

 (the end)! 

The Nightmare Begins in Book One!

The nightmare began long ago in Rose's childhood. The sin that started then eventually brought her to Blackstone House and the vampires...

"It all started shortly before I fell asleep. I heard the sound of carriages and people chattering and I went to the window to see. It was hard to see much as the carriages were probably near the front door.

I could have waited to see them as they rode down the drive to head back from whence they came, but truly I was far too tired to bother and went back to bed.

I fell asleep then and didn’t wake until I heard shouts and raucous laughter. 

I will admit to being nosey, for I returned to the window. A light shone upon the moors, bright enough for me to see figures emerge from the shadows. I saw the figure of a naked girl rush out giggling…with a man in pursuit. At first I thought they were going to kiss but then he moved toward her neck—and she cried out, not in pain but in pleasure. He then laid her down upon the ground, kneeling too but not in an intimate way—for he was bent over her neck.

Not more than a moment later a swarm of hooded figures appeared, but they were not walking! They flew like a flock of birds, gracefully, gliding up and down, before landing upon the girl. They covered her completely—moving back and forth upon her like a great black wave.

If that was fearful I wasn’t prepared for the next sight, that of a cloaked figure leading a goat onto the moors.

A circle formed around the goat and chanting began, chanting that grew wilder. And then all of a sudden, the goat turned into a man! I could not see his face, but I did see he was unclothed.

Mrs. Darton appeared then. She seemed to glance up toward the house. I knew she couldn’t see me; besides, she looked past my window toward Louis’ window.

They all began to move then in the direction of the altar stone the children had shown me.

It grew quiet after that but then I heard a blood curdling scream and I saw someone rush out, pursued by two others. It looked like a young girl, but she was caught and pulled back. I must have fainted then.

I don’t know how long I was unconscious but I woke to find myself in my bed. Dora was sitting in a chair. “Mr. Darton sent me Miss because you were screaming.”

“Screaming? Was I?”

“Yes Miss, having a nightmare I expect.”

Could I have dreamt it all? I didn’t think so. “But I saw something, Dora.”

“What did you see, Miss?”

Her voice wavered and I thought she was getting ready to lie but I went on. “I saw something strange on the moors.”

She began to fidget with her hands just then. “What exactly did you see?”

I told her. She shook her head. “They have some people over but they haven’t been out to the moors, at least I don’t think so.”

“There’s something out there Dora, I’m not stupid or insane. I’ve seen a lot of activity out there. Does it have something to do with Mr. Darton’s club or whatever it is?”

She yawned then and stood up. “I am tired now, Miss and as you seem well enough I shall take my leave of you.”

I was too annoyed to say anything. I just watched her slip out and close the door.

No one was going to make me feel unsure of myself anymore; I was going to be stronger than that. I was determined to find out for myself what had happened, for something had.

And so I stole out to the moors in the direction of the altar stone. I stood there for some moments wondering where they had all gone, but then I noticed what looked like a tunnel. I could hear laughter and talking--screams and other sounds too, coming from somewhere deep inside. I decided to see what was happening.

It was dark but there were candles about. I continued on toward the sound. People moved about somewhere close by, sending flickering shadows along the walls ahead of me.

Creeping along a little more I saw chambers—enclosed areas filled with cushions and people… people doing things to one another.

I didn’t realize what they were doing at first but then I did, and I nearly cried out. Handsomely dressed men and women lay prostrate on the makeshift beds, offering their necks, their arms, their bodies, so that their mates – black-clothed figures – could bite into their flesh and drink their blood!

I watched in horror while the victims moaned with ecstasy while the predators licked the flowing blood from their skin. They loved it so much, they called out for the most indecent things to be done to them.

Then the clothing was discarded and men and women in all sorts of combinations began to pleasure one another.

Meanwhile they continued to feast on one another, and those they feasted on were screaming their delight!

I turned to run, but someone grabbed me. I managed to break free, and started to run as fast as I could.

I did finally emerge back onto the moors, only to be grabbed again and pushed to the ground. A girl held me down, a girl I recognized, a girl whose chin was caked in blood.

She was Imogene, the nasty one from the club. She reached for me and bent over me. “I will show you pleasure, I will show you worlds you cannot imagine!”

“No! No!” I cried, somehow managing to break away from her. I ran again as fast as I could. She chased after me but suddenly stopped to sniff the air. She then fell upon the ground.

At first I didn’t realize what she was doing, I only understood when she looked up and smiled. “Virgin blood, sweet to the taste!”

I don’t remember screaming. All I know is I was soon surrounded by a sea of anxious faces..."

***

  “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

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

I for one found this gloriously gothic, refreshingly brutal, honestly horrific and a great read.

~Taliesin Meets the Vampires 

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

last 2 days 99 cents!

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The Blacksone Vampires Series

OMNIBUS COMPRISES ALL FOUR NOVELS
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Free Read, 'MEMOIR'

Ever wonder about Dracula's love life? I did and was inspired to write this story which then inspired me to write The Fourth Bride (of Dracula). 

Memoir

The journal beckoned him. Like the irresistible temptation of a lover’s touch, it coaxed him, teased him, lighting his passion with the promise of untold delights. He wondered if he dare read it. Why he had ever begun opening drawers, he had no idea it was impolite to the say the least but he had been too curious to resist.

“I give up.”

He was already under its spell and because he was, he dared to touch it. What a singularly beautiful thing it was. “I’ll have you.” Smiling, he ran his hand along the rich blood-red leather cover. There was no name on it, just the word in gold leaf “Memoir”.

Now, making certain that his chamber door was secure, he at last sat down. He was not rushing; it was a moment to savor. He closed his eyes and let the excitement rush over him. He found he felt thrilled in a sexual way for he hoped he would discover something which had not been intended for anyone to read but the diarist.

There was exhilaration for him sitting there, holding an object that might hold titillating secrets. Voyeur! At last he began to read.

I come from another time and place. From East of here where magic is the norm and superstition the custom. My father was a successful merchant well-known in our Province, my mother was long dead by the time he arranged a marriage for me. All was in order and I was sent for.

I was terribly afraid of life but more afraid of love. Still I was hopeful. But when I saw who my own father had chosen for me, I wept. You see he was old enough to be my father and then some and he was coarse in his ways despite being nobility. Yet this was the man I was betrothed to!

I refused. “What?He is acquainted with the Emperor! He calls him friend!How dare you refuse?”

Needless to say, the wedding took place at the appointed time, held in our city’s greatest Cathedral, there amongst the flowers and crypts we were declared husband and wife. At last it was over and the kiss I did dread was given me. 

“Not too long now, my petal.” A threat and a promise all rolled into one. His coach bore us to his home—my new home, a veritable castle of gleaming sandstone set upon lush landscaped acres, a mansion richly furnished. The servants greeted me quietly, some with pity in their eyes. “Come, bride! For we shall sup before–!”

Oh yes, before! The meaning was not lost on me. He guided me into the great hall. “Our wedding feast.” I looked to see a table brimming with dish upon dish of roasts and stews, of delicacies and rich desserts, each more opulently displayed than the other. 

He urged me to eat and drink but mainly to drink. All the while he was leering at me and saying the rudest things; his breath hot, his words offensive in the extreme. The later it got, the more frightened I felt. At last it could be put off no longer. The great clocks chimed for the dreaded hour was at hand. I was to go with my new husband to our bed chamber. “Come my dear.” How tightly he held my arm, leading me up the stairs, not saying a word only smiling in his horrible way. Several maids hurried from the room. They had unpacked my trunks. “Goodnight!” His words rang with impatience. Now for the first time I thought how like a pig he looked, fat and sweating. Why hadn’t I noticed it before? He really was a beast. “Now, it is finally time my dear!”

He lunged at me, his thick fingers pulling at my clothes, tearing the delicate fabric from my frame till at last I stood naked before him, paralyzed like a bird in the gaze of a snake. I was not surprised to find he had no regard for my virginity nor did he have any respect for my person. 

He forced himself most cruelly upon me. I must have passed out for when I woke he was dressing as I pretended to sleep, but he knew I was awake. “I know you are up, just remember. What I have done is nothing compared to what I shall do, you are my wife. And as wives are chattel and nothing more, you are just another object that I own to be used for my pleasure and entertainment!” 

I shuddered at the slam of the door and just lay there, feeling sad and tainted and broken. I wept for myself and for the hopelessness of my present situation fearing I would have to die by my own hand as I could not bear to remain with this monster. And so I fled. I ran as far as I could and when my legs would carry me no more I collapsed on the ground. The sweet moistness of the forest called to me.

“A grave is not the worst thing; it can be your sanctuary, little one, a peaceful haven from all of your pain.” I smiled for the thought was comforting. “I shall sleep now for I cannot keep awake and if I slip beyond sleep I shall not mind.” 

But I did not sleep long for I was soon awakened by the thunder of horses and the shouts of soldiers. My husband had found me. “You she devil! Do you think I will permit you to disgrace me or my fine name?” I begged for mercy, but there was none and I was taken to be slaughtered, for slaughter it was. While his men held me, he did run me through with a sword. “Die you scheming bitch, you whore!” I obliged, passing from life into death in one agonizing pain-filled moment—but I did not sleep long in that dark, lonely place for I was soon awakened by a voice commanding me to open my eyes:

“Awake thee and walk once more upon the earth, for one so young shall not be left to rot!” It was then that I beheld his face, this handsome being. The face of one I would always love—the face I would adore forever-! And so–!

The young man gasped and stopped reading for he had heard a noise and turned. There standing behind him was the most exquisite creature he had ever seen. “You have been reading my journal,” she said.

But she didn’t say it in anger and he smiled, for she was smiling too. “I hope you don’t mind me coming here. I wanted to see you before my sisters, for they are truly like sisters.”

The young man smiled sheepishly but his smile soon faded when he beheld the beauty’s own smile growing ever wider. “Your teeth!”

She shook her head. “Do not fear handsome young man, as my teeth sink into your soft flesh for I will show you worlds you cannot imagine—dreams you dare not dream, pleasure beyond any pleasure you have ever known or thought of.”

He gave himself up to her and just as her teeth began to sink into his flesh, the door did open and Dracula’s two other brides came in, floating like mist. How they smiled and giggled—for they were eager to taste his blood. Then as they all converged upon Jonathan Harker they suddenly stopped when they felt their Master’s eyes upon them.

He, Dracula was standing in the doorway! “Forgive us, please. Do not be angry,” they begged. Harker watched as Dracula admonished them. Yet even as he did, Harker saw a fearful light in the Count’s eyes, a light that bespoke sensual love and sexual pleasure beyond comprehension. And Harker knew so much in that instant for he had glimpsed another world—the world of endless night where sin and corruption live but death does not. “Come,” Dracula said. “Come and share that which can be your fate.”

But Harker did hesitate whereupon the brides turned toward him, their eyes blazing and their mouths ready to taste that which flowed through his veins—that which they coveted. But it was alright, for Harker knew and accepted his fate and at last lay back to await their touch and their teeth and the sweet pain that would soon disappear.

from 'Memoir'

copyright 2011 MEMOIR

one of the stories in:

AMAZON 

“CAROLE GILL’S TALENT IS A WONDER TO EXPERIENCE!”

Joshua Skye/DARK MEDIA

War surplus from the Eastern Front supplies a quaint little shop of horrors!

Orphaned child vampires

Haunted cemeteries where the dead dance,

What would Death say if he could speak?

A story of the war: evil comes to a village near you.

What if the world became Dead World?

Valhalla rejects are nasty, worst vampires ever!

Three tales of the Ripper

What are the blood-drenched secrets of The Crimson Club?

A crazed soldier and his famous father!

Zombies in therapy. Hey, why not?

Poetic justice meted out by grave angels and fate

Jonathan Harker has a night to remember!

PLUS STORIES THAT INSPIRED NOVELS AND A SERIES!

JUSTINE: INTO THE BLOOD DARKEST PNR! 99 CENTS!

Justine, having been attacked by rogue vampires in Paris, was brought to her creator's coven. Gascoyne, The Vampire Prince of Paris would not let her die. She passed into the blood and became his lover. 

There is, however, one of his vampires who has already jealously attacked Justine. Now, Justine is determined to destroy her. She is aware of the change within her. Gone is any semblance of what she was in life. For now Justine exists for blood and pleasure. Hence the name of this, my new series, Blood and Passion. 

Here is an excerpt from my most romantic novel:

"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.

In front of the coven, he took me every way that he could. When I thought he would stop, he whispered what he wished me to do to him. As I obeyed and took him into my mouth I was happy for this gave me ultimate power over him. I’d be able to get whatever I wished of him.

Now, because I was giving him pleasure, his coven moved away—so that I began to suck and feed at the same time; just little bites, not enough to hurt him, just enough to feed.

“I will love you forever,” he panted.

I made no answer; I only stared at him, certain that he would..."

"Top of its genre!"

"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."

AMAZON 

99 cents on offer 

May 8 - 14

THE WALKING DEAD TV SERIES: HORROR AT ITS BEST!

WOW! This series got me hooked from the first episode I saw! It's got it all, scares, zombies, fine acting and it's well-written. I am a horror fan and horror author. And I've been searching for good, solid well-made horror all my life! Most films disappoint I found. Although, I nearly always find something that I like in a film.

But THIS! This is one hell of a series and I say that because it's a lot more than flesh-eating zombies stomping around. It's much more. It presents itself realistically, as in WHAT IF?

The people who don't, for one reason or another, succumb to a horrific death by zombies cannibalizing them, develop and change in order to survive. And it's how they change that I find fascinating. The writers present those changes in a realistic way. Not everyone can become stronger without becoming vicious, nearly as bad as the monstrous zombies.

Rick has to be the best. He is the Adam of this horrific apocalyptic world. He sometimes weakens but never loses his humanity. He just carries on, supporting his 'clan' and they are a clan in the best sense. Each, their own person, warriors that know all too well how tenuous their survival is.

They yearn for normalcy, but accept it's not available and might never be. That hopelessness is the true horror of the tale. But then again, the horror is about people turning on one another, it's about cruelty, madness, sadism, to the point where some of the human survivors Rick's clan come into contact with, almost make the zombies look like the good guys! How's that for a layered, character-driven plot!!

Fighting to stay alive, protecting yourself, family and friends, losing tragically those you love, is at the core of it all. And then it seems no matter how much they fight, those zombies keep coming at them. And if they manage somehow to defeat them, the monstrous humans try to kill them.

I asked myself why? Why can't all the survivors just band together and fight a common enemy!
They can't. Not in this series. They can't because this series is different. It recognizes evil in its human form and how in the most dire circumstances, people's best and worst qualities surface.

I hope the series serves as a benchmark in horror. I hope it raises the standards of horror writing, acting and directing! I think it might if for no other reason than its success proves what people want. Please given them what they want! 

The Dark Truth of My Fiction

From 'I, Bathory, Queen of Blood:
"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 a 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!!!!"
Reviewer on Amazon 

This review was written for I, Bathory, Queen of Blood. However the essence of it applies to the horror fiction I write. It particularly applies to all my vampire novels which include a series of four books as well as two other novels that follow.

The Blackstone Vampires consists of four novels. The House on Blackstone Moor, Unholy Testament-The Beginnings, Unholy Testament-Full Circle and The Fourth Bride (The Blackstone Vampires Omnibus comprises all four novels), Justine: Into the Blood and I, Bathory, Queen of Blood. 

This reviewer nailed it. I don't write lightly. Vampires are monsters, beings from hell that subsist on human blood. They have feelings and, though demonic, they can love in their strange and dark way. But mostly, they lust and feed. They do this because that's what vampires, real fictional vampires, do.

The Series contains horror also of a different nature as it is historically based, covering thousands of years and includes human horror. I thought that only fair. Evil is evil, after all.

There are readers that enjoy the dark side and readers that don't. I think they should have a choice. For those who want to step into the dark and experience what goes with it, I'd suggest they read my fiction.

Chic Lit is a great subgenre. It suits a lot of readers. But horror is horror unless it is a specific type of subgenre which is fine. Here is a definition of horror that is worth a read:



DEFINITION OF HORROR

noun

an overwhelming and painful feeling caused bysomething frightfully shocking, terrifying, orrevolting; a shuddering fear: to shrink back from a mutilated corpse in horror, anything that causes such a feeling: killing, looting, and other horrors of war, such a feeling as a quality or condition: to have known the horror of slow starvation. a strong aversion; abhorrence: to have a horror of emotional outbursts. Informal. something considered bad or tasteless: That wallpaper is a horror. The party was a horror. horrors, Informal.
delirium tremens.
extreme depression. adjective inspiring or creating horror, loathing, aversion,etc.: The hostages told horror stories of their year in captivity. centered upon or depicting terrifying or macabre events: a horror movie. interjection
horrors, (used as a mild expression of dismay,surprise, disappointment, etc.)


I take that onboard with my horror fiction. That's what I write, that's the dark truth of what I write.

OUR ALL-FEMALE HORROR ANTHOLOGY NEEDS YOUR VOTE!

The Preditors & Editors™ Readers' Poll!

This all-female horror anthology wants your vote!

http://critters.org/predpoll/antho.shtml

Killing It Softly: A Digital Horror Fiction Anthology of Short Stories

Authors: Rebecca J. Allred, Rebecca Snow, Rie Sheridan Rose, Rebecca Fraser, Nidhi Singh, Marion Pitman, Nancy Holder, Rose Blackthorn, Sandra Kasturi, Tory Hoke, Tracie McBride, Tina Rath, Suzie Lockhart, Sarah Hans, Suzanne Reynolds-Alpert, M.J. Sydney, K. S. Dearsley, Carson Buckingham, Chantal Boudreau, Carole Gill, Annie Neugebauer, Aliya Whiteley, Amanda Northrup Mays, Christine Lucas, Elaine Cunningham, Jess Landry, Jo-Anne Russell, Jenner Michaud, H.R. Boldwood, Eleanor R. Wood, Gerri Leen, Airika Sneve

Series: Digital Horror Fiction, Horror Anthologies

Genre: Horror Fiction

Tags: Anthologies, Horror Fiction Anthologies

Length: Anthology of Short Stories

Publisher: Digital Horror Fiction, an imprint of Digital Fiction Publishing Corp.

Publication Year: 2016

ISBN: 9781927598504

The Best of Women in Horror -- Killing It Softly: A Digital Horror Fiction Anthology of Short Stories

Killing it Softly is available for kindle and in paperback at Amazon!

AMAZON

Vote for The 50 Best Indie Books of 2016! My Novel is in HORROR!

Could you? Would you? 

JUST VOTING MAKES YOU ELIGIBLE FOR A $50.00 GIFT CARD!

My very dark horror novel, Circus of Horrors is up for this award in the HORROR category. 

It is a character-driven horror novel. 

I enjoyed writing it because I felt it was important to give reasons for the violence on the part of some circus performers. 

I hope you vote for your favorite books in all the genres. But I do ask when it comes to HORROR, Please vote for mine! 

http://www.readfree.ly/vote-50-best-indie-books-2016-horror/#votehere

HALLOWEEN IN JERKWATER! DEBUT OF MURDEROUS MIDGETS!

This story spawned the novel Circus of Horrors . I got very attached to Al and Hank, the murderous midgets. This story appears in House of Horrors.  It's a Halloween tradition now to share their debut story!

HALLOWEEN IN JERKWATER 1932

There were two of them. None of the other kids knew who they were but then again, they couldn’t tell who anyone was really.

The costumes weren’t much for any of the kids. There was a depression on and people just couldn’t spend on things like that so the children wore whatever was at hand like potato sacks with the eyes cut out.

There were a lot of ghosts in other words.

Suddenly two more little ghosts just seemed to appear from nowhere. 

There were a heck of a lot of kids out then and some of the children were curious about the two they didn’t seem to recognize. 

Joanie Myles kept stopping the two little ghosts.

“Say, who are you? Do you go to school here? I just don’t know who you are.”

Joanie was only 10 so when one of the ghosts said for her to can it and mind her own business. She didn’t think much of it. In fact she only waved him off and said if he was going to be silly and not say who he was she didn’t care.

She never heard the other ghost suggest plugging the kid to keep her quiet. 

Eventually she disappeared into the crowd of children and left the two unidentified ghosts on their own. 

They were glad she was gone. That was the last god damned thing they needed—a nosey kid. 

Whereas the other children were targeting every house there was, these two were real particular. It seemed as if they were looking for something special.

The truth was they were.

“Over there, see?”

One of them pointed toward a fine old Victorian house with turrets and a big wraparound porch. 

“Let’s go and take a look.”

They hurried over to look inside. The lights were on all over the place and they could see two old ladies. One of them was reading and the other was running back and forth from the kitchen saying how the cookies were almost ready.

The other asked if the money was ready too.

“Money.” The little ghosts nodded toward one another.

A whole pack of children began to descend on the house then as the two little ghosties fled from sight. 

Sure enough the children were calling on these two ladies for their Halloween treats.

Though there were mainly ghosts, there were some witches and goblins too, and a few other things which kind of were stupid looking but the old ladies made a fuss over them anyway.

“Why don’t you look adorable?”

“Trick or treat!”

The second old lady appeared then and clapped her hands childishly. “I just love when you say that, children! Don’t you love that, Alice?”

“Yes I do,” her sister replied. “We shall indeed give you lovely children some cookies and pennies too but tell us, though I dread asking,” she laughed. “What would your trick be if we hadn’t a treat?”

The children began to confer then, whispering and shrugging. It was obvious they wouldn’t have done anything although one boy called out, “We’d throw flour all over your house!”

“Oh goodness, would you really? Why that’s awful. Isn’t that awful, Sister?”

Sister agreed it was awful. 

The two strange ghosts that were still hiding were cursing under their breath--their voices a bit deep-sounding for children. 

“Well here you are children. Some cookies I baked.”

The children thanked her. “Wow, we never get anything like that!” 

The other sister opened her purse. “Here are some pennies too, children!”

They left eventually and the door was closed.

The two ghosts came out of hiding. 

“Now.”

“Right.”

They rang the bell but they didn’t say, ' trick or treat.' Instead when the door opened, they just stood there looking around at all the rich furnishings. 

The kindly woman smiled at them and asked teasingly, “Aren’t you going to say anything? Cat got your tongue?”

The two little ghosts just sighed; they had already spotted the purse.

Since neither of them said anything and it was cold, the sisters ushered them inside. It was when they were inside that they said: "Trick or treat!" 

They were given cookies and one of the sisters asked, “What would your trick have been children?”

One of the ghosts produced a razor and cut her throat and her sister's expertly, avoiding most of the blood.

“Grab whatever you see. I’ll get the dough; we’ll clean up before we leave.” 

Al and Hank had been employed as midgets in circus sideshows for years. Halloween was always a special time for them. It made up for all the shit they took and all the pointing and cruelty. 

Each had grown up in various mental institutions. Al had a police record but he wasn’t wanted again, not yet.

Their car was where they left it.

‘Let’s drive the fuck outta this jerkwater town.’

“Yeah,” Al said. “And maybe we can get laid too and have a really special Halloween.”

~*~

Copyright © Carole Gill 2011

Just one of the stories in House of Horrors!

AMAZON 

Packed with stories of vampires, zombies, murderous midgets, demon clowns, evil dolls, haunted cemeteries ,  a real shop of horrors, taxidermy gone haywire, serial killers and more!

Your worst fears and nightmares dished up for you with extra helpings of blood-curdling terror!

REMEMBER TO HAVE A HAPPY, SAFE HALLOWEEN AND THOSE KIDS--ARE YOU ARE YOU SURE THEY'RE CHILDREN?!

HERE BE MONSTERS! FROM HOUSE OF HORRORS!

Okay, here you go! A complete story free to read for Halloween. It's from House of Horrors! It's about a nightmare date to meet the parents! 

Here be Monsters!

I knew I was in trouble when I saw the house. It looked like something straight out of a Hammer film! It was dismal and forbidding, and worst of all it was terribly isolated with ugly, dense woods full of twisted trees that surrounded the place. I thought of the menacing landscape in the House of Usher. Christopher laughed.

“Home sweet, home, eh Barbara?” I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out, only pathetic stuttering. “Let’s meet Mommy and Daddy shall we? I told them about you, and they can’t wait to meet you!”

An innocuous statement so why did it feel like a threat? He led me out of the car as if I were a sleep walker. A person really can be too horrified to react to their surroundings. Three sharp knocks and the door whined open.

Oh yeah, Hammer all the way. The mother had a face that could stop a clock and the father looked like an evil Gomez Addams. “Charming!” he said as he leered at me. He kissed my hand but just before he did, he smiled broadly and I thought I saw what looked like a double-pronged tongue, like snakes have. I shrank back in horror. The mother grinned. Why did her teeth look so terribly sharp?

“Come, do not be afraid.”

My knees buckled but Christopher held me up. He and the father half-dragged me inside. All I could do it seemed was watch my feet as they dragged along the blood, red carpet. “It’s bleak but we call it home.” Bleak wasn’t the word.

It was Dracula’s Castle and Ed Gein’s kitchen combined. What were all those artifacts I saw, strange-looking things that looked as though they were made out of body parts? “Chris does like his art.” His mother said pointing toward the curtain rods. “Those are human heads along there, see? They are small but so were the children...” I fainted then. When I woke I found myself in a bedroom.

It smelled of dust and rot, the sort of rot I could not identify. Before I could think of anything to do, I heard them in the hall. Suddenly the door opened and they all walked in. “It’s not like you think.” The mother beamed, licking her lips. “It’s alright Barbara, we won’t hurt you. You’ll come to like it here with us. We like you, you see.” Then turning toward Christopher, she added: “my son wants to marry you and well, if that’s what he wants, then I want it too.”

“No! No!” I screamed as I dashed toward the open door. Surprisingly, no one made a move to stop me. “You’re welcome to look around!” the father shouted after me. I just ran, hoping I would find a way out, but the hall seemed to go on forever. There were doors on either side of the corridor, and they were open. I was afraid to look inside. I did finally. That’s when I screamed the loudest.

There were girls—hanging on meat hooks. They had been gutted. There were pools of blood beneath them but no sign of entrails or organs. “No!” I shouted. I turned to flee but ran right into Christopher.

“Nothing is wasted. We eat them. Mother makes the best pies...” I screamed and didn’t stop. The father held up a syringe. “Just a sting and you’ll sleep. It’s really better that way.”

I was unconscious in the midst of a shriek! They spoke to me for days, each taking turns. I wouldn’t know until later that they were trained in brain washing. The father had trained them. You see he had worked for various intelligence agencies. “I’ve been employed all over the world. You name the country and I would venture to say I have advised them on terrorism and all sorts of problems they were having, most of which were internal.”

Mrs. White was beaming. “I’m so proud of you, darling,” she said.

Mr. White looked delighted. Then turning to me he said: “I can help to make you understand, come now. Let me really kiss you!”

I was right about his tongue; it was like that of a serpent. I sank into a kind of stupor I guess you could say, and then everything changed. Of course it was all due to our endless ‘little talks,’ the father and I. I soon found I enjoyed listening to the sound of his voice. By the end of the first week I was having my meals with them.

“Your pies are delicious, Mrs. White. I do enjoy what I am eating here.” Yes, that’s right I sounded like a robot. I was a robot. I realize that now I didn’t realize it then. I was even letting Mr. White into my room at night. He really had the most remarkable way of kissing...! Christopher didn’t seem to mind either. He said it was important for me to appreciate his father in every way. “Love and truth, Barbara. They go together.”

It wasn’t long before I was sharing their insane life style. Mr. White still worked as a campaign manager for some politician. I don’t remember which one. I only know he was out a great deal of the time. “He is so good at his job. You wouldn’t believe how much he helps various people get elected, people who wouldn’t normally have attained office!” Christopher interrupted her. “Mother, really. Now, you promised, no politics.” She had indeed promised but she was something of a political animal and always managed to bring the subject up again.

*

It’s been ten years since I’ve been with the Whites and it hasn’t been bad. Christopher never cheated on me. I’ve given him eight children, four boys and four girls. Each and every one of them is a White in every way—tongues and all. Yes, we did marry. A couple of highly placed politicians came to witness the ceremony. As a matter of fact, a very famous minister married us, too. No, I cannot tell you who they were, you’d recognize their names.

Sorry. I think the most important thing I can tell you is my trouble turned to happiness when I accepted my fate, for it called to mind that age old saying: here there be monsters—! I suppose you could say my own humble addition to that saying would be ‘and they might very likely become your family.’ By the way, in case you’re wondering, Chris is in every way like his father, just thought I’d add that.


© 2010 Carole Gill

Have a happy and safe Halloween!

CHARACTER DRIVEN HORROR. WHY THE CLOWNS ARE MONSTROUS

The violent and insane men who are circus clowns in this novel, have suffered severe abuse in their lives. That suffering not only damaged them, it was the catalyst that made them the horrors they became. 

"They each mumbled something and took their coffee. Happy commented on the sunny morning and Fred answered him, trying carefully not to look repelled by Happy’s skin or his mates’.

It wasn’t easy. Of the three, Happy was the most disfigured. His face displayed a road map of his horrendous childhood and young adulthood. It told the story of brutality and unimaginable violence.

Happy’s real name was Arthur Mundt—not that it mattered. The happy clown face he wore gave him his name. But was he happy? Nah. How could he be? He used to say the best he could do was try not to kill people.

Yes, his life had been too hard.

The clowns met in the Storeyville Orphanage in Georgia. The place was infamous for brutality. The cigarette burns had long since healed as they had on the others, but the scarring from razors and broken bottles was particularly bad. There was copious scar tissue which had turned deep purple. Jagged lines of it covered his face and ears, too. Poor fucker.

What Fred had pieced together about Happy was, he’d been living with hobos after running away from home. Cops raided the shit hole they were all holed up in and he got dumped at the orphanage as he was under twelve.

Noble and Danny had been turned over to the orphanage shortly after being born. No one told them where they came from. Their names were given to them by a doctor who liked to read. That was why they’d been called Noble Dickens and Danny Shakespeare, respectively.

“We all suffered hell,” Happy used to say. “If we weren’t used by the orderlies for sex, we were loaned out to their friends. They drank a lot and when they were pissed, they’d really start in.”

After a few orphans died, things got better, but not for Happy or his pals. They were good friends by then.

Danny was the most cordial, probably because he was the least scarred. “My face might not show it but all the times I been screwed up the ass—that’s what give me my hemorrhoids.”

Sad, all of them—Noble had it better. If it hadn’t been for the scarring on his jaw and throat, he’d have felt okay about not covering his face up with clown makeup.

“Anyone want eggs?”

The eggs were Fred’s surprise. He smiled when they reacted with enthusiasm. “Got them yesterday.”

They decided to wait for Baby Alice, but before she came out, the clowns had swallowed their coffee and applied their makeup. They liked her enough not to upset her."

AMAZON

“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!”