In Cold Blood is that! It's also a non-fiction novel

That always intrigued me, 'a non-fiction novel' How can a novel be non fiction. It can, read the book and you will see.

It's not written in a dry way, it's a novel with the pace of a brilliant crime novel. And why not do it that way? Capote trail blazed with this book and good for him, I say!
A book first by Truman Capote, this horrific case was soon made into a film; an exceptional film. The four members of the Clutter family were blown away one November night in 1959 by two drifters. There was supposed to be a fortune they were going to come away with. Dick Hickock was sure of it. He told his friend, Perry Smith about it and the two wound their way to Holcomb, Kansas.

They were told there was a safe there, and they couldn't miss. It was a sure thing. I'm re-reading the book now. It's unsettling to say the least. The depiction of the killers is so sharply done, I felt I was there. The Clutter family are entirely opposite to their killers. As different as evil is from good. Yet, that being the case, I can see, and I think you will too, Capote has given us such a detailed account of the killers' lives and backgrounds, we can understand how messed up they were. Though Hickcock came from a nice family, Smith's background was so dysfunctional, it scarred him. Two of his siblings committed suicide and the other didn't ever want to see him. The suicides were before the Clutter murders by the way.

A homicide detective once told me 'no motive is a motive' . I agree. Supposedly the Clutters were going to be murdered from the start, so as to have no witnesses. I think Perry Smith who actually did the killings hated this family, particularly the father for inhabiting a world he could never know.

Capote could not have titled the book better, it's 'in cold blood.' In fact, it doesn't get colder or more unfeeling than this. There isn't even the passion of hatred--or is there?

I happen to think there is a lot under the surface. These two killers are from society's underbelly. They see the home and the land it's on. They know they don't come from this world the Clutters inhabit.

There's a lot to resent then. I happen to think it's almost a relief when the first shot is fired.

He's very polite. He was quoted as saying he thought Mr. Clutter was a real gentleman up until cutting his throat. How nice. That warms the cockles of my heart, how about you?

Their backgrounds are sad. I felt a little sorry for them. But then again Robert Blake's acting as Perry Smith is so exceptional, that possibly that had something to do with it. Scott Wilson as Dick Hickock was also excellent, I mean they became the characters.

The film was shot in Holcomb, Kansas and some of the settings are so real, they cause discomfort. The Clutter residence where the murders took place is used. That was painful, but I suppose it added to the hard-hitting realism of the film.

There is a fictitious reporter who is actually a Capote-like character. The investigation is gripping, we want these guys caught. They are and it's a relief, so are their executions at the end. I had the feeling that each knew, possibly for as long as they lived, they were fated for this.

True horror like the mass extinction of a nice, loving family is the worst horror I can think of. I never forgot the film. You won't either, if you haven't seen it, see it. Watch a well-made, respectful re-enactment of one of the worst mass murders ever. You owe it to yourself and you owe it to the
Clutter family.

99 cents till Sunday. 'The Other Side of Regency London!'

Having run away from the Grosvenor Square brothel, Justine finds a London that shocks her. There is rampant prostitution, vice in all its forms, as well as lethal street gangs. 

"A great deal can be said for a vampire’s unusual abilities. There I was, perched on a windowsill. The night was waiting to welcome me and I knew it. Then, with no hesitation, no thought of injury or death—I flew down. Freedom was at hand. There were no goodbyes, no regrets—not one.

I began my journey with at least one lesson learned: if I were going to judge London by Grosvenor Square, I would soon be in for a shock. This I would find out later.

A man did stop me to tell me to run along, as the neighborhood was not suitable for the likes of me he said. Obviously, he figured me for a prostitute. I smiled, thinking if you only knew.

It did occur to me to feed on him, but I was too much in the open. I felt certain I would be seen. So I made no reply but hurried along not having any idea which direction to go in. As it happened, I turned eastward. This, I found interesting because the further east I went, the poorer the area. It didn’t seem as filthy as Paris. But it didn’t miss out by much. And like Paris, there were marked differences between rich and poor—there were beggars and prostitutes all of them quite forward calling, out to any passerby exactly what they would do and how much they charged.

There was constant movement and noise—as well as the stench of unwashed bodies and filth. People were sitting and drinking—others were walking or trying to. The crowds were even greater than in Paris. Many were drunk on cheap gin. They hollered and fought—there were scuffles and fights too, the worst being between women. I had never seen anything like it.

Droves of thieves and pickpockets were about. I could tell by one glance what they were; some came up to me—but backed off quickly. They knew a menace worse than themselves when they saw me.

There were too, madams known as bawds who waylaid any young girl they saw if they thought she would be good for business. A few started speaking to me. I let them talk. It was fun knowing I could easily get away. One had a man in league with her, quite a rough looking sort he looked too. When I left her side he ran after me. I just stopped and smiled at him. He looked bewildered at first until I threw him against an alley wall.

He screamed in pain. His face bloody, he started to lunge toward me but thought better of it. “What are you?”

I thought you wouldn’t want to know but made no reply. That was the first of a number of such encounters. The most violent was from a gang of youths. They rushed at me, thinking they had cornered me in an alley; they began to laugh and tease. When one came too close and tried to touch me, I thought enough was enough. Besides, I was anxious to show them what I could do. I jumped the poor fool, hurling myself at him with such force, I was sure he had cracked his head open.

“Anyone else?” I taunted.

They backed away then although not before one threw a rather large stone at me. I threw it back, it caught him in the groin and he went down. They shouted murderer but I only laughed.

Soon, they stood now as one, threatening me and inching closer, I picked up a rat I saw. Biting its head off, I drained it.

“The next one who comes closer, I shall do the same to him!”

They were gone in an instant.

There was to be more trouble, more challenges; the worst coming from a man who surprised me. Since he caught me unaware, I was momentarily incapacitated or I’d have sprung into action. I didn’t as I suddenly became aware of a man watching me. He was leaning on a walking stick. “Leave her alone!” he cried.

My attacker laughed at him and moved to attack him. The man was ready for it. He swung the stick quickly, hitting the aggressor on the head. The man cried out in pain.

“That will show you!” My would-be savior yelled.

He asked me if I was alright and I nodded. He moved toward me, speaking as he did. I saw he was quite lame. “Miss, please. You will be safe if you go to Endell Street in St. Giles. I have lodgings there.” I said nothing and he smiled. “It is safe I assure you. I am known throughout this area, for I always help damsels in distress though I may not look the type.”

Something touched me, a memory from when I lived—a feeling of gratitude and admiration too. I told him I would find his home.

He looked pleased. “Yes, well go along now. Give me some time; I cannot walk too well…”

The vampire and the hero, I thought—what a combination.

I thanked him and hurried to the address he gave me. It was on a tiny street. His house was at the end; number 11a. The door was open. A young girl of eleven or twelve stood in the doorway. She was dressed in rags and had soot marks on her face. “The cripple send you here, did he?”

I said he did.

“Go on then, upstairs, in the back. He’s an artist,” the girl said. “And quite a good one I should say.”

*

I waited in the hall as the door was locked. He at last appeared. I knew it was him as I heard his step, the sound of shuffling and another sound—that of a stick tapping on cobblestones. He smiled when he saw me. “I wasn’t too long, I hope.”

I followed him inside, listening to his polite chatter and answering as best I could. I tried not to smell his blood but I did. It smelled good, fragrant--without the hint of alcohol.

He had me sit. “There is an alcove where you can sleep or you can have my bed. I mean on your own if you like.” He smiled.

Now I took a good look at his face. It was not a handsome face, it was a kindly face. “The streets are so unsafe. It seems things only get worse.”

He glanced at me I think wanting me to tell him why I was out walking. I smiled and said I had to leave my lodgings as they were unsuitable. Goodness knew what he thought of that.

I noticed some paintings scattered about. There was an unfinished one on a makeshift easel. I asked him about it. He told me he was doing it for a client. “Well,” he added. “I am hoping someone will buy it. I make enough for food…”

“I won’t be staying long …”

“You are welcome to stay as long as you like…?”

“Justine.” I answered.

“Justine. I am Edward. Are you French?”

“Yes.” And I am more than that, I thought. But I will never harm you!


(end of excerpt)

AMAZON

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

"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."

"Top of its genre!"






AMAZON 

EXCERPT: A PEDOPHILE BUYS THE WRONG DOLL...

"She was new to his collection. Actually she was very special, but he wouldn’t know that until later, until it was too late.

He had planned to use her that day as an enticement, pretty little doll sitting on the front seat with him.

“Hi I’m Uncle Jimbo and this is my new dolly. Would you like to play with her, yes that’s right little girl. Just step up to the car and see how nice Dolly is…”

Didn’t always work. It used to work better but that was years ago about the time of his conviction.

"James Arthur Charlton you have been found guilty of the dreadful crime of child abuse. It is the sentence of this court that you be incarcerated…”

Yeah so he served ten years. Ten years and he hadn’t even killed the kid. Ten years they gave for murder not for playing with a little girl and keeping her entertained.

They lied about him and about what he did. The kiddie's mother lied and so did the little girl.

They took her testimony in a special hearing and then read it out in court.

Boy did he squirm; well it was how he was made to feel especially under the steely gaze of the grandmother.

What an old witch she was with her hooded eyes and her babushka. Foreign too, nasty foreign baggage.

She shouted something he didn’t understand. Someone said she cursed him in Hungarian.

It didn’t bother him, he didn’t believe in things like that then..."

    BUT THAT WAS BEFORE HE BOUGHT THE NEW DOLL...!

***

"There is no doubt that she soars above the endless parade of independent horror authors to shine as a true star in the darkness. With the brilliant anthology House of Horrors she proves why she is a perennial favorite. To put it simply, this is a great assembly of tales anyone would be proud to have in their collection"

~Joshua Skye

DARK MEDIA

AMAZON