Sunday, March 8, 2015

Death, A Witness to The Black Death, 1348




London 1348

"Death was all around--in the filth and contagion, beside the diseased ravaged ships in the harbor, moving up from the docks with the scurrying rats--unnoticed as passengers but so vital to this tale.

Death paused, standing among the dead and dying animals, the decomposing human corpses, many of which lay bloated in the street, food for countless starving death-marked dogs.

Death as always watched and waited.

He watched madmen screaming gibberish at the top of their lungs as they dashed down the streets, for they had lost their minds having seen loved ones die.

Powerlessness is often a precursor to madness.

He watched too relatives trying to carry their dead loved ones away to one of the open burial pits outside the city because no one else was left to do it.

There were more dying daily it seemed. The carts hadn’t come around lately shouting for folk to bring out their dead, the carriers of the dead were themselves dead.

Death saw and they saw him. That is those about to die saw him.

Like a parody of the Gladiator’s cry: “we who are about to die salute you!” so they did; only it was no parody.

Nothing could have been more grim than this.

Very often they tried to bargain with him.

“Please, let me live. I don’t want to die. My wife will have no husband, my child no father. What is to become of them?”

Sadly and with no facetiousness at all Death would answer, “they will not suffer long…for I shall come for them very soon…’


So much misery, he didn’t wish to see it. He didn’t enjoy any aspect of being Death, he never had..."


(end of excerpt) 


In this horror collection you'll find 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!

Review: 

"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

Friday, March 6, 2015

Excerpt: Songs of Sirens or Something Else?



"She heard the song the first night, a beautiful haunting song that came from somewhere magical, where fairytales are real and wishes made with love come true.

Granny had given Anya her own bedroom and was sleeping in the parlor.

“You will be happy in this room, for I know how you love it so. It faces the lake and you love looking at it!”

Anya did love the room with its cozy bed and the beautiful French doors that opened onto the graceful balcony.

Nanny tucked Anya in. “Sleep well and have the most wonderful dreams, dreams of love and goodness.”

Anya promised, not even saying, “If I can,” but swearing she would.

Before it was time to go to sleep Granny read Anya the most wondrous fairytale, all about songs of magic and fantasy and beauty.

Anya was nearly dozing by the time it was finished so Granny tucked her in. “Sleep well my granddaughter, sleep well and dream of love.”

Sometime during the night, between one dream and another it seemed Anya dreamt she heard the most wonderful music.

It was so beautiful, she wanted to step outside so she could trace where it was coming from. But she couldn’t though she tried for she was much too sleepy. And although she sat up, she soon sank back into the soft eiderdown only to fall deeply asleep again.

When she woke in the morning, still thinking it was all a dream she told her Granny.

 “Did it sound like angels in heaven, child?”

“Yes, “ Anya said. “It was the song of angels I heard. And I so wished to see them too. But I dreamed I was too tired and although I tried to get up, I fell asleep again! It was a dream wasn’t it? It couldn’t have been real could it have?”

“You would like it to be real, my child?”

“Yes, I would as real as love can be.”

Granny sighed. “I did read you a fairytale probably that was the cause of it all.”

Anya thought that might be so. “Yes perhaps, ” she sighed. “Do read it again for I would very much like to dream it all again.”

And so Granny did. She read the same lovely story about maidens who danced by a lake – maidens who were really water nymphs and whose sole purpose in life was to sing songs for little girls who liked to dream of magic.

Anya grew sleepy as she listened. And when the clock struck nine she had to be carried to her bed.

“Good night my child, everything will be alright. You will see my precious one. You will see more magic than you can imagine!”

"Granny kissed Anya’s forehead and quietly slipped out of the room and as strange as it seemed, the singing began almost immediately.

This was no dream Anya soon realized. As a matter of fact, it seemed more distinct—for now she clearly heard the sweetly sad refrain about loss and love—about parting and unrelieved sadness and heartache. It was so sad in fact that Anya wept.

“I will see these maids. I will!” she shouted as she hurried toward the French doors.

There happened to be a pearly moon that shone brightly and lit the lake and the land enough for Anya to see three maids dancing. But not only dancing for they were singing too. And as Anya opened the door, she heard the music so clearly and spied the fiddler there who accompanied them.

How beautifully he played and how graceful they were, twirling about—singing and dancing.

Anya stepped closer to the balcony wall and as she did, she suddenly realized they were all watching her.

“I only wish to listen!”

She heard them giggle when she said that. And she giggled too but that was when she saw them begin to slowly drift upward toward her!

Up, they went like the slow rolling mist that lifted off of the lake at dawn.

Anya gasped. For as much as she liked them, she didn’t want them to come to her. They were frightening her a bit now. For the closer they came, the louder they sang and the song they sang sounded odd and scary almost and they looked different too with their arms outstretched as though they were reaching for her!

But what was worse was they were calling her name: “Anya! Anya!”

How did they know her name? How had that happened?

She began to cry and back away. “No! No go away!”

But they didn’t. They kept on coming, slowly—but steadily.

There was only one thing to do. Anya quickly closed the doors and locked them.

They were on the balcony by then, having drifted down so very gracefully, their bare feet gliding just above the smooth brick floor.

Anya was transfixed and couldn’t move for she wanted to see what they looked like. But a cloud passed over the moon then so that she could only see them in shadow.

“Anya, let us in… let us sing to you…hear our song…!”

“No please! Please!”

Suddenly the bedroom door opened and Granny appeared. She rushed to the doors. “Free the latch and you free your spirit!”

(END of excerpt)


In this horror collection you'll find 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!

Review: 

"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




99 cents Now!




Excerpt: Some Women Are Married to Monsters


Promo 99 cents!

Excerpt:

"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!”


(end of excerpt)


There are 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!


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

C. Gaydas



Thursday, March 5, 2015

Excerpt: Some Are Born With Teeth...!



"As soon as her mother saw her she cried out for the babe, though beautiful, she had tiny, sharp teeth. Teeth, the mother felt every time she nursed the child.
The father tried to smother her.

“She is a monster from hell, a demon! Why can you not see that?”

The mother threw him out. “Be gone from my sight. I will not harm my own child! Flesh of my flesh, you’re the monster!”

In truth she was somewhat unsettled by her child for although the baby was loving and sweet, she was frightening looking. It was worse when she smiled.

Often her mother would run her finger over the pointed teeth. “I don’t know what it is, what is wrong my daughter. I fear you are cursed and I am as well.”

The mother tried to hide the child as much as possible. But this could not go on forever.

It became worse as the girl grew older and the teeth became so noticeable, the villagers started to talk.

Words like beast and vampire were bandied about. It got so bad that one day the mayor came with priests and others to take the child away ‘for her own good.’
The mother agreed, not intending for a moment to go along with any of it. 

Instead, she took the little girl to the woods.

“If God sees fit for you to survive you will, my child. Forgive me.”

She left the child there and since she could not live with what she had done, she killed herself.

The girl, barely five, wept for days. She wept until she was rescued.

Ironically it was a coven of vampires that saved her. Not only did they care for her they really loved her, for she was a sweet natured child, a child to be cherished.

Despite the fact that her saviors were vampires, they did not harm the child in any way for they were adamant that she should be allowed to thrive as a human child.

The child loved them and clung to them, often imitating their strange ways—their imbibing of blood and so on. This caused them to speak to her.

It was the master who told her they would never force their world upon her, or their way of existing.

“If you decide to enter our world, it will be your decision.”

And so it was, for when she was no longer a child but a young woman she allowed herself to be created.

When she tasted the master’s blood, she saw his entire existence. And she was moved and wept for she saw savagery and persecution.

“We are hunted down and always shall be, for what we are. I regret you are one of the afflicted now…”

She said she didn’t mind for she loved her coven and him and they returned that love.

But all was not well for one day vampire destroyers came and they wiped out those she thought of as family.

She hid in the forest, frightened lest they find her, for she had seen what they did–-the staking and beheading and she feared for herself.

And though she feared, she mourned for all of those she loved and lost.

*

A year went by with her hiding in caves and feeding on whatever small animals she could find. Yet this could not last for she was lonely. She missed her coven and yearned to be a part of something again.

When she could no longer stand the solitude she wandered some distance beyond the forest and came in sight of a village.

It was a small settlement of white-washed cottages with small gardens. It really looked inviting.

She began to walk toward it but stopped for she still feared destroyers. And though she feared them she walked on. It was her lonely heart urging her forward.

It was dark by the time she reached the first cottage. She could see lights from within. How inviting it looked to her, for in the far recesses of her mind she did recall such a cottage. Actually she was remembering the one she was born in.
This was when the housemaid saw her.

“Are you a wood spirit?” she asked, for she was a simple girl with a good heart. “Whatever you are, I should like to offer you some food.”

The maid’s voice startled the girl. “I cannot,” she called out, slipping back into the shadows.

But the housemaid was persistent and the girl acquiesced and walked toward the open door.

It wasn’t until she smiled that the housemaid gasped. For her teeth were truly frightening—worse than they had ever been. Still, she insisted the girl have soup and bread.

“Come in and eat. Sleep by the fire if you wish, my master is not here…”

The girl thanked the woman and fell into a deep sleep, only waking later to find the housemaid dozing too. She was so overcome with gratitude that she hurried to her, to thank her.

She was surprised at how sweet the housemaid’s skin smelled. She only meant to kiss her hands, but she did more. She began to feed gently, moving up her arm and beyond. When her lips found the soft, white throat she wept with joy and began to feed there. Yet, her teeth did not tear the flesh; it was a caress if anything..."

End of excerpt

In this horror collection you'll find 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!

~*~

"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."
~Reviewer 


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



EXCERPT ABOUT A REAL SHOP OF HORRORS!


Excerpt:

"It was a small shop on a back street, the sort of shop you'd only find in Europe. She ran to it at once. "Oh, look!"

At first he didn't know what had caught her eye but then he did. Puppets.

"Aren’t they wonderful?”

Charles' corns hurt like a bastard but he walked over anyway. He looked and nodded. Actually they were attractive puppets in a strange way. Strange the way puppets and dolls can look sometimes.

She was going on about how magnificent they looked. Magnificent and pricey, he thought.

He was just wondering how to get her the hell away when the door opened and an old man appeared.

“They are beautiful, no? Hand-crafted and made locally right here. The designs are based on 17th Century puppets that are in the Puppentheater Museum in Berlin. Come and look around."

She was inside in a millisecond. The husband shuffled in after her. 

The shop was unique, crammed as it was with all sorts of eye-catching items. Everything from puppets to dolls to a variety of knick knacks. There were ashtrays and vases, clothing too, like retro stuff—hats, gloves--the works.

“I’ve never seen anything like it!”

She didn’t want to leave, but her husband kept telling her they weren’t budgeted for a big spend.

At last she smiled and turned to go, but that’s when the old man said what he said.

“I have a special room in the back.”

If they had been lucky, if they had been just the least bit careful…but they weren’t.

It was her fault. She was an effusive, excitable creature who always reacted on impulse.
“Oh darling, I just have to see it…! Please?!”

*
The door was behind a bookcase. It was a real hideaway, like a speakeasy or something.

“It’s strictly for connoisseurs like yourselves--people with very special tastes and requirements.”

This was different than anything Charles had ever seen. There was an aura here of something strange, even sinister.

It made him want to shudder but not her. She was prattling on about everything and how awesome and amazing it all was.

It did seem unusual. There were shelves full of jars and what looked like stacks of old parchments. Along one side of the room there were doors lined up one next to the other. Magnificent old studded doors right out of antiquity it seemed
.
She was looking at the jars. “Whatever are those up there?”

The old man had her climb up to get a better look. She did but she screamed. “Those things! What are they?”

The proprietor sighed proudly. “They are eye balls and there on the other shelves..."



In this horror collection you'll find 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!


***

"This is the kind of writing I live for." 
C.D. Bennett 

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Eco Meets The Blood Countess!




Previous chapter: Gilles de Rais

From Eco's, journal:

"Yes, Erzsebet Bathory, the Blood Countess herself.

“Eco,” he said. “There is a countess, she is a most intriguing creature…I have been watching her for a long time from Hell.”

This was the first I heard of it. Now I was to learn Satan often watched those he considered to be in some way promising and deserving of his attention.
He had taken me to Hell with him where I was to learn of Bathory—Bathory, damned nearly from birth for her soul had indeed been handed over to Satan and freely, too.

He stared at me, clearly wanting me to ask him questions, so I did.

“How is it you watch her then?”

He nodded toward the special mirror he has there. It is what the French call le miroir à deux voies, or two-way mirror.

It’s one of Satan’s most prized possessions. I believe an ancient sorcerer gave it to him, someone who thought (mistakenly as it turned out) that it would keep Satan from collecting his due. Well, it didn’t. I often saw the fellow skulking around Hell’s deepest caverns, cursing at his fate.

“I often watch her,” he admitted. “You would not believe what she does.”
It was funny because Satan looked and sounded like a dirty-minded school boy. I had to restrain myself from laughing.

“What is it that she does?”

“Come and see!” he urged, motioning for me to have a look for myself.
At first I only saw a rather attractive woman bathing. She looked regal, very haughty and proud. And she seemed to take delight in barking out orders to servants.

Satan was staring at me. “Well, have you nothing to say?”

I didn’t know what he meant and began to study the image more carefully. It was then that I noticed her bath water was red!

“That’s not blood, is it?!”

“It certainly is!”

I spun around. “You mean she bathes in it, in blood?!

I wondered why she did. I mean, really—even I found it revolting.

Satan shrugged. “She thinks it helps her to stay young.”
“Does she really?”

Satan nodded. I waited for him to tell me how old she was, but he didn’t.
“Alright,” I said. “How old is she?”

“Forty-nine.”

“I’ll be damned!” I said.

We could not help but laugh at that. Both of us were in near hysterics for some time. At last, I collected myself.

“Well, she looks no more than thirty, possibly even younger, so it must be working!”

Naturally, I had many questions. I wanted to know where she got the blood from.
“It is not difficult,” Satan explained. He went on to explain she was an all powerful aristocrat in a backward country and could get away with anything.
The implication was clear. “But whose blood is it?”

“Well, let me put it to you this way, peasant girls have been missing for ages—the families don’t dare report them missing either!”

I nodded for I could imagine why.

“She is the most powerful woman in the kingdom. Her family name is old and no one would dare to question the goings on, not even the nobles…not even the king!”

I found myself staring at her, willing her to rise out of that bloody water so I could see this Venus of the blood at last.

Satan realized and encouraged me to wait. “It will be worth the wait,” he assured me.

At last she stood and I gasped. Never did I see a more perfect feminine form; supple and slender, graceful beyond measure—it was not the body of a woman of her age.

As her maids wiped the blood from her body, I could see her skin was like alabaster. She was a vision of perfect loveliness!

I knew Satan must have had a very good time watching her. I wondered how long he had been spying on her. From the expression on his face, I could tell it must have been quite a while.

Suddenly, I felt certain he must have made her acquaintance, if you take my meaning. He had, in fact. He was to tell me not only the details of the soul taking, but other things as well. Like his dalliance with her on more than one occasion.

“So you know her intimately?” I asked with as straight a face as I could.
“I certainly do, dear boy. Did you think I do not?”
*
Yes, he was showing off again. He had been with her many times.

“It is rather interesting, her story. The pact and all, for it concerned the promise of an infant’s soul. Yes, an infant; not an ordinary occurrence.

She was dying, you see, and her nurse wished to take her to the witch of the forest. Yes there are such things and really, the only people that give those brave women the credit they deserve are the Eastern Europeans.”

Satan and I both had respect for these sorts of witches of old, Rose, for they practiced their craft conscientiously and always recognized their betters as betters.

I asked him to continue and he did proudly. “As in all summoning rites, I could hear someone calling my name, pleading with me to come. I arrived almost at once in a swirl of noxious smoke.

“Great Lord of the Underworld you are welcome here!” the summoner cried.
She was a horrid looking thing, just what you’d expect—warts and matted hair, filthy and stinking. But she was so excited and thrilled that I had actually come, I almost found her charming.

She explained that a nurse and an infant would be arriving shortly. That was the first I heard of it.”

“An infant?” I asked.

“She said the child was indeed only a few months old and was dying. She went on to explain that she dreamt it all and knew it to be true.

I believed her, for such a woman would indeed have the gift of second sight. The more she spoke, the more delighted I was to have a soul of one so young. I was so thrilled I barely heard her protestation of apology. You see, she was sorry I had been summoned to the forest.

“Please, while you wait, you will be more comfortable in my little home.”

Home, indeed! It was an awful, stench-filled hovel with animal parts in various stages of decay. This was the stuff she used in her many concoctions. There were also potions and herbs that were odious. I don’t usually find such things nauseating but I did then.

I asked her to tell me about the child and her family, it was pretty clear that this was no ordinary summoning on behalf of a miserable peasant baby.

Once again the witch fell to her knees. “You know all things! Yes, the child is from nobility. Her family rules the kingdom! There is no greater name than that of Bathory!”

I was most impressed; this was an all too rare occurrence, and quite frankly I was basking in my favorite sin: pride!

Naturally, I knew I could not be summoned to the castle, not with all the clergy hanging around her parents, calling for prayers to be offered up to heal the child.”

Satan mentioned how it did seem to be taking the nurse a long time to get there. “I asked where on earth they could be. But that was when we suddenly heard the sound of horses.”

He told me two riders pulled up: a man and a woman. It seemed the man was there to protect the woman and the child. Satan didn’t see the child right away; not until the woman lifted her cape and revealed a small bundle.

“The witch told her who I was and the nurse cried out her joy and thanks and held up the child for me to see.”

The babe was beautiful, an exquisite child. It was clear however that she was very ill for she could barely breathe, so laborious were her breaths that she was nearly crimson from the effort.

The nurse wept. “She is dying. Already I hear the death rattle. Please, help!”
“I said I could but told her I would have to take her soul. I always say this at such a time just in case there is any misunderstanding later. It was agreed and I touched the child’s head.

The nurse cried out as the babe began to tremble. So great is the effect when the soul passes away from someone, especially from a child, you see.

A great golden light began to swirl around her like a halo. As soon as it did, the baby gurgled and appeared to brighten.

“The child will live! The child will live!” they cried. On and on they went, shouting their relief and thanks.

At last they stopped. “There were many candles burning and I could see the babe now looked absolutely radiant. She opened her eyes and turned toward me and I saw the unmistakable sign—the mark of the void, the sure sign that the soul was gone never to return.”

The nurse whispered. “She has no soul now. You can see.”

They both agreed and began speaking one to the other as though I was not there. I left then, I left quickly for the rite had been done. Soon there were many small demons that had manifested themselves; small ones, because of the age of the babe.

“We have her soul!” I cried. And they shouted and shrieked and played with it. Yes, it has an actual shape, you know. It is, in fact, like a ball of light,” Satan said. “They kept passing it from one to the other until I at last took it, whereupon the light went out completely.

I ate it then, but I was selfish for I always share with my demons. Yet I could not give any of it up. It was sweet, you see, souls of the young are!”

Satan paused in his telling and looked at me. He had made his point. I hadn’t ever thought of pacts in that way. I hadn’t considered the age of those whose souls were taken.

In this case, it was tragic, for the child had not entered into any dialogue with anyone. She didn’t know what was happening, poor infant that she was; she didn’t know that her soul would be gone.

Yet as Satan said, he saw it in her eyes, that void that should have been light-filled—it was a dark abyss.

“Was she wicked from then on?” I asked him.

“Oh yes, she was. I saw the evil.”

“And what of the blood and the bathing—surely there is something else behind that.” I waited for him to answer.

He smiled. “You are most clever, Eco. You know, there is more to that than her desire to look youthful. Yes, the blood, now that is odd. She’s always been fascinated by blood. I think it’s because she’s a natural vampire.”

I just looked at him and he smiled once again. “I bet I know what you’re thinking,” he said.


I smiled back as the thought of creating such a woman first occurred to me. Yes, that was the very first time I thought of it; what better woman could there be for me than a natural vampire?

FROM BOOK 2 IN THE BLACKSTONE VAMPIRES SERIES

UNHOLY TESTAMENT THE BEGINNINGS, 99 CENTS ON PROMO




OR PURCHASE ALL COMPLETE SET OF FOUR NOVELS ON PROMO 
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Monday, March 2, 2015

Aide to Joan of Arc, Sexual Deviant and Child Killer


Gilles de Rais
99 cents promo: 
Unholy Testament - The Beginnings

From Eco's Journal:


Now about the pacts with Satan I mentioned—we now come to the story of Gilles de Rais and my encounter with him.

I knew he had ridden with Joan of Arc, the fiery young girl who loved to parade around in armor, winning battles for France and putting the boot into England whenever she could.

I had seen her briefly, shortly before she was burned at the stake. Yes, one of the much loved methods of execution by both church and state…charming, don’t you think?

Well they burned this seventeen year old girl, yet this aide of hers, this Gilles de Rais, this former close ally did absolutely nothing in her defense. Even I thought him a coward for that.

If I had become interested in him then my interest grew even more after Father Satan visited me to tell me de Rais wished to have gifts from Satan yet would not make a pact with him.

“Can you imagine such a cowardly cur? He wants gifts but will not pay me the homage I am owed!”

Whatever people may think, many enormously wealthy and powerful people you’d never suspect do, in fact, come to arrangements with Satan. You see, that is how they acquire their wealth.

Gilles de Rais did. He loved wealth, this man. He wallowed in it. Nothing was enough, plus he was also a terrible spendthrift. His brother admonished him on more than one occasion and threatened him constantly.

These were powerful people and power went with wealth. The last thing de Rais could envision was to be made destitute. Yes, it was almost as bad as that.

Now for the sinful side of this Marshal of France, this former aide to Joan of Arc—despite being married, de Rais was depraved sexually. He molested children—little boys were his specialty. Well, you have to understand the mindset of France at that time. An aristocrat could do with peasants (children included) as they pleased. It didn’t matter a jot!

So he did, and this is when it really got nasty. In seeking to restore his wealth, he consorted with demons. His priest (yes, a priest) told him of a certain conjurer and sorcerer, a Frenchman by the name of Francois Prelati, who could summon demons and help de Rais replenish his wealth.

You see, Prelati was supposed to excel in alchemy and alchemy was thought to turn base metals into gold. Ah, gold! When de Rais heard about Prelati’s talents, he was ecstatic.

I know what you are thinking, Rose—you are wondering how I know all of this? Well, I was to meet de Rais later and it was he who told me.
The Priest, Blanchette, was dispatched to Italy to find Prelati. Now, Prelati was nothing more than a charlatan.

Yes, Rose, there are ways to summon Satan but Prelati didn’t know his rear end from a proper summoning ceremony! And as for the hokum of alchemy, well, he knew that was nonsense as well. He was, if nothing, far more clever than those he took advantage of.

Blanchette greeted him and explained why he had come. In no time at all, he certainly understood how rich de Rais was or at least how much de Rais still had which he could ‘acquire.’

They returned to France to find a warm welcome. de Rais was delighted with Prelati. Prelati was a curly-headed handsome young man and well, who knows just how chummy they really were?

In no time at all, with de Rais’ most trusted servants and loyal henchmen, and along with his cousin Gilles Sille, they began to beseech Satan for gifts.

As it happened, de Rais himself told me all of this. He said it was in Tiffauges during the vernal equinox—Midsummer’s Night Eve, a most magical time for spirits to be active—that they really got the thing going.

Shortly before midnight, Prelati drew a pentagram circle on the floor as they waited for all Hell to break loose.

Now what I have not yet told you is rather distressing, so please prepare yourself. As de Rais was having his way with children and murdering them (it was part of his fun, you see), he had no problem with fulfilling one of Prelati’s requests that in order for the summoning to succeed, he (Prelati) would have to use a book of spells written in the blood of children.

This was easy for de Rais and he gave Prelati more than enough children’s blood to use. Prelati wrote the spells up and they were ready to proceed.

The summoning ceremony began and a trembling de Rais clutched his blood-book. But here is the amazing thing, besides holding the book, de Rais also held a note in his hand which was for Satan; a note he intended to hand over when Satan appeared. In it he promised to give him anything he wished ‘except his life or his soul.’

Now, I don’t know about you but I found that extremely amusing. Here is a horrific child murderer, an evil human holding a book of symbols written in the blood of children, and he wishes to remain a devout Catholic! Really!

Their summoning went on for two hours, with Prelati calling for a demon to appear. That didn’t happen, but there was a rather violent thunderstorm that created the proper sort of atmosphere—something but not enough.

After this, Prelati said they would have to offer up something really important in order to get the devil’s attention: a sacrifice.

That de Rais was ready for. “What would you require?” he asked.

Prelati replied it wasn’t for him; it was for the demon, supposedly named Barron, who wished the sacrifice to contain a child’s heart, sexual organs and eyes.
This was easily provided and the ceremony went on. As de Rais told me, a demon did indeed appear and nearly beat the Hell out of Prelati, which I thought was rather funny.

These nonsensical rites continued for two years; nonsensical because no gold was made, nor wealth along with it. But then de Rais’ family got involved. That is, his brother Rene managed to get the king to issue an order preventing de Rais from selling off any more land.

Before that could happen, however, there was to be an inspection, and Gilles realized this would involve his brother and associates coming to his castle in order to account for everything. Naturally, he knew he had much to hide.
Gilles’s cousin and servants aided him with this, collecting bones and hiding bodies and so on.

Despite some skeletons being found on the grounds, the family closed ranks for whatever reason and neither said nor did anything.

De Rais was safe for the moment, but powerless and nearly broke and unable to rectify the situation. But then he had a thought and a plan was hatched, which ironically led to his downfall and death.

With constraints on his wealth caused by his family’s machinations, he became crazed and before too long hatched a wild plan to get money.

He put together a group of bandits and set out for the church at St. Etienne de Mermorte during High Mass. Brandishing axes and other weapons, de Rais and his men threatened the priest there and kidnapped him.

You see, he was certain of getting payment for his hostage. There was just something he didn’t figure on. This particular priest was the brother to the Treasurer of Brittany!

If many of de Rais’ crimes were generally known by the nobles, they didn’t care really—but this! This was something to get involved in for it had to do with money and the church!

At long last they began to collect evidence against de Rais, which happened to include depositions taken from the parents of missing children. Now they were prepared to listen to them and the more they heard, the more they were affected.
De Rais proclaimed his innocence but an arrest warrant was eventually issued and he found himself in custody. He was special though as Marshal of France and was held in very comfortable chambers.

I was there, Rose, and did witness the proceedings. This was the first time I had actually seen de Rais in person. I was startled by his handsomeness, his black hair and fine features. He looked every bit the aristocrat he was. However, despite his station, he was charged for his crimes.

Standing before the ecclesiastical and secular judges, Gilles was asked to answer to the charges. This he refused to do. Instead, he verbally attacked the authorities, calling them names and asserting that he would rather be “hanged by a rope around his neck than respond to such ecclesiastics and judges.”

Four times the judges asked Gilles to make a plea, and four times he ignored them. Left with no other choice, the Bishop of Nantes excommunicated him and adjourned the hearing.

Now, this is where I come in. I passed myself off as a Papal Aide. Yes, I know I really have cheek, don’t I? I am quite incorrigible but truly, I had to be this dramatic or they would not have let me see him.

I had to actually spend time with him. That was all part of my plan. They seemed in awe of me.

“Really, does his Holiness know of this case?”

I could see they were quaking for they didn’t wish to be admonished in any way for their terrible laxity where the children were concerned.

I assured them the Holy Father just wished a report, nothing else. And I further assured them that I would use my very best judgement as to what that report contained.

“Well, by all means, Your Worship, please go and see the accused, and do tell him who you are.”

I nodded for I had every intention of telling de Rais exactly who I was, which was not, of course, the Papal Emissary!

I was taken to Lord de Rais’ chamber. I must say he really was a piece of work. Here he was, accused of horrendous things, and he was smug and nasty.

“What do you want?”

I waited to tell him until I was certain no one would hear.

“I have come to tell you that you have already forfeited your soul, your Lordship!”

He looked livid. He began to tell me off but I merely leant over and whispered: “de Rais, I am not who you think I am. I am a representative of Satan himself!”
He did blanch; he would deny it later, but he did. I saw it. “You are what?! How dare you trifle with me at a time like this?”

It was clear to see he did not believe me. This was not unexpected. I then performed some magic, which got his attention. I’m not sure exactly what I conjured, but whatever it was, de Rais looked properly impressed. When he finally collected himself, I announced Satan’s arrival.

The instant Satan appeared, de Rais fainted. Well, you see, it was so very dramatic! We were alone and suddenly Satan was there.

At last de Rais came to. He couldn’t speak for the longest time, which didn’t matter since Satan was doing all of the talking anyway.

“You have indeed lost your soul, de Rais!” Satan stated. “A mere mortal like you has no control over it, after what you did! How dare you seek to conjure demons and make pacts with the devil as you call it with the stipulation that you are to retain your soul? You preposterous man! That is so insulting to me! Do you not know? Don’t you see what you have achieved? You have nothing, you have lost your church and your god, such as he is, and now you don’t even have my support! Make no mistake, de Rais, you will be in Hell upon your death.”

De Rais shook for such a long time that whenever he tried to speak he could not. At last he did. “No!” he cried. “I shall seek forgiveness! I will throw myself on the mercy of the church!”

Rose, Satan only laughed. “Ah,” he said. “It is debatable whether or not you shall be given it. After all, the god of your church has the final say and I for one can say from a personal standpoint, he can be extremely unforgiving!”

A surprising thing happened after this. Satan had left, and I was preparing to go as well, when suddenly de Rais called me back and said he would ponder all of what he heard. “I shall take it all to heart, trust me. My intentions are thus. Only please, sir, might I speak to you, for I am not yet ready to confess to a priest.”

“So I will do, will I?”

“Please, I cannot bear for it to be on my conscience one more moment.”

I remained and he told me what I have already told you about Prelati and the summoning.

Over the course of the next two days, he did a great deal of weeping and confessing. As a matter of fact, the next time he appeared before the court he was a thoroughly changed man.
*
Having been denied the rites of his church, he really did fear for his immortal soul. Suffice it to say, he recognized the authority of the court and admitted his crimes. He wept and asked forgiveness from the judges for his behavior in court.
The vice Inquisitor and bishop absolved him and re-admitted him to the Church. 

I found that ridiculous, but then again I am not acquainted with the workings of the clergy. By the way, he admitted everything but left out the summoning.
The judges conferred briefly and ordered de Rais to be taken to the dungeon. When he returned, he looked dreadful. Whatever implements of torture he saw had spurred him to confess and he agreed to answer the judge’s questions. Thus, the confession was pried from him.

He was hanged. An interesting note here; he was to have been burned but his body was removed before that could happen. His family wished him buried with Catholic rites, you see.

Thus was the end of de Rais, or was it? Do you think he went to Hell, Rose?
Satan and I discussed this case many times. We could not get over the hypocrisy of the Church. Surely, some things are beyond forgiveness?

Still, as Father Satan said, who knows the workings of Heaven and the old man that runs it?

As for myself, I rather enjoyed passing myself off as a Papal Emissary. I felt I was in my element being wined and dined and catered to. I spent some time in this disguise until Father Satan suggested I travel east.

“It is time to create more covens, my boy. Think how much pleasure you will have”.

I did think about it. I remembered the pleasure I enjoyed previously. But then I recalled Hatua, the pure bred I loved and lost, and my heart sank.

Satan saw and chided me for being so foolish. “You don’t want to end up like Louis, do you?” he said. “That’s the last thing I want to see.”

I shrugged. “Louis is more content than I am,” I said.

“But you are not he.”

Actually, that was the worst thing he could have said as it only made me feel more morose.

I could see Satan was becoming increasingly annoyed with me and I didn’t wish that to happen. That was the last thing I’d have wanted.

He suggested I go off by myself then. “Go and consider your expectations as well as your destiny.”

Expectations, what expectations did I have? I told him I didn’t have any.
“You have, although you don’t know it. It is all tied together. It is up to you to find it.”

I left to journey east and existed for many years in the caves near Jerusalem. I imagined how I’d react were Jesus to appear. I wondered if he’d have regarded me as he once did, as he did that time before Ankata destroyed herself.

Then suddenly, I imagined I heard a voice whisper. “You are demon spawn and from Hell. Do not think you are more than that.”

Demon spawn I was and demon spawn I would always be.

Satan was to visit me many times there. Each time he came he’d try to entice me away to create more covens and to bed wrenches but that was something I did not wish to do then. However, that celibate whim was not to last.


Things were about to change, for next time I would see him he was to tell me of a certain infant whose soul he had gotten long ago. The infant’s name was Erzsebet Bathory.

Erzebet Bathory chapter

(chapter from Unholy Testament the Beginnings, BOOK 2 IN THE SERIES).




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