Renfield Meets Captain Kerry Donegal In The Oscar Wilde Pub

May 28, 2019 at 10:02 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, International Intrigue, Mythology, News, Politics, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , )

British MP Renfield R. Renfield was sitting in a newly opened London pub called The Oscar Wilde.

He was planning his strategy to have his friend the Kraken Napoleon VI elected the new President of the European Union Commission.

Seeing as how German Chancellor Angela Merkel and French President Emmanuel Macron were in disagreement as to who should be the new EU Commission President, this allowed an opportunity for a rogue Brit like himself to put a Kraken into that position.

Seeing as how this was The Oscar Wilde Pub, Renfield decided to order himself a glass of absinthe as this was the favourite drink of such notorious writers and poets as Oscar Wilde and Charles Baudelaire and artist/painters such as Henri Toulouse-Lautrec and Amedeo Modigliano.

Seeing as how Renfield was neither an American Jesuit priest nor a leading U.S. Democratic Party politician nor a Hollywood bigwig, he ignored the fact that absinthe was also drunk by such satanic low-lifes as Aleister Crowley.

After 21 glasses of absinthe, Renfield was able to see spirits so as soon as the ghost of the 18th Century Irish pirate of the Caribbean Captain Kerry Donegal walked through the door, the MP invited him to sit down.

They introduced themselves to another and gave their respective backgrounds.

“So,” Renfield ordered another glass of absinthe, “you’re the pirate’s ghost that my psychic lobster friend Michelangelo saw ride that supposedly riderless horse Bodexpress at the Preakness Stakes?”.

“That was me all right,” the ghostly pirate blushed adding a little rouge to his overly white complexion, “I came in second from last.”

“We all have our embarassing moments,” Renfield recalled the lovely actress Gong Li turning him down for a date after he had asked her out in a crowded elevator.

“So how’s your political career going?” Captain Kerry Donegal asked.

“Well if Boris Johnson wins the leadership of the British Conservative Party in July and becomes Prime Minister of Britain,” Renfield ordered a tuna fish sandwich, “I’ll probably become Deputy Foreign Secretary In Charge of Geopolitical Intelligence Gathering and my parliamentary colleague and fellow Transhumanist MP the Welsh vampiress Morgana will probably become Deputy Home Secretary In Charge of Midnight Security.”

“Well, congratulations,” the pirate captain drank a toast in ghostly extra spirited absinthe.

“Still, I mustn’t count my chickens before they’re hatched,” Renfield helped himself to a plate of deviled eggs, “so what are your plans for the future?”.

“I haven’t quite decided,” Captain Kerry Donegal answered, “I moved out of 10 Downing Street last night after Prime Minister Theresa May invited me to watch the 1947 film The Ghost and Mrs. Muir starring Gene Tierney and Rex Harrison with her. After watching the film, I came to the conclusion that Mrs. May wanted to have a romantic affair with me so I left.”

“Yes, singing My Fair Lady to Gene Tierney isn’t so bad,” Renfield admitted, “singing it to Theresa May is another matter entirely.”

“By Liza, rather than sitting in the saddle to do little, I should have said to Bodexpress, move your bloomin’ ass,” the pirate captain reflected.

“And speaking of my fair lady, here comes my parliamentary colleague Morgana,” Renfield, after 23 glasses of absinthe, ran up to kiss her as she entered the pub.

“Why you predatory sexually harassing lecherous pervert,” Morgana said to him before kicking him out the door with one of her spiked stiletto high-heeled shoes.

“Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder,” were Renfield’s last words before succumbing to unconsciousness on the outdoor sidewalk.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday May 28th
2019.


Welsh vampiress Morgana: Not one to mess with

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The House On The Hill: A Poem

May 21, 2019 at 9:56 pm (Ghost Story, Gothic, Gothic poem, Gothic romance, Poetry) (, , )

The house on the hill was haunted they say
That common belief helped keep people away
Only the brave ventured to play
At the house overlooking Appleton Way

What happened that night many years ago
whispered by people who claimed to know
was loud shots in the night
a desperate search for a light
A woman’s screams
Lace curtains falling at the seams
And then silence fell
No more would dwell
in that house on the hill
Tenancy rate fell to nil

Those who ventured inside that place above Appleton Way
would always return with their hair white or gray
even though their hair colour did not start out that way
when they ventured forth at the break of the day

Their mistake was not in returning before the sun set
Nightfall should have told them, this was no place to let
Visiting the place subject of many a bet
while dark mystery remains at the heart of the Net

It was with this in mind that young Rousseau set out
On a night when the wind was howling about
Dark clouds rolled in
The night blacker than sin
Lightning flashed
Thunder crashed

And of course the door of the house would naturally be opened wide
And Rousseau stepped across the threshold to where the unseen did abide
And Rousseau came face to face with the ghostly vision there
While rainy lightning in the window flashed glowing white glare

Rousseau’s thought then was different from what he had at the start of the day
With this supernatural life and supernatural sight he felt inclined to stay
So now he too inhabits the house above Appleton Way.

-A poem written by Christopher
Tuesday May 21st 2019.

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Ghost of Orson Welles Meets Belvedere In Istanbul

May 6, 2019 at 9:40 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, International Intrigue, News, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , )

The ghost of Orson Welles was sitting in a cafe in Istanbul.

He had been told by a Russian spy beluga whale whom he had helped to defect to Norway this past weekend that the lovely mermaid Miranda when swimming through the Bosphorus Strait would often shapeshift into full human form and visit the Marmara Cafe in downtown Istanbul of which she loved the Turkish coffee being served there.

Welles could never recall meeting an actual mermaid in his past mortal life or current ghostly life so he decided to come to Istanbul and visit the Marmara Cafe on the off chance that he might meet Miranda.

Welles sat at a back table in the corner of the cafe and sipped a glass of spectral red wine occasionally glancing at the entrance to see if any woman who might be a mermaid in full human form came walking through the door.

He recited William Butler Yeats’ Sailing To Byzantium as he sat,

“… And therefore have I sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium. ”

“Orson!” A voice shouted from the doorway.

It was the voice of Belvedere the ghost of a ghost white salamander.

Belvedere had been human but back in the mid-1880s in the American Wild West had been turned into a ghost white salamander through an ancient Egyptian spell cast by a gypsy woman who worked in the Wild West saloon where he worked as a bartender.

He became the ghost of a ghost white salamander when he crawled outside and was run over by a settlers’ ox cart heading west.

The first and last time Belvedere saw Welles was back in October 1938 just prior to the then Boy Wonder delivering his famous Halloween War of The Worlds broadcast.

“Belvedere,” the ghost of Orson Welles lit a spectral cigar, “Long time no see.”

“I see we’re both ghosts now,” Belvedere sat across from the spectral cinematic talent.

“Such are the ravages of time,” Welles blew rosebud shaped smoke rings, “unless we be vampires, vampiresses, gods, goddesses or immortal dominatrixes who have eaten just the right amount of Lingzhi supernatural mushrooms, we must all succumb to the hands of the scythe wielding spectre Death there to see our flesh melt and our bones turned to dust and our spirits wandering earth, purgatory or paradise until such time as our bodies and souls are reunited into a new transformed whole on the Day of Judgment.”

“Eloquent as ever, my friend,” Belvedere was impressed.

“So, what are you doing these days?” Welles sipped his wine, “What brings you to Istanbul?”.

“I am now a reporter for The Times of London,” the ghost white salamander answered, “I’m here on assignment. Turkey’s chief electoral body has ordered that Istanbul’s local elections be re-held after President Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s Islamist AK Party lost to the opposition secularist CHP Party after a shock opposition victory this past March.”

“It is indeed a hatchet in the cake of dictatorship when the trappings of democracy come crashing down just as the cake is being wheeled into the banquet hall where Ottoman Sultans once dined and harem girls once danced,” Welles helped himself to spectral caviar and spread it on a spectral slice of bread.

“Erdogan is indeed upset about the whole thing,” Belvedere agreed, “He himself used to be Mayor of Istanbul many years ago.”

“Such is the power of the spirit of Byzantium,” Welles drank a toast, “that this city can survive the misrule of a petty despot such as Erdogan.”

“Istanbul’s new CHP Mayor Ekrem Imamoglu is confident that he can win again in the re-held election,” Belvedere remarked.

“Beware the sting of scorpions and the fangs of serpents,” Welles’ baritone voice shook the cafe, “for my friends who still fast in the fires of Purgatory inform me that Lady MacBeth’s ghost serves as an advisor to Erdogan.”

“Great Scot! And great Caesar’s ghost!” Belvedere’s ghostly white face turned even more ghostly white, “Lady MacBeth!”.

“Never was a Film Noir Femme Fatale more femme fatalish than Lady MacBeth as the Bard so adeptly captured her personality, soul and spirit in his Scottish Play,” Welles raised his finger in the air to capture the direction the Mid-East winds were blowing, “for she serves not only as advisor to Erdogan but advisor to Saudi Crown Prince Mohammad bin Salman as well. Tantalizing both claimants to a future Caliphate. Playing one side against the other. Stringing both together as if playing on a harp whose strings are made of human sinews.”

Belvedere decided to change to a cheerier subject.

“Have you ever watched Game of Thrones?” Belvedere asked.

“I have never watched an episode in full,” Welles confessed, “I have watched segments of certain programs on YouTube.”

“What do you think?” Belvedere inquired.

“What do I think?” Welles lit another spectral cigar, inhaled and then exhaled smoke rings like dragons, “I think Game of Thrones captures what the world of Medieval Europe would have been like if there had been no figure of Christ at the center of the culture of Medieval Europe.”

“Really?” Belvedere pondered this thought.

“In such a Medieval Europe,” Welles took the final sip of what remained of his glass, “Every ruler would be able to say… we are all Lady MacBeth.”

As a woman in another corner of the cafe claimed to have just given birth to dragons, the ghost of Lady MacBeth entered the cafe’s entrance still carrying stains of blood on her spectral formerly mortal hands.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday May 6th 2019
Orson Welles’ 104th
birthday.

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The Ghost of Orson Welles and The Russian Spy Beluga Whale Defector To Norway

May 3, 2019 at 10:17 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, International Intrigue, Mythology, News, Radio, Spy Tales, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

While British MP Renfield R. Renfield was in Thailand to attend the coronation ceremony of King Maha Vajiralongkorn, his spirit advisors the ghosts of Orson Welles and Sir Winston Churchill were hanging around the colossal London mansion of the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set smoking huge amounts of spectral cigars with Churchill drinking huge amounts of spectral brandy and Welles drinking huge amounts of spectral wine.

After a couple of days of this, an exasperated billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set asked his butler and valet Athelstan, “What’s the number for Ghostbusters?”.

“I regret to say, sir, that Ghostbusters was pure fiction and the Ghostbusters team portrayed by Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd, Harold Ramis and Ernie Hudson do not exist in reality,” Athelstan sighed.

“Damn,” Set spilled his crocodile casserole all over himself at this upsetting piece of news.

The phone rang.

Athelstan picked it up.

“It’s for you, Orson,” the valet called out to Welles’ ghost who was busy talking to the clock on the living room mantelpiece and telling it, “We will sell no wine before its time.”

“Who is it?” Welles asked.

“It’s Erna Solberg the Prime Minister of Norway,” Athelstan replied.

“What does the Prime Minister of Norway want with me?” Welles asked.

“Well, why don’t you pick up the fucking phone and find out?” Set said angrily as he was using vast amounts of Sherrielock Holmes’ Bavarian Magic Mushroom Stain Remover trying desperately to remove the crocodile casserole stains off his suit and tie.

Welles’ ghost took the phone.

After a long conversation, Welles’ ghost put the phone down.

“What is up, Senor Welles?” Athelstan asked.

“Apparently, that beluga whale that showed up in Norway that some people are calling a Russian spy wants to defect to the Norwegians,” Welles replied.

“And what does that have to do with you?” Set asked as he found out where Renfield kept his secret stash of bourbon (it was under the stairwell under a post office box marked HARRY POTTER Age 21) and helped himself to two bottles of bourbon.

“Apparently, the beluga whale doesn’t speak Norwegian,” Welles replied, “he only speaks Russian (which he learned at the Russian Navy’s Northern Fleet Headquarters in Murmansk where he was being taught to be a spy) and English. Apparently he learned English because his spy handler listened to my old radio programs that are available on the Internet. Shows like The Shadow, The Adventures of Harry Lime, and The Black Museum. He also liked a radio commercial ad I once did for Norwegian cod. Apparently it was that ad which inspired him to defect to Norway. While swimming towards Norwegian waters, he ran into the mermaid Miranda who had met Renfield once on the Israeli coast off Tel Aviv. Miranda told the beluga whale that while it is true that I’m dead, I was granted dispensational leave from Purgatory by Hades the god of the Underworld and I’m currently serving as a spirit advisor to Mr. Renfield along with the ghost of Sir Winston Churchill. The beluga wants to make his formal defection to the Norwegian government with me present.”

“Does that mean you’ll go to Norway and be out of my house for a while?” Set asked as he started working on his 99th bottle of bourbon.

“Yes,” Welles nodded, “If I can borrow one of your Persian flying carpets to fly to Norway.”

“Yes, go down to the Set Enterprises Laboratories and Rug Emporium and get one,” Set directed, “In the name of God, go.”

Welles’ ghost walked out the door and went out into the London night with his spectral fur coat adorning his huge spectral shoulders.

Set looked over into the armchair by the fireplace where Churchill’s ghost sat fast asleep and singing in his sleep, “Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Clementine, you are lost and gone forever, oh my darling Clementine.”

“Now, if I can only find a way to get rid of that one,” the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire pointed a bony finger at Churchill before falling to the floor in a drunken stupor.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday May 3rd 2019.

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The Maltese Falcon At Mar-A-Lago: A Poem

April 3, 2019 at 10:46 pm (Detective story, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, International Intrigue, Mystery, News, Poetry, Romance, Spy Tales, Technology, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Narrator of poem:

“How are ya, sweetheart?
I’m the ghost of Humphrey Bogart
I was recently challenged by my friend the ghost of Orson Welles
to see if I still got tough guy and private eye skills
that I used to have in my movies.

So I took him up on his challenge and headed down to Florida
The site of one of my popular films Key Largo
I heard about this swanky place down there called Mar-a-Lago
A private Palm Beach, Florida club owned by a temper tantrum throwing
spoiled brat billionaire named Donald Trump
Imagine my surprise when I heard this bozo
was also the President of the United States
The country has certainly gone down hill
since the days of Harry Truman
I figure.

Anyways a Chinese lady spy named Yujing Zhang
was arrested at the club trying to enter it with a
thumb drive containing malware
I had no idea what a thumb drive is
Thought it might be that a car was driven by your thumb
instead of both hands in this day and age
or maybe some newly designed form of golf club
they came up with that quite literally relies on the rule of thumb
And as for malware, I thought it was some guy named Mel Ware
who just might be the uncle of Token Ware
a female character in a Raymond Chandler Philip Marlowe story

I was set straight on the new developments in technology
by the ghosts of eccentric Serb-American inventor Nikola Tesla
and some British guy named Alan Turing
who made a name for himself in mathematics

Anyways it turns out this Yujing Zhang wasn’t the only femme fatale
causing intrigue down at Club Mar-a-Lago
Some woman named Li Cindy Yang is also involved
It turns out she owns a massage parlour
where prostitution is said to be going on
on the premises
One of her arrested johns was a Mr. Robert Kraft
the owner of a football team called The New England Patriots
The case is made even more interesting by the fact
that the team’s quarterback Tom Brady
claims he’s able to win football games
through the help of his wife
Gisele Bundchen
who’s a witch.

The whole thing reminds me of a film my friend Veronica Lake
made back in 1942
called I Married A Witch

So you can imagine my surprise when I walked through the door
of Club Mar-a-Lago
and saw the Maltese Falcon on the table
That old bird that appeared in the film by that title
That I starred in back in 1941

Around the table lay the bodies of various secret service agents
who had been completely drained of blood
A beautiful Chinese woman wearing a white evening dress
stood outside the club dining room window
in the middle of the pouring rain

“That most enchanting and intriguing woman is the Chinese Communist vampiress Mei-ling Manchu,”
The ghost of Orson Welles arrived in the nick of time
sipping a glass of red wine,
“She’s the daughter of Dr. Fu Manchu the famous scientist
whose exploits were written about in the novels of Sax Rohmer”.

“What’s she doing here?” I asked Welles.
Welles smiled, “She’s hidden a bunch of condoms owned by the Knights of Malta
in that Maltese Falcon.
That way when they’re found by law enforcement authorities
who are already on their way over here
The find will prove to be problematic and embarrassing
for both Donald Trump and Pope Francis
And the Chinese government will have killed two birds with one stone.”

“Well, that explains the pair of sunglass wearing dead pink flamingos I passed by on the lawn on the way in then,” I remarked
“Those are actually lawn ornaments knocked over by drunken country club members,” Welles finished his wine.

I noticed Mei-ling Manchu approach a fire-breathing Black Dragon
and crawl on to its back
“Off to Venezuela,” she said, “There to watch the Donald play his final Trump card before we divide this land between ourselves and the Russians.”
She and the Dragon flew off into the night sky

I walked outside to watch the Dragon and the vampiress depart
I looked down at the two pink flamingos and remarked to Welles,
“Well, I suppose the problems of two flamingos don’t amount to a hill of beans in this world.”
Welles lit himself a cigar and remarked, “Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday and soon.”
Some young woman named Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez stood outside the club and waved a document called the Green New Deal.

“Bogey on the 18th hole,” the ghost of Arnold Palmer remarked as he walked by with his golf clubs.

I laughed, patted Welles on the shoulder and said,
“You know, Orson, this could be the start of a beautiful friendship”
As we walked off into the misty greens.

-A poem and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday April 3rd
2019.

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Atargatis, Cleopatra and Robespierre’s Little Black Book

March 21, 2019 at 10:56 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, Gothic romance, International Intrigue, Mystery, Mythology, News, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

The ghosts of Orson Welles and Sir Winston Churchill (acting as emissaries of British MP Renfield R. Renfield) stood on top of Mount Hermon in the Golan Heights alongside Renfield’s ally the Byzantine vampiress Theodora.

As a result of Theodora’s dropping a mixture of ring worms and tape worms in Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s coffee the night before, the Turkish leader had spent the day scratching his ass while speaking in front of voters on the campaign trail causing the would be Ottoman sultan to look like a total idiot.

“I see Donald Trump has tweeted that the U.S. government is formally recognizing the Golan Heights as Israeli controlled rather than Israeli occupied,” Welles’ ghost remarked as he surveyed the landscape.

“I imagine Syria and her allies Iran and Russia will have something to say about that,” Theodora commented.

“But that fact has obviously not appeared on Donald Trump’s radar,” Churchill said as he chewed on his spectral cigar.

. . .

“Mr. President, your Norwegian blue parrot has just shit all over Air Force One’s radar,” the pilot of Air Force One gave a visual surveillance commentary to the usually inept and in need of explanation Donald Trump.

“Lexington,” Trump shouted to his British valet and butler as he tried to get parrot droppings out of his toupee, “would you put that blasted parrot back in his cage?”.

. . .


The Syro-Phoenician goddess mermaid Atargatis (in human form) looking for Maximilien Robespierre’s little black book in a book collector’s library of the 1930s

Atargatis had traveled back in time to New York City in 1939.

It had come to her attention that Maximilien Robespierre’s Little Black Book (in which he wrote down all the names of his enemies who were to be executed by the Committee of Public Safety) contained a prophecy given to Robespierre by a clairvoyant prostitute who once dressed up as the Goddess of Reason in Notre Dame Cathedral.


The Goddess of Reason had given a prophecy to Robespierre which he wrote down in his little black book.

The prophecy apparently involved the Golan Heights in the year 2019 and Atargatis who was working in alliance with the Syrians, the Iranians and the Russians desired to know what the prophecy was.

The last known location of Robespierre’s book was in the library of a New York City book collector Joffre Horton Hurtig.

No one knew what became of the book after 1940.

So Atargatis had used the CERN Large Hadron Collidor to travel back in time to the book collector’s library in 1939.


She located the book hiding behind another book in a bookshelf in his library.

“I see you have found Robespierre’s book,” Dracul Van Helsing spoke behind the goddess.

He had used the Houdini-Tesla-Welles-Lamarr prototype magic lantern film projector to travel back in time.

“You want the book as well, Van Helsing?” Atargatis asked.

“Indeed I do,” Van Helsing replied, “I’ll wrestle you for it.”

It was one Hell of a wrestling match.

. . .

In her mortal life, Cleopatra had been Queen of Egypt reigning as Cleopatra VII Philopator.

Today the resurrected Cleopatra served as the High Queen of Ireland although so far the world was unaware of her secret Druidic coronation on March 17th 2018.

“So what are we doing in Jerusalem?” Yaldabaoth the Irish leprechaun asked her.

“That my dear Yaldabaoth, you’re about to find out,” Cleopatra smiled and bore fangs like those of a snake.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday March 21st
2019.

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Semiramis and Dracul Van Helsing In 1890s San Francisco

March 9, 2019 at 9:27 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, Gothic, Gothic romance, History, International Intrigue, love, Mystery, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )


Semiramis the former Queen of Babylon in the San Francisco of the 1890s

Semiramis had been having dinner with British Prime Minister Theresa May discussing Brexit and the Irish border question when suddenly the ghost of the Rev. Ian Paisley (recently granted temporary dispensational release from Purgatory by Hades the Greek god of the Underworld) showed up complaining about the fact that there was indeed a Purgatory which the good reverend stated that he found very offensive to his Ulster style Presbyterian beliefs.

To top it off, Rev. Paisley complained that his little corner of Purgatory happened to be right next door to the little corner of Tartarus where Rodrigo Borgia (better known as Pope Alexander VI) was busy roasting away on his spit.

The debaucherous evil pontiff’s screams were keeping him awake at night, Rev. Paisley bellyached.

Rev. Paisley then glanced at Semiramis and the very short skirted mini dress she was wearing.

“Aren’t you the Whore of Babylon?” Rev. Paisley asked Semiramis as he clutched a rare first edition of Alexander Hislop’s The Two Babylons in his ghostly spectral hands.

Semiramis gave the Rev. Ian Paisley such a fierce slap across his ghostly spectral face that it sent the late former Northern Ireland politician flying all the way to European Commission headquarters in Brussels.

“Excuse me,” Semiramis addressed Theresa May as she ran off to the washroom.

“How dare that orangish little bigot call me a whore,” Semiramis applied a very deep scarlet coloured rouge red lipstick to her lips as she looked at her lovely beautiful reflection in the mirror.

The lipstick she was applying to her lips was her time travelling lipstick- lipstick that enabled her to travel anywhere in time.

“Take me to San Francisco in the 1890s,” she whispered as she closed her eyes.

Semiramis found herself in 1890s San Francisco dressed in a lovely and beautifully elegant dress and hat of that decade.

“Well, how about this for a coincidence?” Dracul Van Helsing looked up from the bed on which he had been lying.

Minutes before, he had been sent to this time and place by the CERN Large Hadron Collidor as a result of the ghosts of John F. Kennedy and Nikita Krushchev arguing over the controls at the site.

Van Helsing picked up Krushchev’s shoe and threw it out the hotel room window where it landed on one of Richard M. Nixon’s forebears who had gone shopping for new kitchen decor along with his wife.

“That sounds like lovely music the orchestra is playing in the hotel ballroom downstairs,” Semiramis flicked back her hair, “why don’t we go downstairs and dance and then come back up here and have tantric sex afterwards?”.

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Van Helsing got dressed.

Downstairs they danced to the Blue Danube Waltz of Johann Strauss.

The time travelling Nazi SS Ahnenerbe Occult Bureau vampire Franz Kohler entered the ballroom at that moment and noticed the pair.

Kohler was in the San Francisco of the 1890s investing in steam bath houses as, being from the future, he knew that investing in bath houses would prove to be a profitable investment in San Francisco.

“What a ravishingly beautiful woman,” Kohler looked longingly at Semiramis and seethed with jealousy at Van Helsing.

He recalled a lecture that he had once heard “that odious Jewish ghost” (in Kohler’s own words) of Sigmund Freud deliver in a London Masonic hall a few weeks ago in 2019, that Tammuz seemed to spend more time on the Viennese psychoanalyst’s couch down in Purgatory than anybody else.

He could see why.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday March 9th
2019.

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Reblog of General Custer’s Death and White Hawk’s Vision: A Poem

February 16, 2019 at 11:45 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, History, International Intrigue, Mystery, Mythology, News, Poetry, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , )

This is a re-blog of a poem I wrote last year:

Dracul Van Helsing

General Custer’s Death and White Hawk’s Vision: A Poem

White Hawk- Medicine Man of the Lakota Sioux Nation
He was there at Little Big Horn
The Battle of the Greasy Grass
He was there the day Custer died
The day Custer died for the sins
of corporate mining ⛏ interests
in the West
and white settler expansion

June 25th 1876
The day Custer entered Eternity
The day Custer went to the Hell
that does not exist
(according to a 21st Century Pope)

White Hawk watched Custer die
He heard the last words on Custer’s lips
“The White Buffalo is coming”
And then the eyes went blank
and stared into the Heavens
where his soul did not ascend

A year later outside his tepee
on a summer evening
as he smoked the sacred pipe
White Hawk had a vision
A vision of a White Buffalo

He spoke the vision to the…

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Saint Valentine’s Day 2019

February 14, 2019 at 11:56 pm (Espionage, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, Gothic, Gothic romance, History, International Intrigue, love, Mystery, Romance, Spy Tales, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

British MP Renfield R. Renfield had come up with yet another plan to bump off Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro.

He had co-ordinated the plan with the ghosts of Orson Welles and Sir Winston Churchill along with the Aztec vampire princess Qonzilqointec.

Before explaining the plan to Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing, Renfield pointed out the dangers of getting Maduro out of office with the help of a U.S. invasion of Venezuela or an American planned overthrow.

“As we know both being acute students of history,” Renfield explained, “America’s unique talent and gift to the world is its ability to make a country worse off than it was when it lived under a brutal dictator. This actually is a unique bit of creativity unsurpassed in the history of human stupidity. That disaster we call George W. Bush (aided and abetted by that disaster Tony Blair – an Englishman who fancied himself a French poodle to a former Texas governor) invaded Iraq to topple Saddam and succeeded in that but then plunged the country into years of sectarian violence and bloodshed that continues today. Those disasters we call Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton thought they could get Syria’s Bashar al-Assad out of power by encouraging the Syrian people and part of the Syrian Armed Forces to rise up in revolt against Assad. The result has been 8 years of bloody civil war which is still ongoing, Assad is still in power and if Vladimir Putin and the Iranians hadn’t intervened, large portions of Syria would still be under the control of the ISIS Islamic State. And then of course that disaster we call Bill Clinton ordering the NATO bombing of Serbia from March 24th 1999 to June 10th 1999 helped pave the way for Vladimir Putin to come to power in Russia. Then Russian President Boris Yeltsin was so upset by the way Bill “He couldn’t keep it in his pants” Clinton treated Russia’s long standing ally Serbia that Yeltsin spent the entire spring and summer of 1999 hiring and firing new Prime Ministers until Yeltsin finally decided on Putin as his Prime Minister in August 1999 and then named Putin his successor as President on December 31st 1999. So Bill in effect screwed his wife Hillary twice. Once when they had Chelsea and secondly when he bombed Serbia thus paving the way for Putin to take power in Russia which if we are to believe the whining and sniveling of the New York Times, The Washington Post and the Deep State within the U.S. government is the man ultimately responsible for Hillary’s defeat in 2016.”

“Karma’s returning to bite one in the ass always happens eventually,” Van Helsing acknowledged.

“So you see how it’s absolutely vital that a British Transhumanist MP such as myself working in concert with the ghosts of Sir Winston Churchill and Orson Welles do something to get Maduro out of power before the Americans try anything stupid,” Renfield pointed out.

“Time is indeed of the essence,” Dracul looked at his Latin numerals sundial wristwatch until he remembered it didn’t work indoors.

“So I want you to go over to the gymnasium at the Set Enterprises Laboratories and Rug Emporium Building and start to set things in motion with the Aztec vampire princess Qonzilqointec and by set things in motion,” Renfield admonished, “I don’t mean tantric sex with her.”

“Damn,” Dracul swore.

. . .

“So Lexington,” Donald Trump addressed his British butler and valet, “I gave Nancy Pelosi a Valentine’s Day present this year.

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” Lexington took off the Donald’s jacket.

“As you know today is the 90th Anniversary of Al Capone giving a Valentine’s Day present to Bugs Moran in a garage and warehouse in Chicago so I thought I’d do the same for Nancy,” Trump smiled.

Earlier that evening a group of Democratic Party supporters had gathered to sacrifice a new born baby to Baal/Moloch at a garage and warehouse in Washington DC.

Despite the best efforts of the hospital to ensure the baby wouldn’t survive birth, the baby managed to survive.

It was a health care debacle that would have provided existential angst to the likes of New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo and Virginia Gov. Ralph Northam.

Double angst for Gov. Northam as the baby was an Afro-American.

Although probably double angst for Gov. Cuomo as well but since northern white liberals do a much better job at hiding their racism than their southern white liberal counterparts, you wouldn’t have noticed the look of disappointment on the face of Mario’s son.

The baby was smuggled into the ceremony by a large “reproductive health” (as they euphemistically call themselves) provider to be sacrificed to Baal/Moloch for this evening’s ritual.

Outside the warehouse a group of Mammon and Mephistopheles worshipping Republicans (all members of the National Rife Association and vitriolic opponents of a nationally publicly funded single pay user health care system) stood ready to burst in on the pro-infanticide Baal and Baphomet worshipping Party of Death Democrats.

The signal was given.

And the NRA members went in with guns ablazing.

Soon all the Party of Death Democrats were dead.

Santa Muerte who had been at the ceremony eating enchiladas looked sad.

Miraculously the baby girl (who was to be sacrificed) managed to survive.

She was found by a traditionalist Catholic nun who had been walking in the neighbourhood.

Earlier in the day, the nun had been personally excommunicated by Pope Francis.

Now like George Eliot’s Silas Marner, she had found true gold.

. . .

On his way to the warehouse gymnasium at Set Enterprises, Dracul Van Helsing passed Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster who was crawling on his way towards Sherrielock Holmes’ office and carrying a large bouquet of roses in his lobster claws.

Dracul entered the gym and there saw Qonzilqointec:

And within minutes the gym was heating up with steam from the Valentine’s Day tantric sex between vampire hunter and vampire princess.

. . .

Amadeus Emanon was attending a Saint Valentine’s Night Evening Prayer service at Saint Genevieve’s Church- the Anglo-Catholic C. of E. Parish that he attended.

Delivering a short homily at the service was the Rev. Father Aidan Bury Saint Edmunds who was one of the Church of England’s leading exorcists.

“Saint Valentine,” Father Aidan noted, “was a Catholic priest who lived and worked in Rome in an age of severe persecutions. The Emperor Claudius II had ordered that Roman soldiers should not be allowed to marry so they could concentrate on war without a double mind. For that reason, the soldiers began living promiscuous lives. Saint Valentine ordered soldiers in his congregation to marry and he began wedding them secretly. For that reason, he was caught, imprisoned and executed on the 14th of February 270 AD.”

“Wow,” Amadeus thought to himself as he reached stealthily into his pocket to grab and eat a stick of licorice, “So there was no Cupid with bow and arrow in the original Saint Valentine story.”


Betty Grable as a female Cupid in a photo taken back in the 1940s.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday February 14th
2019

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Goddesses and Vampiresses On Saint Valentine’s Eve

February 13, 2019 at 11:58 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, Gothic, Gothic romance, International Intrigue, Mystery, Mythology, News, Romance, Spy Tales, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , )


The Persian goddess Anahita: A Saint Valentine’s Eve surprise for Canadian vampire hunter Dracul Van Helsing

Dracul Van Helsing was down at the Set Enterprises Laboratories and Rug Emporium on London’s Canary Wharf.

He was there to return a Persian flying carpet that the ghost of Orson Welles had borrowed to fly to Chicago and avoid all the heavy snowstorms that had recently been occurring at Chicago’s O’ Hare Airport.

As he walked into the head office of the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set’s Persian carpet warehouse partner the Persian goddess Anahita, she was there waiting for him:

Anahita: Good evening, Mr. Van Helsing.

She raised her dress and touched her legs as if she was doing a TV commercial for Venus Leg Care Products from Gillette.

“Soon Venus will be the only products that Gillette makes for both women and men,” Dracul remarked as he gazed at her.

Anahita lay back on the floor, “I hear that New England Patriots quarterback Tom Brady while being shaved at Gillette Headquarters in Boston announced to the world that his wife Gisele Bundchen was a witch but a good witch who helps him win football games through the use of altars, candles, rituals, declarations of intent, healing stones and mantras.”

“I hear the same,” Dracul put down the magic carpet, “and a friend of mine in Huntsville, Alabama tells me that Gisele’s grandfather (or was it her great-grandfather?) was a Nazi SS officer who fled to Brazil from Germany after the war. An SS officer who participated in the highest Nazi satanic SS rituals.”

“Generational witchcraft,” Anahita sighed, “so what spirits is Gisele communing with?”.

“I have no idea,” Dracul answered, “and I do not intend to find out.”

“Did you know that David’s son King Solomon practiced witchcraft and sorcery?” Anahita ran her hands through her hair.

“So I’ve been told,” Dracul replied, “which is probably why the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite of Freemasonry has been so anxious to see Solomon’s Temple rebuilt.”

“Did you ever time travel to Solomon’s original Temple?” Anahita asked.

“I did,” Dracul nodded.

“And did you enter Solomon’s Temple?” She asked him with a knowing and inviting smile.

“That I did,” the vampire hunter’s answer was affirmative.

“And would you like to enter my temple?” Anahita licked her lips and raised her dress.

“I would,” Dracul spoke the truth.

Next door in the weightlifting room as Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster was working out and lifting weights in an effort to impress his crush Sherrielock Holmes, the voice of Frank Sinatra could be heard on the crustacean’s iPhone singing, “That old black magic has me in its spell…”

Dracul entered Anahita’s temple.

. . .

“And where are you going, Count?” the ancient Babylonian vampiress Lilith asked Dracula on the forest trail through the Carpathians as she saw him approach.

“Lilith!” Dracula was astounded.

It had been centuries since she had turned him into a vampire.

Both wolves and ravens turned and fled from the site of this reunion.

. . .


“Thank you, your Eminence,” Allatallahbel the Vampiress Priestess of Baal addressed the kabbalistic practicing Cardinal Samhain Salaman.

“You are welcome,” the Cardinal bowed.

“That alchemical ritual you performed with the blood I gave you makes me look even younger than my usual young self,” Allatallahbel smiled.

“The blood you gave me in that test tube helped,” said Samhain Cardinal Salaman, “whose blood was it anyways?”.

“Ariana Grande’s,” Allatallahbel licked her vampiric incisors.


Ariana Grande: Her blood provided youthful rejuvenation to Allatallahbel the Vampiress Priestess of Baal.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday February 13th
Saint Valentine’s Eve
2019.

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