Carson Cody Albion Meets Princess Arabella

January 4, 2021 at 11:52 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Mythology, News, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )


The world famous belly dancer Princess Arabella in Cairo Egypt in 1949

Los Angeles Private Eye Carson Cody Albion was spending his holidays in Egypt.

After seeing the pyramids and sailing along the Nile, Albion returned to Cairo.

In his hotel lobby, a thorougly inebriated British businessman told Albion he should go to the Qadshu Bazaar Nightclub and see the belly dancer Princess Arabella.

“Is she a real princess?” Albion asked as he lit himself a cigarette.

“She has no royal blood in her,” the businessman explained, “but she definitely is a princess of dance.”

The businessman then fell face forward into the lobby fountain where he was swallowed by a giant goldfish.

“That’s the seventh time this week that’s happened to one of our hotel guests,” the hotel manager pulled his hair out.

Albion walked down to the Qadshu Bazaar Nightclub to see Princess Arabella as the dancer was called.

He very much enjoyed her show.

Afterwards he walked backstage to her dressing room:

“Did you enjoy the show, Mr. Albion?” She asked him as she smiled.

“You’ve heard of me?” Albion was surprised.

“Carson Cody Albion,” the Princess enunciated each one of his names very carefully, “The Egyptian goddess Isis spoke of you as did the Syro-Phoenician goddess Atargatis and Semiramis the Queen of Babylon”.

“You seem to get around in divine and semi-divine circles,” Albion lit a cigarette and adjusted his private eye fedora hat atop his head.

“I’m not really a princess,” she smiled.

“So I was told by a thoroughly inebriated pinnacle of British commerce and trade prior to his being swallowed by a goldfish,” Albion blew smoke rings.

“I’m a goddess,” she lay back on her chair.

“I would agree with that epithet,” Albion gazed down appreciately at her.

“The goddess Asherah,” she laughed.

“I’ll have to look up that name in my mythology encyclopedia when I get back to LA,” Albion wrote down her name on his matchbook that had the logo and the name for Qadshu Bazaar Nightclub.

“Why don’t you look me up here while you have the chance?” She walked over to her dressing room couch and lay back on it.

“I like your quick action style of thinking,” Albion took off his fedora and raincoat.

“Well let’s hope you’re a quick action man who takes it nice and slow when it comes to the most important part,” she licked her lips.

“Your Divine Essence,” one of the nightclub waiters entered her dressing room, “one of our guests Yaldabaoth the Irish leprechaun seems to have choked to death while eating our world famous Alexandrian mollusks. What are we to do?”.

“Alexandrian mollusks are one of a few things that’s positively fatal to normally immortal leprechauns,” Asherah/Arabella, who had read the Irish High King Brian Boru’s Medieval Treatise On Leprechaun Ailments, remarked.

“Is there anything we can do to resurrect him and bring him back from the dead?” The waiter asked, “Having an Irish leprechaun die on the premises will bring bad publicity and be bad for business. The assistant manager has already impaled himself in shame on the spear of the statue of Vlad the Impaler that the bazaar sculptor is working on in his bazaar workshop tent.”

“Giving him a mixture of juniper, cucumber and damask rose is guaranteed to bring a leprechaun back from the dead,” Asherah/Arabella smiled, “or so Asclepius told me just before the Greek god Zeus killed him with a thunderbolt.”

Albion wrote down that remedy for resurrection of leprechauns in his souvenir Qadshu Bazaar Nightclub matchbook just on the off chance it might be needed someday.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday January 4th
2021.

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South Seas Christmas

December 5, 2020 at 11:32 pm (Poetry) (, , , , , , )

It was December 1946
And the war in the Pacific
had been over for a year
So Carson Cody Albion
Private Eye
Who lived and worked in
Los Angeles
But usually spent his Decembers
In winter wonderlands
To recapture the Christmas feelings
of his childhood
Had this year
decided to spend his December
in the South Pacific

As he had always dreamed of someday
visiting the South Seas
And so why not spend a Christmas
in the South Seas?
And so he had taken a ship
And landed here on a beautiful
South Seas island

And so here he was
In the South Pacific
In December
On a South Seas island
Paradise

It was a moonlit night
He was on the beach
Under the shade of a palm tree
Since there was no sun
There was no need for him to be
In the shade of a palm tree
But no matter

Within his view
Was a nearby island
That was a dormant volcano
At least he hoped
It was a dormant volcano
Otherwise his South Seas
Christmas holiday
Might turn out to be
An even bigger blast
Than he had
originally expected

From his viewpoint and perspective
In the nightsky
To the left of the dormant island volcano
Were clouds that appeared to be reindeer
Pulling Santa and his sleigh
Full of presents

It was a bit early for Santa to be flying
Another 20 days
Until the midnight hour of Christmas Eve
But maybe he was getting an early start

Albion sipped his coconut milk
Straight from a coconut
And said,
Merry Christmas to all
And to all
A good night.

-A Carson Cody Albion poem
written by Christopher
Saturday December 5th
2020.

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A Date With Destiny

November 28, 2020 at 11:28 pm (Detective story, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Intrigue, News, Poetry, Vampire novel) (, , , , , )

It was approaching Christmas 1940
Less than a month away
And Carson Cody Albion
Private Eye
And resident of
Los Angeles, California
decided to spend
Christmas
Like the Christmas of his childhood
Surrounded by crisp white snow on the ground
And glistening frost on the trees

As such he decided to spend Christmas
In the blue Canadian Rockies
On the banks of Lake Louise
Well it wasn’t exactly Lake Louise
But it was a beautiful townhouse chalet
In the beautiful mountain town of Banff
Not far from Lake Louise

He looked up at the clock
And watched the ticking of it
His mind seemed to be transported
forward in time
How far forward he did not know
But he was traveling with a father and a son
In a car
But a car far different from any he had seen

They were traveling across the high plains
of Washington State
Past Electric City
where the father remarked
Not quite the metropolis people hoped it would become
When it was built not far
From the Grand Coulee Dam
And the hydroelectric generating facility there
Past Lake Roosevelt
The lake created by the dam

What was this Electric City?
What was this Grand Coulee Dam?
Carson Cody Albion wondered.
A Lake Roosevelt?
In Washington state?

The father and son drove along the road
They had left what seemed to be desert country
And were now traveling through farmland
On a distant hill they could see what appeared
to be an abandoned one room schoolhouse
On top of the hill

On the side of the schoolhouse
Was faded ancient lettering
That read “Class of ’41”
I suppose, the son remarked,
That school was closed
shortly after the last class there
The Class of ’41 had graduated.
Little did that class of ’41
know the struggles they were about to face
And how the world they knew
Would change forever.

Albion thought to himself
Surely there were no one room schoolhouses
In Washington state (then a territory)
In 1841.
The class of ’41 they were talking about
Must surely be the class that graduated
In June 1941
Next year Albion reflected.

Albion’s mind returned to the present
His present
The last days of November 1940
He turned on the radio

The radio was delivering news bulletins
From the date May 10th 1940
Germany had just invaded
Belgium, France, Luxembourg
and the Netherlands
Neville “Peace in our time” Chamberlain
has just resigned as British Prime Minister
And Winston Churchill has just been summoned
to Buckingham Palace
There in the presence of King George VI
to be sworn in as Prime Minister
and to preside over a wartime UK
coalition government

After being sworn in,
Churchill later talks
to a BBC radio reporter,
“I feel all my life
I have been walking with destiny
And that all my life has
been but a trial and preparation
for this hour…”

The radio seemed to move forward
In time to a month later
June 18th 1940
When Churchill was giving a speech
In Parliament
Giving a summation of the impending Battle of Britain
“This was their finest hour…”

Albion then looked over towards the chair
By the window
And noticed a beautiful woman sitting there
Dressed in the most beautiful dress
And the finest shoulder length
Black leather gloves

Albion had no idea
How the woman got there
He had never even seen her enter the room
And believe me, Albion thought to himself,
She’s definitely one woman you would notice
enter a room.

“Who are you?” He asked her.

The woman smiled and answered, “I am Destiny”

Albion walked over to her
And embraced Destiny.

-A Carson Cody Albion
narrative poem
written by Christopher
Saturday November 28th
2020.

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Carson Cody Albion En Route To The Los Angeles Civic Grand Opera

October 7, 2020 at 11:00 pm (Arts, Entertainment, Film, Short Story) (, , , , , )

The year was 1948.

And Los Angeles Private Eye Carson Cody Albion had earned himself two tickets to the Los Angeles Civic Grand Opera.

The newly formed company would be mounting its first production – a performance of Verdi’s Rigoletto in a church hall in Beverly Hills.

The two tickets Albion had received were payment for a case in which Albion had tracked down a valuable stolen piece of furniture made by Hollywood furniture maker Francesco Pace.

Pace was the man who started the company and was its first director.

Albion accepted the tickets because he realized Pace was putting all his money into getting the opera company up and running.

It was fortunate for Pace that Albion was an opera lover.

Albion asked an up-and-coming young Hollywood actress Eva Roman if she would be his date for the evening.

Eva agreed.

They went for drinks before the opera at The Tropical Nights Lounge in Beverley Hills .

Actor Orson Welles came strolling through the door and strolled up to the couple.

“Carson, Eva,” Welles asked, “How are you doing?”.

“We’re off to see Verdi’s Rigoletto being performed by the new Los Angeles Civic Grand Opera Company,” Eva answered.

“Well,” Welles smiled, “Do beware of licentious Dukes of Mantua and hunch-backed court jesters when you’re attending the performance.”

“Will do,” Albion sipped his bourbon, “How about court jester’s daughters named Gilda?”.

Welles winced.

“I’m sorry, Orson,” Albion apologized, “I forgot Rita’s most popular performance was as Gilda.”

The Rita to whom Albion was referring was Rita Hayworth who was Orson’s ex-wife whom Welles had recently divorced.

Rita Hayworth had played Gilda in the 1946 film titled Gilda.

Gilda was also the name of the court jester’s daughter who gave up her life to save the Duke of Mantua (whom she loved) when she protected him from the assassin that her father Rigoletto had hired to kill him.

“It’s all right, Carson,” Welles took his usual glass of red wine from the Tropical Nights bartender, “I was an ass for spending more time in my thoughts and ideas for new movies than I was in giving my wife the attention she deserved. It was as my barber once said to me, genius can have its draw backs.”

Welles took his glass of wine and went and sat in a booth by himself.

“You know,” the bartender wiped the bar, “There but for the grace of God goes God.”

Albion did not smile or laugh.

It was a remark often said in Hollywood about Welles.

“The path of genius can be lonely at times,” Eva remarked.

“It can, indeed,” Albion looked over at Welles.

Albion looked at his watch as Eva put her stole over her shoulders.

The pair headed out to the performance of Rigoletto.

Welles continued to sit in the booth alone with his thoughts.

The bartender made a Shanghai Sling for a customer.

Welles watching could not help notice the irony of the drink being made.

“The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” Welles thought.

He finished his wine, left his money on the table and left.

He walked past a movie theatre showing a poster of the film he and his ex-wife Rita had made together before their divorce The Lady From Shanghai.

The theatre ticket cashier looked at Welles as he walked by.

She thought to herself what others had thought, “There but for the grace of God goes God.”

-A short story written by Christopher
Wednesday October 7th 2020.

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The Beautiful Annabel Lee

August 14, 2020 at 11:08 pm (Detective story, Geopolitics and International Relations, Gothic, International Intrigue, Literature, News, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )


The beautiful Annabel Lee walked up the stairs of the old mansion

Carson Cody Albion the Los Angeles Private Eye was working on an unusual case.

He had recently been hired by a Dr. Lionel Jarrett who was a Professor of Classics at the University of Saskatchewan in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada to check out an old allegedly haunted mansion in San Francisco.

Dr. Jarrett, from Albion’s understanding of the man, often engaged in unusual research.

Jarrett had recently tracked down an oil painting of the Greek mythological tragic figure Medusa that had been painted by writer Oscar Wilde.

Albion had received an email from Dr. Jarrett last night.

The collector of rare and unusual antiquities had just purchased the Wilde painting of Medusa from an art gallery in London, England called The Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery.

In addition to tracking down Wilde’s paintings of mythological themes, Dr. Jarrett was also interested in the writings and life of writer Edgar Allan Poe.

Poe apparently knew a woman named Annabel Lee in Baltimore in 1849, Dr. Jarrett discovered from examining a collection of letters from a family called Lee.

Annabel found the writer somewhat creepy and therefore left Baltimore for California.

Annabel told a friend to tell Poe that she (Annabel) had died so he wouldn’t follow her to California.

Poe apparently didn’t take the news of Annabel Lee’s death very well.

Although he did write a good poem from it.

Even creepily imagining that they had known one another since youth.

Annabel Lee went to San Francisco where she apparently bought herself a beautiful mansion.

A few years later she died in an unusual thunder storm when she was struck by lightning.

People to this day, apparently, still report seeing her ghost walking up the stairs of her San Francisco mansion.

Dr. Jarrett had asked Albion to visit the mansion to see if he could get a photo of her ghost.

Albion had gone to the mansion with an old black and white camera.

At the stroke of midnight, she appeared walking up the elegant stairwell of the old mansion.

. . .

“You know what’s crazy, man?” Joe Biden in his basement was addressing his pet pot smoking desert cactus plant Sweet Dementia, “I had a dream last night where the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe appeared to me and put a ghostly spectral millstone around my neck. Why would he put a millstone around my neck?”.

Sweet Dementia said nothing but continued to exhale marijuana smoke.

. . .

As Carson Cody Albion was taking a photo of the beautiful Annabel Lee’s ghost, British MP Renfield R. Renfield was in London reading a dossier that the Set Enterprises Intelligence Unit had put together on Joe Biden’s Vice-Presidential running mate Kamala Harris.

Apparently when Ms. Harris was San Francisco District Attorney from 2004 to 2011, she refused to prosecute cases of priests’ sexual abuse within the Archdiocese of San Francisco.

Not one single case did she prosecute.

She was the only District Attorney among all the District Attorneys in the top 50 metropolitan areas across the U.S. not to lay any charges against Catholic clergy for valid accusations of sexual abuse.

If you looked at the top 50 metropolitan areas in the U.S during that time period of 2004 to 2011, 49 of those prosecuted at least one case, the sole exception being Kamala Harris in San Francisco.

Who prosecuted not a single case.

After first being elected District Attorney, Ms. Harris terminated her predecessor’s plans to publicly release “clergy abuse files” naming names of priests accused of sexual abuse.

Her predecessor Terence Hallinan talked about the fact that he was going to pursue prosecutions. He was going to release records to the public as had been done in various other jurisdictions across the country.

Unfortunately for Mr. Hallinan and the numerous victims of priestly sexual abuse in the San Francisco Archdiocese, Hallinan lost the 2003 election to Kamala Harris.

When Kamala Harris came in, she deep-sixed those documents and put them under seal so they could never be released publicly.

Why would Kamala Harris do this?, Renfield wondered as he turned the page.

The next page had the answer.

The law firms and lawyers who represented the Archdiocese of San Francisco gave large contributions to Harris’ political campaign.

Some of them had never given contributions to a District Attorney electoral race before but they loaded up her campaign coffers.

Money talks like the old saying goes.

Renfield read further.

. . .

Kamala Harris screamed when she woke up in her hotel room.

For standing there was the ghost of Edgar Allan Poe holding a ghostly spectral millstone.

Poe’s ghost put the spectral ghostly millstone around her neck.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Friday August 14th
2020.

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The Vicar of Morwenstow

July 8, 2020 at 10:51 pm (Detective story, Folklore, History, Poetry, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

Carson Cody Albion Private Eye
was walking through the Morwenstow parish district
of Cornwall in England
He had been hired by a wealthy American to track down traces of Arthurian lore

And that mission had brought him to this wild and desolate
but beautiful part of this “sceptered isle”
Here the Church of Saint Morwenna stood
A church built in the Norman period
to honour Saint Morwenna
a Welsh princess and Saint
who lived in the district

The most famous Vicar of Morwenstow
was Rev. Robert Stephen Hawker
The man who introduced the Harvest Festival to the Church of England
A commemoration that soon spread to all parts of the worldwide Anglican communion
Rev. Hawker was also the author of The Song of The Western Men
which is the unofficial anthem of the Duchy of Cornwall
with its stirring lines
“And shall Trelawny die?/ Here’s twenty thousand Cornish men/ Will know the reason why!/”

Rev. Hawker was a noted eccentric among his 19th Century rural Cornwall congregants
Known for wearing colourful bright colours
And the only traditional clerical black things he wore
were his socks
Rev. Hawker also built himself a small hut known as Hawker’s Hut
on the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean

Here it was said that he was visited by Saint Morwenna who spoke to him
Albion thought to himself that these visits would certainly be condemned by most Protestants as necromancy and spiritism
That she who claimed to be Saint Morwenna was actually a demon in disguise would be their argument

But such was not the view behind the term Communion of Saints an expression recited in both the Apostle’s and Nicene Creeds
For the Catholic Church, the Eastern Orthodox and Anglo-Catholic Anglicans and Episcopalians believe that with Christ’s Death and Resurrection,
the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead
had been radically thinned
Whereas prior to Christ’s Death and Resurrection, there had indeed
been the spiritual equivalent of a brick wall between the living and the dead
Therefore condemnations of necromancy as in Deuteronomy Chapter 18
and Samuel’s spirit’s rebuke to King Saul
when Samuel himself was actually brought forth
from the realm of Sheol
much to the surprise of the Witch of Endor
were perfectly justified

To deliberately seek out the spirits of the dead
and try to consult them
was still necromancy and spiritism
but if God allowed the spirits of the departed
in paradise and Heaven
to visit mortals on Earth
nothing unholy is taking place
provided it’s done on God’s terms
and not through some occultic invocation
on the part of some mortal would-be recipient

The ironic thing is because most Protestants
particularly those of a Calvinistic disposition
did not have the consolation of the Communion of Saints
as noted in the Apostle’s and Nicene Creeds
some Protestants would actually go to spiritist
mediums and seances to find out if their loved ones are all right
Thereby breaking the Deuteronomy 18 prohibition against necromancy

It was at a seance at his Irish family castle in 1830
that John Nelson Darby the future founder of the Plymouth Brethren
was visited by a “ghost” who told him that Christian believers
would be raptured before the Great Tribulation
and they would escape many of the plagues, natural calamities and persecutions prophesied in the Book of Revelation

John Nelson Darby’s “seance ghostly” revelation of a pre-Tribulation rapture
would be made popular in a book published by Hal Lindsay 50 years ago in 1970
although it is doubtful that Lindsay was aware of the occultic necromantic origins of Darby’s pre-Trib rapture theory
Although whether Scofield the translator and author of the Scofield Reference Bible was unaware is another matter

Christ asked His Apostles the question that when He returned, would He find Faith on the Earth?
The answer being that He would probably not.
I guess if one is expecting to be raptured before all Hell breaks loose on the Earth (like Darby’s ghostly seance visitor promised Darby)
and it doesn’t happen like the (unholy) ghost of Darby’s seance promised
then one would lose faith in Christ (who never actually promised a pre-Tribulation rapure).

As for Saint Morwenna herself,
she was the daughter of a Welsh king Brychan Brycheiniog
She had crossed over to Cornwall
and made her home in a little hermitage at Hennacliff (the Raven’s Crag)
It stands near the top of a high cliff overlooking the Atlantic
where the sea is constantly stormy
and when it is not stormy, the coast of her native Wales can be seen.

Her father King Brychan knew the real historical King Arthur
Whether Saint Morwenna told Rev. Hawker about the real historical Arthur or not
Albion could only speculate
For Hawker did begin a poem about Arthur in 1864
called The Quest of The Sangraal
a poem he never finished

Albion went to a teashop near Morwenstow to meet his girlfriend
There to begin their own quest for the Sangraal

-A poem and vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday July 8th
The Feast Day of Saint Morwenna
2020.

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A Banyan Tree Grows On The Moon

March 29, 2020 at 11:10 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, love, Mythology, News, Poetry, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , )

A Banyan Tree Grows On The Moon

Walking the streets of Honolulu in 1946
Was Los Angeles private eye Carson Cody Albion 
He was on vacation 
After having solved the mysterious case of the Blue Velvet Dandelion
back in LA 

He walked through some of the crafts shops in the city 
He noticed one belonging to a man who made ships in a bottle
Carson entered the store and looked around
He noticed one ship in a bottle that attracted his attention

“What ship is this?” Albion asked the craftsman
“The Santa Maria,” the craftsman replied 
“The Santa Maria?” Carson looked at the ship in the bottle, “That was Christopher Columbus’ flagship in 1492 on his journey to the New World wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” the craftsman nodded.
“I’ll take it,” Albion paid the craftsman 

He walked out of the store and on to the avenue
An elderly Hawaiian woman was at a stand selling coconuts 
The private eye looked at the coconuts but wasn’t hungry at the moment 
So he didn’t buy.

“A Banyan tree grows on the moon,” the coconut woman shouted after him.
“What?” Albion walked back to her.
“A Banyan tree grows on the moon,” she repeated.
“Oh, okay,” Albion figured that the woman had been adding too much rum to her coconut milk 
and decided to continue walking 

“What are you planning to do with that ship in a bottle that’s in your shopping bag?” The woman asked him.
Albion wondered how she knew there was a ship in a bottle in his shopping bag
However he answered, “I don’t know”.

“Here’s a small piece of Kapa cloth,” the woman handed him just that,
“Take this pen and write on it what I have told you, “A Banyan tree grows on the moon”. Then put the Kapa cloth with the message in the bottle alongside the ship and throw it in the ocean where the waves will carry it where it may.”

It was a strange request but Albion felt compelled to comply
That night as the Hawaiian moon shone bright on the shore and sands, he threw the bottle with the ship, Kapa cloth and message into the ocean.

It was a late March night in 2020
The streets of London were deserted because of the countrywide lockdown over the Coronavirus 
but Dracul Van Helsing had a paper signed by Boris Johnson
granting him permission to walk the streets
To rid the city of any evil nocturnal creatures 

As Dracul walked along the banks of the Thames
He noticed a small bottle floating close to the shore
The vampire hunter picked it up
It appeared to be very old 
And it almost had the appearance of having travelled all over the world 
How did it wind up here on the Thames? he wondered.

He looked inside the bottle 
He recognized the ship as being the Santa Maria
He pulled out the small piece of Kapa cloth and noticed the message on it

“A Banyan tree grows on the moon,” Dracul read aloud.

He went back to his London apartment 
Carrying the ship in the bottle and its message with him
He went inside the room he used as an office 
And saw this vision

“Who are you?” Dracul asked.

“I am Mahina the Hawaiian and Polynesian goddess of the moon”

The woman answered.

-A narrative poem 
and vampire novel chapter 
written by Christopher
Sunday March 29th
2020.

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Yaldabaoth and Morrigan

February 10, 2020 at 11:45 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Mystery, Mythology, Romance, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , )

Yaldabaoth and Morrigan

Yaldabaoth the Irish leprechaun looked exceedingly pleased with himself as he was nestled in the arms of Morrigan the Irish Celtic goddess of war.

The year was 1955.

The place Monte Carlo.

And Yaldabaoth the Irish leprechaun had been cleaning up at the roulette tables.

House management had become concerned.

Unfortunately their regular house detective had been killed in a shoot out last month involving the American CIA, the Soviet KGB, the IRA (Irish Republican Army), the California Harper Valley PTA (Parent-Teachers’ Association) and the American IRS (Internal Revenue Service).

The IRS must have emerged the winner.

Because the IRS operative put a hand in the house detective’s pocket, pulled out a stone and squeezed blood out of the stone into a jar (that had a piece of paper written on the jar’s outside saying For Uncle Sam).

After an hour the stone no longer cosmologically or ontologically existed and the large jar was filled to the top with blood.

The house detective was buried in a grotto honouring the goddess Fortuna.

Los Angeles Private Eye Carson Cody Albion was hired by the casino to serve as house detective until a replacement for the deceased fellow could be found.

So far no one was willing to take the job.

Because Jocasta a parent representative on the California Harper Valley PTA (who was quite overly protective of her son) was one nasty target shooting markswoman.

Fortunately for Carson Cody Albion, he had been turned into an immortal by Atargatis the Syro-Phoenician goddess back in the early 1940s.

So Jocasta’s bullets didn’t amount to much.

Although after missing Albion, they did strike and kill a Ph.D student in Psychology who was doing his doctoral dissertation on the theories of Sigmund Freud and his analysis of the connection between the male libido and psyche.

When Albion opened the hotel room door, he saw Yaldabaoth in the arms of Morrigan.

“Other guests in the hotel have been complaining about the sound of spanking coming from this room,”
Albion said.

“That is strange,” Yaldabaoth admitted.

“May I inquire, sir, as to why both your pants and underpants are on the floor and your bottom seems to be glowing like the fireflies of a warm August night?” Albion asked.

“I must confess I’m at a loss for words,” Yaldabaoth answered.

Morrigan reached over to the dresser, pulled a dictionary off it and handed it to the leprechaun.

“Even more than the sound of spanking,” Albion cleared his throat, “management is concerned about your constant winning at the roulette wheel.”

“It is the luck of the Irish, it is,” Yaldabaoth grinned.

“Our detectors detected a magnet coming from your direction,” Albion stated.

“Ah, for sure ’tis my magnetic personality,” the leprechaun smiled, “overflowing like the River Shannon after a week of spring rains.”

“What about this magnet on your belt?” The detective picked up the leprechaun’s pants.

“As Saint Patrick is my witness, I don’t know how that got there,” the leprechaun protested.

“But Saint Patrick isn’t here to be your witness,” Morrigan pointed out.

“Shibboleth, I don’t know what to say,” Yaldabaoth shook his head.

“You might start by improving the pronunciation of your conversational ancient Hebrew,” Albion noted.

The detective had recently taken a course in conversational ancient Hebrew.

“I know how to punish Yaldabaoth for his offences,” Morrigan once again took the leprechaun over her knee.

“I’ll show myself out,” Albion remarked as he went over to the door, opened it and exited.

-A vampire novel chapter 
written by Christopher
Sunday January 19th
2020
Finally posted on 
Monday February 10th
2020.
The Morrigan-Yaldabaoth the
Irish leprechaun story for Anonymole.

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Carson Cody Albion and The Zombies of 1950s Havana

January 26, 2020 at 11:59 pm (Detective story, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Intrigue, Mystery/horror, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , )

Carson Cody Albion and The Zombies of 1950s Havana

The year was 1956.

Fidel Castro and Ernesto Che Guevara were busy working on their plans to topple the Cuban government of President Fulgencio Batista.

Britain, France and Israel would attack Egypt over the Suez Canal.

And John George Diefenbaker would win the leadership of the Canadian Federal Progressive Conservative Party.

The last good leader the Federal Progressive Conservatives would ever have.

And the last good Prime Minister Canada would ever have.

So naturally he was a threat to the Canadian establishment and elites as well as the U.S. State Department.

The State Department got global bankers and investors to sabotage the value of the Canadian dollar during the 1963 Canadian election campaign so Diefenbaker would be blamed for it and lose the election.

Which is what happened.

Canadian Federal Liberal Party leader Lester Bowles (should really have been spelled Bowels) Pearson became Prime Minister of Canada in 1963 and eventually paved the way for Marxist-Leninist Cultural Marxist Pierre Elliot Trudeau (should really be spelled Turdeau) to become Prime Minister in 1968 and to set forth plans for the destruction of Canada as a great nation.

The destruction became complete when Progressive Conservative Party leader Brian Mulroney (should really be spelled Bulroney) was elected Prime Minister of Canada in 1984.

Bulroney was so obnoxious, he drove the Federal Progressive Conservative Party of Canada to extinction to be replaced by the Reform Party later Canadian Alliance Party and later just plain Conservative Party of Canada.

So Diefenbaker was Canada’s last great hope before the onset of political zombies (mindless living dead corpses who went around eating brains) on to the Canadian political landscape which governed the country ever since.

And speaking of zombies, Cuban casinos were having a problem with zombies in that year of 1956.

Zombies were entering the casinos and frightening customers.

As well as stealing cash from the casino safes and safety deposit boxes.

A meeting of Cuban casino owners was held in the Glowing Sun and Burning Sands Whorehouse in Havana to discuss the problem.

A follow up meeting was held in the city’s Sexually Transmitted Diseases Clinic waiting room.

It was agreed to call in Los Angeles Private Eye Carson Cody Albion to investigate the problem.

Albion was recommended to the Havana Casino Owners group by a Monte Carlo casino owner (who had employed Albion as a house detective in a Monte Carlo casino and hotel the year before).

Albion arrived in Havana the following week.

After spending an evening drinking Cuba Libres in a Havana bar with a couple of interesting fellows named Fidel and Che, Carson Cody Albion set to work on the case.

Meanwhile in an Anglican Church in Havana that served British and Commonwealth diplomatic staff at the city’s embassies, an intensely stupid looking man with fish eyes and weird looking silver hair (that would have easily given Donald Trump’s urine golden coloured toupee a run for its money) sat playing the organ.

The man’s name was Keith Bennett.

Although that wasn’t the man’s real name.

His real name was Armilius Wolfstein a Nazi scientist (but not a very bright Nazi scientist unlike many of the evil geniuses of the Third Reich) who served as a somewhat dim witted assistant to the evil and notorious Dr. Josef Mengele.

Armilius Wolfstein fled to Argentina when the Second World War ended.

Wolfstein had had an interesting history.

He lived in Munich in the 1920s where he had tried unsuccessfully to apply to various universities and post-secondary institutions in the city.

He landed a job as a commercial and advertising salesman for a newspaper and magazine publishing firm in the city.

He had a friend Kitz Mjolnir (like the hammer of Thor) who lived in Munich.

When Kitz’s father died and the Mjolnir family estate was sold, Kitz had taken a small preliminary payout from the Estate to move to Berlin where he hoped to get into that city’s burgeoning film industry.

Armilius Wolfstein had told Kitz that if he ever needed help or decided to move back to Munich to get in touch with him and he’d move an arm and a leg to help him out.

While Kitz was in Berlin, his father’s Estate lawyer in Munich, either due to being a crook or due to gross incompetence, had absconded with most of the Estate funds.

Kitz was now left with nothing.

Unable to pursue his chance of a film career in Berlin and unable to land a job, Kitz returned to Bavaria.

But to the city of Regensburg.

Having trouble settling down in Regensburg, Kitz decided to move back to Munich but would need help finding a place.

He recalled Armilius Wolfstein’s offer to help so wrote him a letter.

Being the pompous asshole that Armilius Wolfstein was, Wolfstein had replied to Kitz with an arrogant and condescending letter.

Kitz thought of writing a letter in which he’d tell Wolfstein that he (Wolfstein) was so full of shit that if they gave him an enema before he died, they could bury him in a cigar box.

But he decided not to waste time in replying to such a venereal disease infested piece of rubbish.

So having stabbed a friend in the back, Wolfstein went on to join the German National Socialist Workers’ Party (the Nazis).

. . .

When the Nazis succeeded in taking power in Germany in 1933, Wolfstein like numerous misfits across the country was able to land a job by acting as a total brown shirted brown noser to the Nazi Party and moved into a position of importance, power and prestige.

He became a lab assistant to Dr. Josef Mengele although he bragged to friends and acquaintances that he was a scientist.

He assisted Mengele in performing the various inhumane experiments that the Nazis’ Dr. Death performed on individuals belonging to groups that the Third Reich had deemed and labelled as subhuman.

During those experiments, Wolfstein had occasionally run into an individual known as Franz Kohler of the Nazi SS Ahnenerbe Occult Bureau.

When the war ended in 1945, Armilius Wolfstein had fled to Argentina.

There he changed his name to Keith Bennett and claimed to be an English expatriate living in Argentina.

Bennett had taken up the study of music and became an organist (although in fact he played the instrument very badly).

Whilst living in Buenos Aires, he came across a Spanish language edition of The Necronomicon (mentioned in Lovecraftian lore) and getting help with the translation from a professional Argentinian wrestler, Bennett started using dark arts sorcery to raise the dead.

It was while he was doing this, that Keith Bennett (the former Armilius Wolfstein) once again encountered Franz Kohler of the Nazi SS Ahnenerbe Occult Bureau.

Kohler then took Bennett (as he now called himself) to Haiti to study under Haitian voodoo practitioners in raising the dead.

Bennett posed as an Anglican lay missionary while in Haiti.

No one thought of asking what an Anglican lay missionary was doing in learning voodoo, raiding cemeteries and cultivating plantations of zombies.

Although Bennett in the 1950s was doing what the later Anglican Communion of the 1960s would be doing when such notables as U.S. Episcopalian Bishop James Pike would be busy consulting spiritist mediums such as Arthur Ford on television.

Pike would go on to die a horrible and mysterious death in a desert in Israel for his efforts.

But that would not be the fate of Keith Bennett, Anglican lay missionary.

Having mastered the art of zombie raising, Bennett was then taken by Franz Kohler to Havana, Cuba.

There Bennett would start raising Cubans from the dead.

Kohler was hoping to raise an army of Cuban zombies to attack Florida and establish a Nazi Fourth Reich beachhead on the United States of America.

But like the best laid plans of mice and men, the best laid plans of Nazi SS Ahnenerbe Occult Bureau officers often go astray as well.

Two men named Fidel and Ernesto were planning a Communist revolution in Cuba.

So what would Cuba end up being?

A Communist state?

Or the Caribbean launching grounds for a Neo-Nazi Fourth Reich?

In fact it would be neither Franz Kohler and the asinine Keith Bennett nor Fidel Castro and Ernesto Che Guevara who would throw the deciding and winning pair of dice in which way the winds of change on the Caribbean island of Cuba would blow.

That would be decided by Carson Cody Albion Private Eye.

. . .

Albion was lying in bed after spending the last several hours making out with Dolly Castro (a cousin of Fidel and Raoul).

There was a pounding at the door.

It was the hotel and casino manager.

“Zombies,” shouted the hotel manager, “zombies have crashed the hotel’s dirty dancing competition and one of them has carried away the U.S. Ambassador’s niece.”

“Wow, someone certainly hasn’t been having the time of their life,” Albion opened the door.

“You’ve got to come quickly,” the manager said.

“That’s the opposite of what Dolly has been telling me all evening,” Albion remarked.

“The U.S. Ambassador’s niece is in danger,” the manager cried.

“I guess you don’t want the U.S. Ambassador’s niece dirty dancing with a zombie,” Albion followed the manager down the hallway.

. . .

The zombie was dragging the Ambassador’s niece into the house owned by Keith Bennett Anglican lay missionary and badly playing organist.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” the Ambassador’s niece cried.

The zombie (whose name had been Patrick in his mortal life) was busy swaying or swayzing in the Caribbean breeze on this moonlit Havana night.

Within seconds, salt pellets being fired by a machine gun sprayed the zombie killing him instantly.

For of course blessed salt kills zombies.

Albion picked up the U.S. Ambassador’s niece and carried her to his red convertible.

Screams could be heard from inside the house.

Just as Keith Bennett was playing The Old Master Painter on his organ.

Albion returned to the house with his machine gun containing 400 rounds of salt pellets, kicked in the door and began firing.

Franz Kohler’s army of zombies began dropping like flies.

Bennett reached for his own revolver to shoot at Albion.

The former Nazi pseudo-scientist turned Anglican lay minister and incompetent organist had his head blown off by Che Guevara’s machine gun as the young revolutionary came charging through the backdoor.

“Brains, brains,” a dying zombie tried to lick up what was oozing out of Bennett’s gaping head wound.

“No brains,” were the zombie’s last words before he died.

“Nice shooting,” said Albion.

“Thanks,” Che smiled, “I always have this recurring nightmare about being killed in a shoot out in the mountains of Bolivia.”

“You don’t want that to happen,” Albion noted.

“So, where are you going now?” Guevara asked.

“Out to my convertible to entertain Uncle Sam’s niece,” Albion answered.

“Really?” Guevara had a twinkle in his eye, “Do you know what Chairman Mao Tse-tung’s favourite quotation is?”.

“Can’t say that I do,” Albion admitted, “I’ve never read his Little Red Book.

“His favourite quotation,” Che winked, “is screw the U.S. Imperialists.”

“An excellent idea,” Albion smiled and walked out towards his car on this warm Havana night.

-A vampire novel chapter 
written by Christopher
Wednesday January 22nd
2020.

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Albion’s Reflections On A Rainy Night

June 19, 2019 at 10:22 pm (Detective story, Entertainment, Poetry) (, , , )

Albion’s Reflections On A Rainy Night

There was always something comforting about the sound of rain on the roof
Carson Cody Albion Private Eye couldn’t quite explain it
Maybe because it rarely rained in Southern California 
The heat of the day 
Would compete with the heat of the night 
to see who would produce 
the sweating heavyweight champion of the world

Rain allowed a cool down 
The sky’s method of baptism
On the sinning and criminality that occurred below

Albion was getting tired of all the greed and the lust and the shenanigans 
That he saw daily but more often nightly at his job

The rain kept everyone indoors 
No exchange of larceny or bodies or souls was going on in the streets outside
Just the pitter patter of gentle droplets on the roof 
Albion looked over at his dresser 
And noticed his bottle of bourbon remained untouched and unopened 

Something that was never the case on a hot and humid Los Angeles night
His head felt clear and free of headache
So this was what his room sounded like when the fan wasn’t running full blast 
One could actually hear oneself thinking 
And the rain drops on the roof were like a soothing melody

Albion reached for a stick of licorice 
rather than his usual cigarette 
Strange about the rain, Albion reflected,
It was like a return to innocence 
Maybe that’s what God was hoping with the flood in Noah’s time 

But once the sizzling heat returned
It was like eating the forbidden fruit in Eden
One had knowledge of both good and evil 
And more often than not, evil.

The private eye decided to go out 
And taste the gentle rain on his tongue
And feel the gentle rain on his skin

Albion for some reason 
(He supposed it was the influence of Philip Marlowe movies on the silver screen)
always wore a raincoat when he went out
Like advertising a trademark for Private Eye

But on a night when he should be wearing that coat for the purpose for which it was created
He did not put it on 
He went outside in a sleeveless shirt 
And let the rain wash off any dirt 
that was usually accumulated 
and came with living in Los Angeles

-A poem written by Christopher
Wednesday June 19th
2019.

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