Kendra Rai Private Eye

February 20, 2021 at 11:54 pm (Detective story, Espionage, Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Mystery, News, Spy Tales, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

Kendra Rai Private Eye

Dashwood Forrest the owner and curator of The Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in London had had one of his paintings stolen from his gallery the past week.

The painting was a rare oil painting painted by Oscar Wilde.

Forrest was one of the few people in the world who knew that Wilde had painted some pictures and set out to find them through his various contacts.

This particular Wilde painting was of Alexander the Great having himself anointed and crowned Pharaoh of Egypt after having conquered Egypt in 332 BC.

On one of the pillars next to where Alexander was being crowned was an interesting set of hieroglyphs in the picture.

According to the story Forrest received, Wilde painted the picture of the hieroglyphs in conjunction with some research that writer Bram Stoker (the eventual author of Dracula and later The Jewel of Seven Stars) was doing.

Of course during the pandemic and Boris Johnson’s massive UK lockdown, The Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery was not open to the public.

However Forrest had virtual exhibits of his paintings and art treasures on-line.

And appropriately socially distant private viewings could be arranged via emails with Forrest.

Last week he had shown the Oscar Wilde painting of Pharaoh Alexander the Great and the pillar of hieroglyphs on-line in a virtual exhibit.

The next night the painting was stolen.

On the advice of a friend, he hired London private investigator Kendra Rai to find it being told that she was the best private investigator in London.

London Private Investigator Kendra Rai the best private eye in London

Kendra Rai took the case immediately.

A case that would satisfy her intense intellectual curiosity and challenge her mind.

Kendra emailed a photo of the original Wilde painting of Pharaoh Alexander with the hieroglyphically inscribed pillar to an Egyptologist she knew at the British Museum wanting a translation of the hieroglyphs from him.

Kendra received an excited middle of the night phone call from the Egyptologist once he had translated them.

She was angry about being awakened in the middle of the night but once he told her the translation, she was no longer angry.

Kendra thanked the Egyptologist and put her phone down.

She now knew the reason why the painting was probably stolen.

And suspected who might be behind it.

Rogue MI-5 agents (although MI-5 was still unaware that these agents were rogue) Benedict Pence and Mike Arnold came mincing into their luxury apartment after a night on the town.

Of course they shouldn’t be on a night on the town during lockdown but both fancied that rules didn’t apply to them (God knew that certain rules laid down in Deuteronomy and Leviticus they didn’t follow).

On the wall of their apartment by the door they had a painting of Brutus and Cassius stabbing Julius Caesar to death.

On the opposite side of the room, they had a painting of Judas Iscariot getting paid his 30 pieces of silver from the Jerusalem Temple priests.

Both men as they entered noticed a bottle of champagne with two glasses in the middle of the room.

Thinking that the other had ordered it, both men took the glasses, poured themselves some champagne and had a toast.

They drank.

A light went on in a corner of the darkened room showing Kendra Rai Private Eye sitting there.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Kendra Rai smiled at them, “I don’t bring you tidings of great joy like on a certain evening of March 13th 2013 when someone else wished the world a “Good evening”. Rather to let you know that your champagne has been poisoned. I have the antidote in my purse along with my gun. So don’t try anything rash. I will give you the antidote when you tell me where the painting you stole is. And don’t tell me what painting. I’ve had the hieroglyphs translated. I know it was probably you who took it.”

“You’re bluffing,” Pence gulped.

“Try me,” Kendra laughed, “I have nothing to lose. You do.”

“We sold it to a certain billionaire,” Arnold gulped, “We won’t mention the billionaire. He doesn’t have it yet. It’s being shipped out of the country tonight.”

“Do you know the location of where it’s being shipped from?” Kendra asked.

“We do,” Pence and Arnold both nodded at the same time.

“Come, gentlemen,” Kendra held up a vial and also pointed a gun at them, “We’re going for a ride. And you better hope we get there in time to stop that painting leaving the country.”

Kendra did get there in time.

The painting was retrieved.

An anxiously sweating Pence and Arnold were given the vial.

And Kendra Rai returned the painting to Dashwood Forrest telling him to lock the painting in his safe and to no longer display it in any exhibits virtual or otherwise.

When she told him what the hieroglyphs on the pillar in the painting said, Forrest knew the reason.

The hieroglyphs gave the formula for making a deadly plague to be released on the world capable of killing most of the planet’s population.

Kendra had an idea which global billionaire probably wanted it.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday February 20th
2021.

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Reflections About The Year 2020 On A Mist Filled October Evening

October 26, 2020 at 10:24 pm (Gothic, Horror, Mystery/horror, Poetry) (, , , , , , )

2020- “The year that just keeps on giving”
Many say in the worst sense of that expression
20/20 vision when visiting the optometrist
means perfect vision
Perhaps in this year of 2020
We have achieved perfect vision
And don’t like what we see

We’re like Dorian Gray
The character in Oscar Wilde’s novel
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Who after living a lifetime
of sin, debauchery and crime
After his portrait was created
Finally unveils his portrait
to see what the state of his soul
looks like

And he’s shocked to see
what he sees there

In this year
Humanity like Dorian
is finally seeing the portrait
unveiled of itself
by the winds of 2020
and does not like
what it sees

But what it sees is a reflection
of what it truly is.


“Here’s to Dorian and all that he has left behind.”

-A poem written by Christopher
Monday October 26th
2020.

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The Medusa Portrait

August 13, 2020 at 11:18 pm (Geopolitics and International Relations, International Intrigue, Mythology, News, painting, Politics, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , )


The Medusa Portrait

Dr. Lionel Jarrett a professor of Classics at the University of Saskatchewan in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan stood looking at his daughter Eva while London art gallery curator Dashwood Forrest (owner of The Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery) stood alongside a portrait painting of the famous Medusa.

The portrait of Medusa had been painted by Oscar Wilde who was much better known for his witty repartee, his plays, his short stories, his poems, his children’s stories and his novel The Picture of Dorian Gray than he was for artistically painting pictures.

It was only recently that Dashwood Forrest in his research and investigations had uncovered that Wilde was an artist (in the painting sense of that term) as well as a writer.

Wilde had apparently painted this picture of Medusa after a wild night of drinking absinthe and trying to write a poem about her.

In his dream that inspired the painting, Wilde had Medusa sit for him while he set up his canvas, palette and paints.

Medusa had returned for this sitting just after her appointment with her gay Spartan hairdresser.

Boasted the hairdresser at her appointment, “I had 299 fellow Spartans at my backside making us a noble band of 300 but I refused to bow the knee to the King of Persia.”

The hairdresser’s bloodcurdling tale had caused serpentlike curls to form at the top of Medusa’s hair which Wilde was able to capture in this sitting.

The serpents of course never did leave Medusa’s hair.

It really was the Hairstyling Appointment From Hell.

When Wilde woke up, he discovered that he had been sleep painting and had painted the portrait to its final finish.

Dr. Lionel Jarrett looking at his daughter Eva said he’d buy the painting for her.

The ghost of Orson Welles (just recently returned from Luxor, Egypt) took a black and white photo of the happy moment.

. . .

A naked Donald Trump was in the shower showering his golden toupee as his son-in-law Jared Kushner sat blindfolded outside the clear screen see-through screen shower cubicle.

“So, Jared,” Trump was using Johnson’s Baby Shampoo, “How did you get Israel and the United Arab Emirates to agree to establish diplomatic relations with one another?”.

“Well, Ivanka asked her friend London art gallery owner Dashwood Forrest to ask his friend the ex-Gorgon Medusa to visit a gay hairdresser in the town of Sparti, Greece (which lies at the site of ancient Sparta) and when she got snakes back in her hair, she was going to visit both Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and Abu Dhabi Crown Prince Mohammed Al Nayhan and turn them to stone unless they agreed to establish diplomatic relations with each other.”

“So the answer to establishing peace is to get stoned?” Trump asked Kushner.

Meanwhile down in his basement, Democratic Party presumptive Presidential nominee Joe Biden was talking to his pet pot smoking desert cactus plant whom he had named Sweet Dementia, “Wow, that’s really crazy, man. You mean Kamala is descended from a slave owning family on the island of Jamaica and not descended from slaves? Wow, that really blows my mind. Good thing for me, my mind was blown a long time ago. Fortunately for me, most of the mainstream news media in this country are all disinformation branches of the New World Order Ministry of Propaganda and won’t bother mentioning that. Since Kamala and I are going to bring the Marxist New World Order to America. Now, I think I’ll go take a shower, Sweet Dementia. Care to join me?”.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday August 13th
2020.

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The Portrait of Dorian Gray’s Teddy Bear

December 9, 2019 at 11:07 pm (Art, Arts, Culture, Literature, Mystery, painting, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

The Portrait of Dorian Gray’s Teddy Bear 

Dashwood Forrest the owner of The Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery had spent the day visiting a London Christmas Market.

On his way home, he had visited a small antique store where he noticed a rather old painting of a child’s teddy bear.

Intrigued by the painting, Forrest had bought the painting for £20 and brought it back to his gallery with him.

He gave the painting a cleaning and noticed the name of the artist- Basil Hallward.

The same artist who had painted the original portrait of Dorian Gray that Forrest had purchased at an estate sale back in October of 2012.

Prior to purchasing that painting, Forrest had just believed that the artist Basil Hallward was a fictional character and the famous portrait of Dorian Gray had been a figment of Oscar Wilde’s imagination.

Back on September 3rd of this year, the figure of Dorian Gray had disappeared from the painting when Hurricane Dorian had struck the Caribbean.

Only to return when the storm finally faded into oblivion.

And now here was a portrait of a teddy bear done by the same man who had painted a portrait of Dorian Gray.

Forrest noticed the year below Basil Hallward’s name -1860- the same year he had painted the picture of Dorian Gray.

Forrest decided to take the frame off and check the back of the canvas of the painting.

There on the back of the canvas of the painting were the words Portrait of Dorian Gray’s Toy Bear- painted 1860.

So Dorian Gray had owned a teddy bear before teddy bears became popular (teddy bears had emerged as a phenomenon back in the early 1900s and the toy bears had in fact been named after Teddy Roosevelt who was the U.S. President of the day).

Forrest went to the secluded room in the gallery where he kept the picture of Dorian Gray.

He hung the portrait of Dorian Gray’s teddy bear next to Gray’s portrait.

He then put the velvet curtains up again in front of both paintings, turned off the lights and closed the door.

Had he stayed in the room a few minutes longer, he’d have noticed the figure of Dorian Gray’s teddy bear in the portrait had gone missing.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday December 9th
2019.

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Dashwood Forrest, The Empty Portrait and Hurricane Dorian

September 3, 2019 at 11:01 pm (Aesthetics, Art, Arts, Fantasy, Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, Gothic, Gothic romance, History, Horror, International Intrigue, magic, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Mythology, News, Philosophy, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , )

Dashwood Forrest, The Empty Portrait and Hurricane Dorian

Dashwood Forrest sat in his office in his art gallery in London and quietly sipped a drink of absinthe.

The Green Fairy as it was called was one of the favourite drinks of his idol the writer, novelist, poet and playwright Oscar Wilde.

Forrest’s living dead Irish manservant Mulligan the Irish zombie (who had been brought back from the dead many years ago by South African witch doctor Dr. Sterling Makabo) was out for the evening.

Mulligan had been hired for the evening by British MP Renfield R. Renfield to haunt the residence of British Labour Party leader Jeremy Corbyn and stand outside the back entrance of Corbyn’s lodgings and say in a spookily haunting zombie voice (with an Irish lilt to it), “The Irish backstop ends at your back door, Mr. Corbyn. The Irish backstop ends at your backdoor.”

As Jeremy Corbyn began to suffer the worst nightmares of his life, Forrest finished his glass of absinthe, left his office and locked it.

He walked down to the end of the gallery where he entered a room marked PRIVATE.

No one (not even Mulligan the Irish zombie) ever entered that room.

Only he Dashwood Forrest art historian, art gallery curator and extraordinary gentleman of many talents ever entered that room.

For that room contained a portrait behind purple velvet curtains.

A portrait of a man.

A portrait of a man painted in the year 1860.

A portrait that was first mentioned in a book published in July 1890.

A book that most people (and even Dashwood Forrest himself for most of his life) had considered a work of fiction.

Until Forrest came across the painting in an estate sale back in October of 2012.

The picture was of a man named… Dorian Gray.

And the artist who signed the picture was named Basil Hallward.

The painting was of an extremely handsome young man in his early 20s.

Exactly as described in Oscar Wilde’s famous Gothic Philosophical novel of the 19th Century- The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Forrest drew back the purple velvet curtains that covered the painting and hid it from view.

Forrest got the shock of his life when he saw the portrait was empty.

There was no subject in the painting.

Dorian Gray was gone.

. . .

Forrest stared blankly at the blank canvas and blinked.

His smart phone went off.

It was a text message from his friend Amadeus Emanon.

A Set Enterprises satellite over the Bahamas had photographed the eye of the storm of Hurricane Dorian.

And a giant mysterious almost human figure seemed to be standing and moving with the eye of the storm in the hurricane.

Forrest again blinked.

For the figure was the spitting image of Dorian Gray.

The figure now missing from the painting.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher 
Tuesday September 3rd
2019.


Sibyl: She loved Dorian in vain.

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The Cosmic Origins of P.H. Lovecat

February 4, 2019 at 11:56 pm (Folklore, Geopolitics and International Relations, Ghost Story, History, International Intrigue, Music, Mystery, Mythology, News, Politics, Spy Tales, The Occult, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

His name was Peter Hieronymous Felinedamour.

P. H. Felinedamour for short.

He was an artist.

An artist inspired by the writings of H.P. Lovecraft.

Many Lovecraftian entities showed up in his paintings.

And in the art show that Dashwood Forrest (the Oscar Wilde admiring owner of the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery in London) would be opening tonight in his gallery, the last painting that Peter Hieronymous Felinedamour ever painted – from December 21st 2012 (the same night that he disappeared) – would be on pre-eminent display in the middle of the gallery for this art show.

Dashwood Forrest was currently showing the painting to British MP Renfield R. Renfield and his date for this evening Lepardia Marango the cultural attache at the South African Embassy in London.

Renfield was bringing Lepardia to the gallery as a way of saying thanks to the cultural attache for saving the Transhumanist MP’s life this past weekend.

Lepardia had stopped an assasination attempt on Renfield by wrestling to the ground the Russian vampiress and FSB operative Svetlana Kireeva.

The incident occurred in the final match of a darts tournament being held at the Clytemnestra’s Revenge and Agamemnon’s Bathtub Pub and Beef House.

The wrestling match between mortal woman and immortal (unless staked through the heart) vampiress caused Renfield to lose the tournament by wrecking his final throw.

Svetlana had intended to assasinate Renfield by firing a poison dart at him with an Amazon tribesman’s blow gun.

Instead the dart hit the left foot of the American Jesuit priest Father Neville Barack Chamberlain (who was theological advisor to New York Cardinal Timothy Dolan advising His Eminence on how to take a firm stand on the most pressing doctrinal and moral issues of the day) causing a paralysis in the priest’s right testicle in an example of acupuncture and chi energy gone horribly wrong.

Lepardia and Renfield gazed at the P.H. Felinedamour painting entitled

Artemis, Cthulhu, Diana’s Sacred Deer and Hecate’s Familiar Black Cat With Clytemnestra Holding A Net and Agamemnon Screaming In The Nude In The Background.

“So that was the last painting he ever painted?” Renfield asked the London art gallery owner as he downed a reddish pink with shades of China blue shooter called Vincent Van Gogh’s Missing Ear.

Ariana Grande walked by in a slit skirted evening dress that prominently displayed her new “Barbecue Grill Finger” (in Japanese lettering) tattoo.

The singer was eating Honey Dipped Chicken Fingers from McDonalds.

No doubt Bill Clinton and the Rev. Jesse Jackson would have loved to have been flies on the wall (or even better, flies on the floor) as the lovely Miss Grande walked by.

“That is correct,” Forrest bowed to Renfield as Renfield crushed and killed a pair of flies on the floor with his right shoe.

Forrest’s personal secretary arrived on the scene to inform the Oscar Wilde lookalike London art gallery owner that his living dead Irish manservant and valet Mulligan the Irish zombie had just accidentally spilled barbecued chicken wings hors d’oeuvres down the evening dress of British Prime Minister Theresa May.

“Excuse me,” Forrest whispered to Renfield and Lepardia as his face turned as pale as the portrait of Dorian Gray and he rushed in the direction of the catastrophe.

To be continued.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Monday February 4th
2019.


Ariana Grande: Showing off her “Barbecue Grill Finger” (in Japanese lettering) tattoo at the P.H. Lovecat (Felinedamour) Art Show.

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Reblog of An Evening At The Mermaid Art Exhibit

April 30, 2018 at 10:39 pm (Aesthetics, Art, Arts, Culture, Fantasy, Folklore, Humour, Mythology, painting, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , )

A vampire novel chapter I wrote over a year ago about an evening at the mermaid art exhibit which turned out to be as riotous as the Marx Brothers’ night at the opera:

Dracul Van Helsing

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Sir Nigel Blake-Lenin the curator of the Dashwood Forrest Art Gallery announced to those gathered at the Mermaid Art Exhibit’s opening night, “regrettably the artist Miss Charmaine Olivia will not be able to be with us this evening…”

The crowd moaned and groaned their disappointment.

“Yes,” Sir Nigel Blake-Lenin sighed in sympathy, “Miss Olivia ate some rather bad tuna fish sandwiches earlier this evening that she had thought had come from the Exhibit caterers but they turned out to have been brought in by a mysterious third party…”

“So she’s the one who ate all my tuna fish sandwiches that I had brought with me tonight,” Renfield seethed to Amadeus.

“Then you might have been the one who came down with food poisoning,” Amadeus pointed out.

“I guess every cloud has a silver lining,” Renfield grinned.

A dark cloud appeared over the gallery and an American silver…

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Dashwood Forrest and Pan Goatee In Calgary

March 29, 2017 at 5:30 pm (Commentary, Culture, Folklore, Horror, Mythology, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , )

“What a place totally devoid of culture,” Dashwood Forrest the Oscar Wilde of the 21st Century said to his Undead butler and valet Mulligan the Irish zombie.

“I’d have to agree,” Mulligan the Irish zombie remarked. He had only spent less than 24 hours in the city and he was already forgetting how to recite Irish ballads and poetry.

“I imagine if one were looking for culture and learning in Calgary, one would probably only find it among certain people living in homeless shelters in a city such as this,” Dashwood Forrest sipped on his chocolate milkshake.

“I’d have to agree,” Mulligan the Irish zombie nodded, “and what extremely ugly women seem to live in this city. I’ve never seen such fat ugly looking specimens.”

Mulligan the Undead promptly died again as he looked out the window and saw the walking specimens of ghastly horror.

Mulligan’s last words before dying a second time were, “Genesis 6 would have never happened had the angels landed in Calgary instead of the Middle East. There would have been no rise of the Nephilim because the sons of God would not have found the daughters of men attractive.”

“Truer last words were never spoken, Mulligan,” Forrest acknowledged, “with the possible exception of Oscar Wilde’s last words spoken in his room, “Either that wallpaper goes or I do.” It’s amazing how unattractive interior decorating can lead to deaths of great geniuses. To say nothing of how unattractive exterior decorating can lead to the death of one’s valet.”

Dashwood Forrest thought of calling South African witch doctor Sterling Makabo on his mobile phone and get him to chant a spell to bring Mulligan back from the dead.

He thought he’d wait a while however until they had left Calgary.

Forrest was in a quandary however. Even though he was gay, the site of such repulsive ugly looking members of the opposite sex waddling around and fender bumping their broomsticks in public was enough to kill one’s libido faster than taking a cold shower in a U.S. Army barracks.

Forrest removed a classical ancient Greek olive oil lamp from his jacket pocket.

The lamp had been a gift from his good friend Ivanka Trump for favours rendered.

If he remembered his Arabian Nights folklore correctly, Aladdin used a magic lamp to summon a genie.

Maybe he could rub this lamp and summon a genie to bump off all these ugly women.

Dashwood Forrest rubbed the lamp.

Pan Goatee appeared.

“How the Hell did I get from an Orson Welles repertory film festival in Washington D.C. (where strangely enough I was the only one in the theatre) to a milk shake bar in what looks to be the city of Calgary- the city of gay cowboys- not surprising given the overall unattractiveness of the women here,” the genetically created satyr serial killer scratched his head.

“I do most humbly apologize, my good man,” Dashwood Forrest bowed, “or rather my good satyr, I was hoping to summon a genie but you’ll do. I was wondering if you could slay these ugly women for me.”

“Happy to oblige,” Pan Goatee took out his astrally projected laser machete and walked out the door where he proceeded to behead ugly women left, right and center.

Pan Goatee’s aesthetically oriented mercy killing actions led to Mulligan the Irish Zombie coming back from the dead.

“Why did we come to Calgary anyways?” Mulligan asked Dashwood Forrest.

“To see Lake Louise in the Blue Canadian Rockies to celebrate Dame Vera Lynn’s 100th Birthday earlier this month,” Dashwood Forrest explained.

“Then let’s go see Lake Louise and go,” Mulligan pleaded.

“An excellent idea,” Forrest said, “go outside and hail a taxi for us, will you?”.

As the Michael Jackson song Thriller played in the background on the old milkshake bar diner’s jukebox, Mulligan the Irish zombie ran outside and did just that.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Wednesday March 29th
2017.

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Dashwood Forrest At Mrs. Mulligan’s Tea Shop In Sneem, Ireland

January 31, 2017 at 12:43 pm (Espionage, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Espionage, International Intrigue, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , )

“That revolting little donkey turned around and ate the rose in my lapel,” Dashwood Forrest complained after he and Mulligan the Irish zombie were dropped off in front of Mrs. Mulligan’s B and B Tea Shop by Grady Gulliver’s donkey cart.

“That’s strange,” Mulligan the Irish zombie brushed dirt off the suit that he had been buried in and wondered if it wasn’t a good idea to maybe put on a new pair of clothes, “usually Agnes only eats daisies. I’ve never seen her eat a rose before.”

“It was my misfortune that today she decided to change her botanical culinary tastes,” Dashwood Forrest opened up his gold plated snuff case and pulled out a rose and put it in his lapel.

“I wonder what Grandma Rose will say when she answers the door,” Mulligan paused before knocking, “She knows I’m dead but I don’t think she knows I returned from the dead as a zombie.”

“You mean you never phoned your grandma Rose ahead of time to let her know we were coming to inspect her Nostradamus paintings,” Dashwood Forrest pulled out his silver plated snuff case and took out some snuff and put it up his nose and sneezed in Sneem.

“Well Charon the Ferryman across the River Styx in Hades was never a figure in Irish Celtic mythology so consequently I was buried without small change in my mouth or pockets. I had no money to make the call,” Mulligan shrugged his shoulders causing them to almost fall off.

“Well why didn’t you just use the phone at my art gallery shop in London or ask to use my iPhone?” Dashwood queried.

Mulligan sat down on the ground in a complicated gymnastics position and brought his legs up over his head to knock his decomposing shoulders back into place, “You must remember I’m an Irish zombie. I wasn’t bright enough to think of that.”

“Would you mind knocking at the door so that we can get on with the inspection of the Nostradamus paintings so I’ll know a genuine Nostradamus when I see one in Paris,” Dashwood ordered.

“All right,” Mulligan’s spirit was amiable to the idea but his rotting flesh body wasn’t as he found he could not get out of the peculiar calisthenics position in which he now found himself.

Consequently Mulligan rolled over head, shoulders and legs first until he reached the door.

Then with his knees still firmly around his head and shoulders, he used his upstretched feet to pound on the door.

His beautiful and lovely dark haired but blue-eyed cousin Colleen Mulligan answered the door.

She screamed when she saw Mulligan in front of her with his decomposing zombie ass stuck up in the air as his trousers had now fallen down around his ankles when he made the attempt to get up and assume a more mortal like human stance.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Colleen Mulligan’s scream had popped open the top buttons of her white blouse and caused the sides of her long black skirt to slit open showing lovely pantyhose clad legs.

“I think I’m turning heterosexual,” were Dashwood Forrest’s last words before he passed out.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Saturday January 21st
2017.

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Mrs. Mulligan’s Tea Shop In Sneem, Ireland

January 30, 2017 at 1:09 pm (Espionage, Geopolitics and International Relations, History, International Espionage, International Intrigue, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Mrs. Rose Mulligan owned a tea shop and a little Bed and Breakfast in the village of Sneem, Ireland.

Quiet, restful and tranquil little Sneem. Where the little bridge over the nearby stream bore the inscription Built In 1804 (the same year that Napoleon Bonaparte had himself proclaimed and crowned Emperor of The French).

Sneem in its peace and solitude had attracted the attention of French President Charles de Gaulle. The French leader had bought property there and was seriously considering retiring there when his term as President of France was over. Henri the Comte de Paris would then run for President of France as De Gaulle’s successor. When Henri won, he’d call a referendum on the restoration of the monarchy in France. Winning that, Henri the Comte de Paris would then go from being President of France to being King of France. And De Gaulle would enjoy Irish potatoes, Irish salmon, Guinness stout and the best imported French wines and cheeses in his quiet and restful little farmhouse near the village of Sneem.

But alas! The best laid plans of mice and men (and even De Gaulles) – they often go astray!

The 1968 Paris riots happened. The students were revolting! Students are usually often quite revolting but they were particularly revolting that year.

The ensuing turmoil in France led De Gaulle to step down as President a year later and his former Prime Minister Georges Pompidou took over as President.

So no Henri Comte de Paris as De Gaulle’s successor. And no retirement for De Gaulle in Sneem. It was enough to make the forced to resign French leader keel over and die on the spot (which is what eventually happened to De Gaulle in 1970).

So Sneem, Ireland managed to escape the attention of history.

Unknown to the residents of sleepy Sneem however, Mrs. Rose Mulligan in her tea shop had paintings decorating her walls. Paintings that had been painted almost 500 years earlier by the 16th Century Renaissance French Prophet Nostradamus. (For background on how the Nostradamus paintings arrived in Mrs. Mulligan’s tea shop in Sneem, Ireland, please read Dashwood Forrest Meets Ivanka Trump:

https://draculvanhelsing.wordpress.com/2017/01/25/dashwood-forrest-meets-ivanka-trump/ )

And so it was on this January morning in 2017 that Mrs. Rose Mulligan went calling on her next door neighbour who was- a witch!

“Good morning, Mrs. Mulligan,” Molly Kildare greeted her neighbour, “what can I do for you this morning?”.

“Well, I’m embarrassed to ask this,” Rose Mulligan blushed, “but I’ll be needing a love potion from ya.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph and Saints Patrick, Bridget, Brendan and Kevin to say nothing of the gods and goddesses of the old Irish Celtic pantheon,” Mrs. Kildare’s hair turned as white as the snows of Mount Kilimanjaro, “but what would Mrs. Rose Mulligan the loveliest woman in Sneem if not all of Ireland be needing with a love potion?’.

“Now, Mrs. Kildare,” Rose Mulligan’s face turned as red as the dress of the Scarlet Woman Mystery Babylon in the Book of The Apocalypse, “you know I’m not as lovely as I used to be. I’m now approaching 60.”

“You may be approaching 60, Mrs. Rose Mulligan,” Mrs. Molly Kildare wagged her finger at her, “but you’re better looking than most women half of our age.”.

“Well now, I won’t be arguing with you there, Mrs. Kildare,” Mrs. Mulligan acknowledged, “being the lover of truth that I am. But still I will be needing a love potion.”

“Surely, you’re not thinking of getting yourself a second husband after all these years, Mrs. Mulligan?” queried Mrs. Kildare whose divorce from her first husband only came through this past week.

“Oh no, ever since dear Sean died taking that World Cup soccer ball in the face as Team Ireland’s goalie so that Ireland would advance beyond the qualifying rounds for the 1986 World Cup, I’ve never thought of marrying again,” Mrs. Mulligan gently stroked her hair, “it’s not a second husband I’m thinking of having but an affair.”

“An affair?” Mrs. Kildare’s face turned as white as a ghost.

“That’s right, an affair, Mrs. Kildare,” Rose Mulligan waxed poetical for a moment, “what the Good Book calls adultery. And what the more vulgar Americans refer to by that far more vulgar term- fornication.”

“Do you mean to say you’ll risk your immortal soul, Mrs. Mulligan,” Mrs. Kildare felt that she could use a shot of whiskey at the moment, “just so you can have an affair at your age?”.

“I have no intention of risking my immortal soul, Mrs. Kildare,” Rose Mulligan stated firmly, “after I have the one-night stand full of pumping passion and sweating bodies and sweltering delights and orchestral orgasms, I fully intend to get up the next morning and go to Church and confess my sin to Father Murphy and receive absolution for it. So there. I will not put my soul in immortal danger.”

“But what if you get run over by Mr. Gulliver’s donkey cart on the way to Church and end up dying before you receive absolution?” Mrs. Kildare acted the role of spoilsport.

Mrs. Mulligan looked glum for a minute.

Then she put her lips together in firm determination, “It’s a risk I’ll have to take. There’s a man who’ll be staying at my Bed and Breakfast for a few days. I have to take the man to bed with me. I’ve dreamed of it most of my adult life.”

“Good golly, Miss Molly, as my mother and some American singer used to say,” Mrs. Kildare put her foot down, “what man is this that you’re willing to risk your immortal soul for?”.

Mrs. Mulligan glanced around conspiratorially and then whispered in Mrs. Kildare’s ear, “Liam Neeson.”

“The actor?” Mrs. Kildare’s jaw dropped.

“The very same,” Mrs. Mulligan nodded.

“I wonder if Father Murphy will be willing to give a 2-for-the-price-of-1 absolution,” Mrs. Kildare hurried to the kitchen in order to prepare two love potions.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Tuesday January 17th
2017.

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