The Strange Case of The Emerald Green Cat of Bulgaria πŸ‡§πŸ‡¬: A Poem

August 10, 2017 at 7:45 pm (Comedy, Culture, Detective story, Entertainment, Humour, Literature, Mystery, News, Poetry) (, , , , , )

The Strange Case of The Emerald Green Cat of Bulgaria πŸ‡§πŸ‡¬: A Poem

Jack O’ Hare
jack rabbit fair
he really was quite the bunny
that some thought was very funny

One day while he was out hopping
he decided to do some shopping
he spent some time looking at phones
as well as browsing through books about Sherlock Holmes

He bought the latter
avoided walking under a ladder
and went back to his quaint little home 🏑
right next to an abandoned honeycomb
Which was indeed a very wise thing
for Jack loved the way the birds sing
but not the way the bees sting

The latter could be a real pain in the ass
made it unpleasant to sit on the grass
so the honeycomb was long abandoned
possibly since the time of Aladdin

I wonder what became of his genie
Jack thought while eating a vegan weenie
He really should have bought some hot dog buns
although the raisin bran flavoured ones
often gave him the runs

Jack then read the Sherlock Holmes story A Study In Scarlet
and discovered it wasn’t about Mystery Babylon’s harlot
He read the huge volume straight through
while munching on his multi-carrot stew
he finally finished at The Adventure of Schoscombe Old Place
published in 1927
and closed the volume thinking Sherlock’s exploits were heaven

He decided upon putting the book πŸ“š on the shelf
and dusting off the statue of the garden elf
that like Holmes he’d become a consulting detective
because to be Inspector Lestrade was to be defective

So he put an ad to that effect in the Rabbit Weekly
even though his girlfriend told him it was so geeky πŸ€“
But come the Wednesday after the ad
came a Saint Bernard dog looking sad 😭 🐢

“I can’t get to sleep at night,” said he
the Saint Bernard dog Wally McGee
Asked Jack, Have you tried drinking herbal tea β˜•οΈ

It’s the apparition that appears outside my window each night that is the problem
I’m not sure if it’s ghost or goblin
sighed Wally with fear in his eyes
as he ate the last of Jack’s French fries 🍟

This will mean another run to the grocery store thought Jack
as I have no potatoes left in the sack
Neither will I have Lola
thought Jack as he sipped his Cola
ever since she caught him looking at Mae West’s melons
in an old movie about call girls and felons
She left Jack with these parting words, Aloha.

So as far as Jack’s love life went, he was now in the Lone Star ⭐️ State
but such were the quirks, twists and turns of Fate
Getting back to the problem at hand
Jack looked at the Saint Bernard dog well tanned
for this was a dog who had his day in the sun
as unleashed through a park, he went on a run

So describe the apparition you saw
Jack motioned with his foot to Wally’s paw
All right said Wally
pausing to look at a collie,
“Wow! There’s a real bitch in heat!”.
Sighed Jack, Be less like Trump and be more discreet.

So Wally went on, Getting back to the apparition at hand
it was the most terrifying sight in all the land
it frightened away our neighbourhood Calypso band
and turned my rock garden into mounds of sand

Sounds like quite the spectacle,
Jack was forming thoughts diametrical,
What was it exactly that you did see?
Well, said Wally, I had gotten up to pee,
I went out the back door to my favourite tree
And it was there I saw it
I don’t know what to call it

Describe it as best as you can,
Jack used a carrot πŸ₯• for a fan
for it was one heck of a hot summer night
the kind where goose bumps make your pants too tight

Said Wally,
By golly!
It was a ghostly ghastly feline
It was blocking the way to my tree line
It glowed emerald green
really quite the scene
and everywhere it went, it glowed in the dark
it could totally light up Central Park
and what I’m telling you is certainly no lark

Jack put on his deerstalker cap
his thinking hat with a flap
He lit up his Sherlockian style pipe
he had Basil Rathbone down to type

Well, Jack coughed
sending the chickens aloft,
this cat you describe I think I’ve heard of
from the lips of Vladimir Birdov
He died in my arms
On Green Acres Farms

He had recently come back from Varna, Bulgaria πŸ‡§πŸ‡¬
having encountered a cat with menthyl malaria
which it contracted from a little green frog 🐸
that had sat there like a bump on a log

And this unusual type of malaria
previously unknown in Bulgaria πŸ‡§πŸ‡¬
turned the cat’s colour to a ghostly emerald green
making this tabby the talk of the bar scene

But what’s it doing here in Canada πŸ‡¨πŸ‡¦, Wally wanted to know
He was bursting a gut and quite possibly his toe
Jack looked at Wally and gave his hat a twirl
sending up pipe smoke in quite a widening curl
And then quietly said, Don’t be such a nerd
For you mean to say you haven’t heard,
Prime Minister Justin, unlike Trump, is welcoming all refugees
even those with a emerald green cat furry sneeze.

-A Jack O’ Hare poem
written by Christopher
Thursday August 10th
2017.

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Sherrielock Holmes vs. Jack The Ripper: A Poem

June 11, 2017 at 3:42 pm (Crime, Culture, Detective story, History, Horror, Literature, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , )

It was London in the year 1888
a place and a year of great ill-fate
in which ladies of the night in the streets of London
were approached by an evil man and done in.

He wore black hat and cloak, black gloves and cane
he was Jekyll’s Hyde come to life in an evil reign
and Sherlock Holmes was naturally called in to solve the case
as Scotland Yard’s Inspector Lestrade was tired of losing face

But even the great Sherlock Holmes could not catch the Ripper
instead Sherlock ended up ripping his pants and breaking his zipper
and he hurried back to 221B Baker Street in shame
said he to Watson, “In no article, mention my name.”

And Sherlock’s little known twin sister Sherrielock heard of her brother’s failure
as well as the Great Detective’s little known nocturnal flight to London tailor
Now Sherrielock was a brothel owning dominatrix by trade
one who always managed to avoid a Scotland Yard raid

Said she, I’ll capture the Ripper and put an end to his Reign of Terror
I”ll do what no one else in London has dreamed to dare
and I’ll do it keeping in place my shampooed hair

So she put on her undercover dominatrix outfit and walked the East End’s Whitechapel streets
Sherrielock Holmes
and she heard in the approaching distance the sound of fancy carriage horses’ hoof beats

A tall dark stranger dressed entirely in black
exited the cab saying, “Just call me Jack”.
“I’ll certainly do that, Jack dear,
if you let me whip your rear”
said Sherrielock pulling out a cat o’ nine tails
and before Jack knew it, he got a fist full of nails.

He was down on the ground, his pants all around
his buttocks were turning a fiery red
his ass no longer filled with Plutonian lead

But by the time the night was over, Jack The Ripper was no more
his ass had positively melted on London’s paved cobblestone floor
Scotland Yard never revealed how the Ripper had died
what was the successful antidote to this Jekyll’s poisoned Hyde.
But the cause was really rather simple in the end
a bright spot on a black and blue covered rear end
Food poisoning had done in the Ripper under dominatrix’s nylon runs
Food poisoning brought on by red tomatoed buns.

-A Sherrielock Holmes poem
written by Christopher
Sunday June 11th
2017.

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Sherlock Holmes and The Zohar

March 5, 2017 at 4:47 pm (Detective story, Geopolitics and International Relations, Horror, International Intrigue, Mystery, Mystery/horror, Religion, The Supernatural) (, , , , , , , )

Michelangelo the Psychic Lobster was having a dream about Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes and Nigel Bruce as Dr. Watson. In the dream, Holmes said to Watson:

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson

According to the Zohar the foundational text of Jewish mysticism, Watson, a seven-star system similar to our own will be discovered and then all Hell shall break loose.

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Renfield’s Research On Sherrielock Holmes

December 16, 2015 at 8:34 pm (Literature, Science-Fiction, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , )

Renfield’s Research On Sherrielock Holmes

Amadeus and Renfield were sitting in their favourite Fish and Chips shop in London.

Renfield was having the Deluxe Grilled Cheese and Tuna Fish Sandwich Special.

Amadeus was having the All You Can Eat Fish n’ Chips Special.

He was now on his 11th plate of fish and chips.

“I’ve noticed that for some reason I’m not able to fit into any of the clothes that people bought me as presents last Christmas,” Amadeus said as he bit into his monster piece of cod.

“I wonder why that is,” Renfield bit into his sandwich.

“I have no idea,” Amadeus ordered his 12th plate of fish and chips.

“Anyways I’ve been doing some research on Sherrielock Holmes,” Renfield sipped his Magic Mushroom and Marshmallow Laced Chocolate Latte.

“Your personal dominatrix?” Amadeus spoke in a loud voice.

“Shhh, quiet, not so loud,” Renfield whispered to Amadeus.

The remark had caught the attention of other restaurant patrons particularly British Prime Minister David Cameron who sat there with a very peculiar look on his face.

“So what did you discover about Miss Holmes?” Amadeus ordered the chocolate pudding dessert.

“That she’s 161 years old for one thing,” Renfield stated.

“Wow, she doesn’t look much over 30 if that,” Amadeus was amazed, “she must have a lot of Oil of Olay around the house.”

“That she’s also Sherlock Holmes’ twin sister,” Renfield went on.

“Sherlock Holmes the famous detective?” Amadeus was astounded.

“The very same,” Renfield put on his deerstalker cap.

“But I always thought he was a fictional character,” Amadeus ordered the Moby Dick Omelette to go with his dessert.

“Dr. Watson just used his physician friend Sir Arthur Conan Doyle as a cover to protect Holmes’ real existence,” Renfield explained.

“But all those stories about him listed his address as 221 B Baker Street,” Amadeus pointed out.

“It’s little slip- ups in details like that which often cause the best laid plans of mice and men to go astray,” Renfield ordered the Robbie Burns Eggnog Special, “that is in fact the means by which Prof. Moriarty discovered where Holmes lived, Moriarty being one of the Strand Magazine’s most ardent subscribers. It was also that fact which led Holmes to discover the secret headquarters of Prof. Moriarty once he obtained a copy of the Strand Magazine’s subscription and mailing list.”

“Wow, so Holmes was actually a real person eh?” Amadeus started writing a letter to Santa Claus on his napkin.

“Yes,” Renfield nodded, “and Sherrielock Holmes was his virtually unknown twin sister.”

“How did she become immortal?” Amadeus helped himself to one of the restaurant’s Heavenly Cinnamon Buns, “She doesn’t look like a vampiress. She doesn’t have those prominent vampiric incisor fangs that most vampiresses do that’s usually such a challenge for most dentists to clean.”

“It was through the efforts of her lover and husband Louis Rocher a brilliant scientist,” Renfield explained, “he used a compound he specially extracted from the Linghzi Supernatural Mushroom to make a potion that he gave her to drink and she became immortal.”

“Did he drink the potion as well?” Amadeus sampled some of Renfield’s Magic Mushroom and Marshmallow Chocolate Latte.

“No, for reasons totally unknown, he decided to wait to drink it,” Renfield angrily took back his cup of Latte, “which was a mistake on his part because during the Great War of 1914-18, he was an RAF pilot and he was shot down and killed by the Red Baron just the day before the Red Baron himself was shot down and killed.”

“Oh yes, that was Snoopy who killed the Red Baron, wasn’t it?” Amadeus helped himself to some peanuts.

“Yes, Amadeus,” Renfield sighed in an exasperating manner.

“Wait,” Amadeus started sampling a chocolate eclair, “did you say this Louis’ last name was Rocher?”.

“Yes,” Renfield watched as the plate of chocolate eclairs vanished into oblivion (if oblivion be another name for Amadeus’ stomach).

“Is he any relation to Dr. Cadbury Rocher…?” Amadeus was interrupted.

“Yes, Louis Rocher was Cadbury’s great-grandfather,” Renfield nodded.

“Then that means that Sherrielock Holmes is…” Amadeus was again interrupted.

“Cadbury’s great-grandmother,” Renfield nodded again.

“Wow, Cadbury never mentioned that his great-grandmother was still alive,” Amadeus paused as he realized there was nothing left on the table to eat.

“Just like the Boss never mentions that he has hemorrhoids when he’s at social gatherings,” Renfield pointed out, “there are some things you just don’t talk about in public.”

“So is that all you discovered about Sherrielock Holmes?” Amadeus ordered a slice of banana cream pie.

“No,” Renfield grinned like the Giant Rat of Sumatra after he had eaten a monster block of cheese, “I discovered something that I suspect not even Sherrielock Holmes herself knows.”

“What’s that?” Amadeus dove into the banana cream pie with as much flourish as Tarzan would dive into a jungle stream where Jane was swimming in her birthday suit.

“I found out who Louis Rocher’s father is,” Renfield beamed from ear to ear.

“Presumably some man called Rocher,” Amadeus got a banana caught in his hair and started to worry that people might mistake him for Donald Trump as he struggled to get it out.

“Louis’ mother Isabelle Rocher was a single mother,” Renfield explained, “but I discovered Louis Rocher’s birth certificate in the Bibliotecheque Nationale de France right next to the Merovingian Bloodline Chart which shows that today’s direct descendant of Mary Magdalene and the Merovingian Kings of France is none other than Rowan Atkinson aka Mr. Bean aka Johnny English.”

“Jesus Christ,” Amadeus got cream pie all over his face.

“Actually it turns out that it was Jesus’ cousin Simeon of Nazareth who married Mary Magdalene and immigrated to France,” Renfield was happy to outLangdon Robert Langdon, “but that information wouldn’t sell massive quantities of books as Simeon of Nazareth isn’t as well known as his cousin Jesus of Nazareth.”

“No, I guess not,” Amadeus wiped the cream pie off his face.

“Probably due to the fact that as Simeon of Nazareth lay dying after he was slain by an angry Gaul for helping himself to the last piece of cheese on a plate at a French village banquet, his prophecy that he would rise again on the Third Day after being buried near what is today Rennes-le-Chateau didn’t pan out. Prophesying that you’d rise again from the dead and doing it brings you everlasting fame. Prophesying that you’d rise again from the dead and not doing it ensures history’s loss of memory of you,” Renfield reflected.

“I suppose so,” Amadeus eagerly grabbed his plate of Baked Alaska from the waitress as he was trying to recall where he heard the name Sarah Palin before.

“So would you like to know what was the name of Louis Rocher’s father on his 1874 birth certificate?” Renfield pulled a plum out of his mincemeat pie and thought what a good boy he was.

“Yes, the suspense is killing me as are these suspenders,” Amadeus stated, “God, why do my pants feel so tight?”.

“Yes, the name of Louis Rocher’s father was none other than…” Renfield grinned, “drum roll please.”

Amadeus handed him an egg roll from his coat pocket.

Renfield put the egg roll aside and wiped his hands with a napkin, “The name of Louis Rocher’s father was none other than… Prof. James Moriarty.”

“Sherlock Holmes’ arch enemy?!” Amadeus spit a huge piece of Baked Alaska out of his mouth that went flying across the room and hit David Cameron in the face.

“The very same,” Renfield grinned.

A London bobby rushed to Mr. Cameron’s aid and shouted, “Prime Minister down! Prime Minister down!”.

Outside the restaurant, zookeepers from the London Zoo could be seen chasing an escaped barking otter down the street.

“So Sherrielock Holmes was married to Prof. Moriarty’s son?” Amadeus was astounded.

“Unknowingly of course,” Renfield smiled.

“So that means Dr. Cadbury Rocher has Sherlock Holmes’ twin sister for a great-grandmother and Sherlock Holmes’ arch enemy for a great great grandfather?” Amadeus reflected on what this meant for the world as chaos reigned at David Cameron’s table and on the otter filled streets of London outside.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
during the period
Thursday December 9th
to
Tuesday December 15th
2015.

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Part XVII The Giant Rat of Sumatra

November 19, 2015 at 8:22 pm (Detective story, Horror, Mystery, Mystery/horror, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Part XVII The Giant Rat of Sumatra

The Steinenfrank Circus had been closed down by Lincolnshire County authorities for knowingly bringing rodents into county boundaries.

And there was no way for them to deny it with the body of the Giant Rat of Sumatra on the premises.

It was evening and Dr. Faustus aka Hemlock the Magician was loading his belongings into his caravan wagon.

He was returning to Germany along with Vittoria Donna Gina.

Vittoria stood there in a lovely black evening dress and Sherlock Holmes kissed her elegantly black leather glove clad hand.

“England shall miss you, Miss Vittoria,” Holmes said as he gazed into her eyes.

“And you, Mr.Holmes, shall you miss me?” Her deep dark jet black eyes gazed into the detective’s soul.

“I shall indeed, Miss Vittoria,” Holmes spoke softly.

Vittoria grabbed the man from 221B Baker Street and kissed him passionately on the lips.

“Oh God, the game is more than afoot,” Holmes whispered after the kiss.

“I feel it to be so,” Vittoria sighed in ecstasy as she held Holmes in a passionate embrace.

“It’s time to be going, Miss Vittoria,” Faust’s voice showed more than a hint of anger and jealousy.

“Good-bye, Mr. Holmes,” Vittoria smiled at the deerstalker cap clad gentleman.

“Au revoir, ma cherie d’amour,” Holmes reluctantly let go of the enchanting Vittoria Donna Gina.

She lifted her dress to walk up the steps of the caravan trailer.

Holmes dropped his pipe on the ground so he could look up as his hands fiddled around on the ground to find the pipe.

“I did not know the world’s greatest detective was also the world’s greatest pervert,” Faust remarked dryly.

“As Abraham Lincoln shrewdly observed, a man without vices is inevitably also a man without virtues,” was Holmes’ reply.

Faust harrumphed.

“So will you now experiment with rats over in Germany?” Holmes inquired.

In his mind’s eye, Holmes pictured Germany’s Kaiser Wilhelm II on a giant glass slide under a giant microscope.

“I shall continue my work in Mendel’s new science of genetics,” was Faust’s reply, “I’m thinking of working with the Bavarian Forest’s rich supply of magic mushrooms to create new pharmaceuticals and perhaps someday in the field of human genetics I shall create an ΓΌbermensch.”

“I imagine Nietzsche would approve,” Holmes lit his pipe.

. . .

Sherlock Holmes rode the train from Stamford to London with veterinarian Fred Clegg.

“So you have some business to attend to in London, Mr. Clegg?” Holmes asked the veterinarian as he gazed out at the English countryside.

“Some brief business, yes, Mr. Holmes,” Clegg gazed at the detective.

“And then back to your veterinary practice and livery stable business?” Holmes asked.

“Indeed, Mr. Holmes,” Clegg smiled.

“Ever consider any other plans in your future besides running a horse drawn omnibus service in the seaside resort of Morecambe?” Holmes asked.

“Well, I’ve sometimes thought of going out to Canada,” Clegg answered.

“Canada, eh?” Holmes felt a sudden craving for beer and back bacon.

“Yes, the Northwest Territories,” Clegg nodded, “possibly the Alberta Territory. They say there’s lots of good potential ranch land and farmland in and around the area of the Red Deer River Badlands.”

“That was the area where the geologist Tyrrell discovered 10 years ago bones belonging to one of those giant creatures we call dinosaurs?” Holmes asked.

“That was the area all right,” Clegg smiled.

“I wonder if any such creatures are around today,” Holmes mused aloud.

“Only in the House of Lords,” Clegg winked.

Holmes laughed.

“What about you, Mr. Holmes?” Clegg asked, “Returning to your old haunts in London?”.

“Eventually, Mr. Clegg,” Holmes looked pained as he talked, “I have some family business to attend to in Paris.”

“Oh really?” Clegg seemed surprised.

“Yes, it’s my twin sister Sherrielock Holmes,” Holmes frowned, “she’s done something of potential embarrassment to the family.”

“I didn’t even know you had a twin sister,” Clegg seemed genuinely shocked, “Dr. Watson has only mentioned an older brother Mycroft in his articles about you.”

“Dr. Watson doesn’t know about Sherrielock,” Holmes lit a pipe, “she’s the black sheep of the family.”

“Oh,” Clegg nodded sympathetically.

“I can only deduce what she does for a living,” Holmes looked out the window again, “in her room, she has all sorts of whips and riding crops and wooden paddles and sinister looking hairbrushes. In her closet, all sorts of leather corsets and black velvet skirts. And her clientele is mainly made up of members of the British Cabinet and the House of Lords.”

“And she’s now in Paris?” Fred Clegg asked.

“Yes, it’s come to my attention that she has appeared in several nude drawings and paintings done by that notorious Montmartre artist Toulouse-Lautrec,” Holmes’ face turned red, “such exposure the Holmes family doesn’t really need.”

“You have my sympathy, Mr. Holmes,” Fred Clegg extended his hand.

“Thank you, Clegg,” the detective shook the veterinarian’s hand.

“And will you be telling Dr. Watson of our adventure with the Giant Rat of Sumatra?” Clegg asked.

“No,” Holmes shook his head, “I don’t want every vampire hunter in the world pursuing the lovely Miss Vittoria Donna Gina. So if the matter of the Matilda Briggs and the Giant Rat of Sumatra should ever come up, I’ll just tell Dr. Watson that it’s a story for which the world is not yet prepared.”

-A Sherlock Holmes novella chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday November 12th
2015.

-THE END-

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Part XIV The Giant Rat of Sumatra

October 11, 2015 at 6:57 pm (Detective story, Horror, Mystery, Mystery/horror, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Part XIV The Giant Rat of Sumatra

The dark haired dark bearded dark eyed man in the well-tailored suit with top hat and cane stood only feet away from Vittoria Donna Gina’s caravan trailer.

Holmes immediately recognized him.

He ran to grab the man when suddenly another man appeared on the scene.

The distinguished looking man with gray moustache, silvery gray hair and spectacles sporting a huge crucifix around his neck pulled what appeared to be a huge wooden stake from under his coat and shoved it into the vicinity of the dark bearded man’s heart.

To Holmes’ shock and amazement, the dark haired dark bearded dark eyed man crumbled to dust.

All that remained were his distinguished clothes, top hat and cane.

Holmes stood there totally transfixed by what he saw.

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” the gray moustached gentleman held out his hand.

Holmes then recognized the man.

“Dr. Abraham Van Helsing,” Holmes held out his hand.

Holmes recognized the famous Dutch physician and distinguished world authority on rare blood disorders.

“What was that I just witnessed?” Holmes inquired.

Dr. Van Helsing laughed, “Well seeing as how you’ve attacked me for my views in letters written to various scientific journals and have called me a damned medievalist for believing in dark ages superstitious nonsense, I don’t think you’d really believe me if I told you, Mr. Holmes.”

“I’ve never seen a man crumble to dust within seconds after a stake has been placed through his heart,” Holmes looked somewhat pale, “so maybe I’m now more open to possibilities that go beyond my sense of reason than I was before. Was that… a… a… a….?”

“A vampire, Mr. Holmes?” Van Helsing smiled, “can’t you even bring yourself to say the word?”.

“No, I guess not,” Holmes shook his head.

“He shall be disturbing the world no more,” Van Helsing looked down at the clothes that had once adorned the vampire.

“What was his name?” Holmes asked.

“He called himself Lord Belfor although he had no official legal title,” Van Helsing replied, “he owned a large estate outside London where he was married to a fat and wealthy mortal former brothel owner who had a half-dozen brats of her own that he adopted and thus bear his English name Belfor.”

“His English name?” Holmes lit his pipe, “But judging from his appearance when he was still alive and Undead, he appeared to be Italian in nationality.”

“He was,” Van Helsing nodded, “his real name was Rodrigo Salieri the bastard son of Antonio Salieri.”

“Antonio Salieri the Italian composer rumoured to have murdered Mozart?” Holmes asked.

“The same,” Van Helsing nodded, “Rodrigo Salieri was even a more mediocre musician than his father. He was also a greater moral reprobate than his father for Rodriogo was both a rapist and serial killer of young women.”

“Before or after he was a vampire?” Holmes inquired.

“Both,” Van Helsing replied.

“Any idea what year he became a vampire?” Holmes blew smoke rings into the air.

“Well, according to one of his diaries which I managed to find,” Van Helsing answered, “in 1830 when he was 30 years old.”

“Did he say how it happened?” Holmes was intrigued.

“According to the diary entry, he called on the demon Mephistopheles to grant him immortality. Mephistopheles, according to the diary, appeared to him and said he would grant him a form of immortality – a vampiric existence. But the young bastard Salieri would have to avoid Crosses and Crucifixes and consecrated Communion hosts as well as wooden stakes through the heart. And unlike mad dogs and Englishmen, he could not go out walking in the noonday sun. Or any other time of day when the sun was present.”

“And it was the demon Mephistopheles who turned him into a vampire?” Holmes was incredulous.

“Mephistopheles introduced him to the ancient Babylonian vampiress Lilith who bit him on the neck,” Van Helsing replied.

An owl was heard hooting in the distance as the moon burst through a dark cloud.

Some frogs croaked in the distance on the other side of the river Welland.

“Demons and ancient Babylonian vampiresses,” Holmes shook his head, “it makes me wish I was back in my London lab working with chemicals- substances I can understand.”

“Chemicals eh?” Van Helsing smiled, “Like the Renaissance alchemist Dr. Johann Georg Faust.”

“Another one of the exploits of Mephistopheles,” Holmes mused.

“According to an entry in the bastard Salieri’s diary,” Van Helsing noted, “Faust was granted a form of immortality other than a vampiric one. And Faust did not actually die like legend says or Christopher Marlowe or Goethe mention in their respective tales.”

“No,” Holmes had to smile, “What happened to him?”.

“Well according to historical records, Dr. Johann Georg Faust was supposed to have died in an explosion caused by an alchemical experiment he was performing at the Hotel zum Lowen in Staufen im Breisgau. The explosion was said to have occurred around the year 1540, ” Van Helsing explained, “but according to Salieri’s diary, Faust’s face was only disfigured in the explosion. Salieri claims Faust took to wearing a mask and Faust is still alive today wandering the earth as a masked man.”

“Reminds me of stories I’ve heard of a freedom fighter in Spanish ruled California or a lone Ranger riding the plains of Texas on a silver horse,” Holmes laughed.

“According to Salieri,” Van Helsing went on, “the mask Faust wears is an unusual one. He has two masks. One a golden mask of Greek dramatic tragedy. The other a golden mask of Greek dramatic comedy.”

“Really?” The normally calm and serene looking Holmes turned ashen white.

“And Salieri claims that Faust is currently working as a stage magician,” Van Helsing went on.

Holmes started choking on his pipe.

“I just wish I knew if Salieri has bitten anyone in Stamford and turned them into a member of the UnDead,” Van Helsing scratched his chin.

“And presumably you’d drive a stake through that individual’s heart,” Holmes glanced nervously in the direction of Vittoria Donna Gina’s caravan trailer.

“It’s my sworn duty, Mr. Holmes,” Van Helsing bowed to the consulting detective.

“Well I’ve been thoroughly watching this bastard Salieri aka the obnoxious serial killer and rapist Lord Belfor,” Holmes said, “because there were fears among circus performers here that he was going to steal one of the animals. And I can assure you that he had no time here to turn anyone into the UnDead.”

“Then it appears my work here is finished, Mr. Holmes,” Van Helsing shook the detective’s hand, “it was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Van Helsing,” Holmes shook the vampire hunter’s hand.

As Van Helsing walked off into the night, Holmes could only guess what the bastard Salieri aka serial killer and rapist Lord Belfor had turned Vitttoria Donna Gina into when he used to sneak into her caravan trailer as she was touring Germany with Hemlock the Magician.

The Man With The Golden Mask- sometimes of tragedy and sometimes of comedy- had told Holmes that this stranger (Salieri Belfor) had stolen something from Vittoria Donna Gina.

Holmes now knew what that was.

And now Holmes knew why Vittoria only went out at night and not during the day.

And what that medication (as Hemlock called it) that looked like red iodine in a bottle- what that medication actually was that Hemlock gave her.

It was Vittoria Donna Gina’s sustenance that prevented her from attacking the blood of innocents.

To be continued.

-A Sherlock Holmes novella chapter
written by Christopher
Friday September 25th
2015.

This blog post contains the links to my previous chapters in The Giant Rat of Sumatra (that I wrote back in 2010):

https://draculvanhelsing.wordpress.com/2015/09/16/the-giant-rat-of-sumatra/

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The Giant Rat of Sumatra

September 16, 2015 at 7:37 pm (Detective story, Horror, Mystery, Mystery/horror, The Supernatural, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

The Giant Rat of Sumatra

Back in late January and early February of 2010, I started writing a Sherlock Holmes novella called The Giant Rat of Sumatra.

I managed to write 13 chapters to it.

Then in mid-February of 2010, my dad started to come down with an illness that the doctors later diagnosed as cancer.

He died in June of 2010.

The next few years saw me dealing with legal battles over my father’s Estate and dealing with incompetent lawyers and even more incompetent Estate executors.

So I never got around to finishing it- my novella.

A couple of days ago, I decided to go back and read those novella chapters I had written.

One thing that struck me as I went back to reading what I had written 5 years ago was the shear contempt with which I regarded lawyers- a contempt that struck me as being quite prophetic in lieu of what was to happen to me over the course of the next 4 years.

I had indeed quite an ensemble of memorable characters in those chapters- in addition to Conan Doyle’s legendary detective figure of Sherlock Holmes, I had veterinarian Fred Clegg (modeled on my great-grandfather), Captain Heelander, Vittoria Donna Gina, Hemlock The Magician, Magus Steinenfrank and even Darwin the Sumatran orangutan and Krakatoa the Sumatran tiger.

Within the next few weeks, I’m going to see if I can’t finally finish this novella.

In the meantime for readers here who never read my early chapters, here are the links to those chapters of my novella The Giant Rat of Sumatra- a story for which I think the world is now prepared:

Links Giant Rat of Sumatra

The Giant Rat of Sumatra Links

http://thevampiresamurai.blogspot.ca/2010/01/giant-rat-of-sumatra.html

http://thevampiresamurai.blogspot.ca/2010/01/giant-rat-of-sumatra-part-ii.html

http://thevampiresamurai.blogspot.ca/2010/01/giant-rat-of-sumatra-part-iii.html

http://thevampiresamurai.blogspot.ca/2010/01/giant-rat-of-sumatra-part-iv.html

http://thevampiresamurai.blogspot.ca/2010/01/giant-rat-of-sumatra-part-v.html

http://thevampiresamurai.blogspot.ca/2010/01/giant-rat-of-sumatra-part-vi.html

http://thevampiresamurai.blogspot.ca/2010/02/giant-rat-of-sumatra-part-vii.html

http://thevampiresamurai.blogspot.ca/2010/02/giant-rat-of-sumatra-part-viii.html

http://thevampiresamurai.blogspot.ca/2010/02/giant-rat-of-sumatra-part-viiia-ix.html

http://thevampiresamurai.blogspot.ca/2010/02/giant-rat-of-sumatra-part-x.html

http://thevampiresamurai.blogspot.ca/2010/02/giant-rat-of-sumatra-part-xi.html

http://thevampiresamurai.blogspot.ca/2010/02/giant-rat-of-sumatra-part-xii.html

http://thevampiresamurai.blogspot.ca/2010/02/giant-rat-of-sumatra-part-xiii.html

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Haiku For Sherlock Holmes’ 161st Birthday

January 6, 2015 at 5:40 pm (Detective story, Literature, Poetry) (, , , )

Haiku For Sherlock Holmes’ 161st Birthday

-written by Christopher
Tuesday January 6th
2015.

Baker Street’s Sherlock
Two- two- one Bee the door to
his great adventures

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Weird Weather All Over The World

February 13, 2014 at 7:13 pm (Commentary, News, Vampire novel) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Weird Weather All Over The World

Pan Goatee was walking down the streets of Washington DC reading a book on Renaissance art that he had recently purchased at the Smithsonian Bookshop when suddenly a foot of snow fell on top of him.

“Oh shit,” Pan said to himself.

He was too frozen to be able to concentrate to astral project his astral self to go for help.

. . .

The ancient Middle Eastern god Moloch was too busy smiling to care what the weather was like in Brussels.

The Belgian Parliament had just passed a law legalizing euthanasia for children.

The fierce-looking god walked the streets of Brussels singing the lyrics of that old Louis Armstrong song, “And I think to myself what a wonderful world…”

. . .

Welsh werewolf British Labour MP Magog Rhys Petley tired of constantly turning into a werewolf on the streets of London not to mention his howlingly successful colossal failures in the field of international diplomacy decided to give himself a much needed rest by doing a little ice fishing in the streams of his native Wales.

As he reeled in plenty of ice but little fish on his rod, the lycanthropic Marxist inclined far Leftist parliamentarian was suddenly hit by a hurricane force wind that came at him out of right field.

As Magog blew down the stream, he said aloud, “I think this is how Sherlock Holmes met his end in the Conan Doyle story The Final Problem wasn’t it?”.

“Not at all,” a Welsh shepherd calmly smoking his pipe against a tree remarked as Magog blew by, “that happened at Reichenbach Falls in the northern Swiss Alps not a stream in Wales. And he died- only to return again in The Return of Sherlock Holmes- while battling the evil Prof. Moriarty not stupidly being out in weather that neither man nor beast should be out in.”

. . .

Renfield R. Renfield was about to head out the door of his home which was his employer the billionaire ancient Egyptian vampire Set’s colossal London mansion when Amadeus Emanon his co-employee asked him, “Aren’t you afraid to go out in this weather with all the weather warnings that the Weather Office has issued?”.

“Not at all,” the shapeshifting hamster/human guffawed with glamorous glee, “that nasty weather isn’t going to hit London.”

No sooner had Renfield stepped outside and closed the door behind him, he was then immediately hit by a full-scale typhoon.

“Holy shit,” Renfield cried out before being swept away.

“Do you suppose Renfield is having a bowel movement in Holy Water?” Amadeus asked Set’s butler and valet Athelstan after he heard Renfield’s cry.

. . .

To be continued.

-A vampire novel chapter
written by Christopher
Thursday February 13th
2014.

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Sherlock Holmes’ 160th Birthday

January 6, 2014 at 4:20 pm (Commentary, Detective story, News, Quotations and Sayings of Dracul Van Helsing) (, )

Today is Sherlock Holmes’ 160th birthday.

Happy Birthday, Sherlock. πŸ™‚

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