Welcome. This is my blog, and you're my most coveted guest. If I seem a bit too intense, it's only because I have so much that I want to share with you, and I can see that you're eager to begin as well. So, please...make yourself at home, sip an East India cocktail (I blended the pomegranate juice myself), and sample some of my domestic and imported Arcana: useless, but fascinating information about Victoriana, Steampunk and other favoured topics; music which evokes that dark, lost Lenore sensibility; and other pleasant or, perhaps, unsettling non sequiters whispered in a darkened room. Linger long or short, leave a comment or refrain, but remember to come back soon to play a (shhhh) parlour game.
Velkommen. Dette er min blog, og du er min mest eftertragtedegæst. Hvis jeg synes en smule for intenst, det er kunfordi jeg har så meget at jeg vil dele med jer, og jeg kanse, at du er ivrig efter at begynde så godt. kan du ...føl dig hjemme, sip et East India cocktail (jeg blandetden granatæble juice mig selv), og prøve nogle af mine indenlandske o importerede Arcana: ubrugelig, menfascinerende oplysninger om Victoriana, Steampunkog andre begunstigede emner; musik der fremkalderdenne mørke, mistede Lenore sensibilitet, og andrebehagelige eller måske foruroligende, ikke sequitershviskede i et mørkelagt rum. Linger lang eller kort,efterlade en kommentar eller afstå, men husk at komme tilbage snart til at spille en (Shhhh) selskabsleg.


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I love my grown children, miss all the dogs I ever had, and I cry at the drop of a hat, I believe in true love, destiny, fairness, and compassion. If I could be anywhere right now, it would be the ocean. My favorite city is New York, but I am always longing for London and craving more time in Copenhagen. I'm drawn to desolate places, deserted buildings, and unknown byways. I don't care how society perceives me as long as my gut tells me that what I'm doing is right. I am interested in paranormal things, spiritual things, historical things, and things that glow at night. I like to drink, I smoke when I write, I can't stand small talk, and despite my quick temper, I would rather kiss than fight. I'm selfish with my writing time, a spendthrift with my love. My heart has been broken so many times that it's held together with super glue and duct tape. The upside is that, next time, I won't be tempted to give away what I no longer have to give. But I will let you buy me a Pink Squirrel.


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Helvede's så Nocturne

Helvede's så Nocturne
The raw, aching sadness with which the following words were typed has been reformatted to fit your screen. No need to adjust it. All names have been expunged to protect the innocent and the willfully insane.

Nocturne in G Flat major

Chopin, darkness, light, sand and wind, starlight tread. Beethoven, love, fear, madness, redemption in the night. Liszt, waltzing widows, desperate bargains, pleasure's secret plight. Now, then, before, always, forever. Promises made on lonely beaches, celestial summer's perfect kiss, passions quenched in salty breezes, the lure of distant mist-draped heights. Bitter interlude. Final, private nocturne. Burned down like a candle. Doomed bleeding beauty. Fated sacrificial night.
To be continued...

Gentle Visitor

Gentle Visitor
And now, Gentle Visitor, won't you please lend an eye (we've worked so hard)...
We love all things dark and mysterious, macabre and obscure, odd and unfathomable. Nothing is too strange or bizarre for our little blog. And although we would never presume to offer definitive answers to the great questions of life, we shall do our best to enlighten, inform and delight our visitors with our whimsical potpurri of facts, anecdotes, trivia and informational outpourings. We strive not to offend, but to edify those who wish to reach beyond their comfort zone and touch the fabric of another time and place, and of distant, but genuine worlds and lives. As Victorian-themed blogs go, ours may not be the most austere, nor the most comprehensive, but we know what we like, and if our readers like it as well, then all is as it should be in this ramshackle corner of our own personal Victorian empire.

A Musical Note

A Musical Note: We feel that our blog is best viewed when accompanied by one or more of the following musical selections. Then again, we also feel that our blog is best viewed when accompanied by a glass of absinthe, a bite of lemon cake, and a foot massage (preferably by someone you know). So, to paraphrase the otherwise completely irrelevant-to-our-blog Mr. Aleister Crowley, "Do what thou wilt...but be open to Chopin."

And now we begin

And now we begin
"One must strive to show decorum even when scrolling." Queen Victoria, Buckingham Palace Blog, August 11,1879

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Saturday, June 9, 2012


The late 1880s was a difficult time for the George and Mary Brown family of Exeter, Rhode Island. In 1888, Mary fell ill with consumption, (or it is more commonly known today, tuberculosis) and a short time later, died from the disease, leaving George to care for the couple's children and run the family farm on his own. But her casket was barely in the ground before the dreaded disease struck the family once more, this time claiming the life of the eldest of the Brown offspring, a daughter called Mary Olive. Two years later, a son, Edwin, and another daughter, Mercy, also contracted the disease. While, in Edwin's case, the disease took a more protracted form, laying waste to his body but not killing him right away, his 19-year-old sister Mercy died shortly after falling ill and was buried alongside her mother and sister. Devastated by his loss, George Brown focused all of his attention on caring for his son.

That was when things took an even worse...and stranger turn...for what remained of the Brown family. Within days of his sister Mercy's death, Edwin told his father that he had seen Mercy walking outside the house at night. As might be expected, his father dismissed his son's claims, insisting that the so-called sighting must have been a dream. But if it was a dream, it was a recurring one, because Edwin continued to see what he believed was his sister on several subsequent nights. It was a perplexing situation for George. He was a simple man whose life had always revolved around his family and their farm. Although not particularly religious, he was known as a God-fearing person who had always attended the local Baptist church and who had never been known for having any unusual interest in things of an occult nature. But faced with the probable loss of his son to the same disease that had robbed him of his wife and two daughters, George Brown now became obsessed with the idea that his youngest child, Mercy, might actually be....a vampire. And not only was Mercy a vampire, but that she was responsible for Edwin's increasingly weakened state. That was the reason that she came to Edwin at night, George decided. It was to prey on Edwin, to drain what little life had had left inside of him in order to satiate her own, perverse, "undead" appetite. In fact, george was so convinced that this was the case that he prevailed upon several of his friends to assist him in exhuming the bodies of Mercy, her mother, and her sister.

It could not have been an easy thing for George Brown to dig up the bodies of his family members, even if he did believe that one of them was a vampire. Nor could it have been anything less than horrific to look at those bodies once the grim task had been completed. Mary Olive's corpse was nothing more than a skeleton with some hair still attached to the skull. Mary's body was in better condition, with most of the muscle tissue still intact, but her heart was devoid of blood. However, Mercy's body, which had only been in the ground for two months, showed almost no sign of decay at all. In fact, her heart, when removed from her chest, was dripping with blood. Surely this was proof that she was, in fact, a vampire! Convinced that his worst fears had been realized, George tore Mercy's lungs from her body as well, and burned them, along with her heart, on a nearby rock. Afterward, he gathered up the ashes, took them home, and mixed them into a glass of water which he gave to Edwin to drink.

The seemingly strange concoction that George gave to his son was in keeping with local beliefs about vampires. Even in the early 1890s, the residents of small, rural communities like Exeter, Rhode Island believed that things like vampires could and did exist. Under ordinary circumstances, a God-fearing man like George Brown might put such thoughts out of his mind, but assailed by grief and familial loss, he was desperate to assign blame to someone...or something...and there seemed to be no better candidate than his dead daughter, Mercy. Unfortunately for George, news of his desperate attempt to put an end to Mercy's alleged nocturnal activities seeped past the village borders, prompting a visit from state law officials who were not impressed with his actions. For a time, there was even talk of charging him with the crime of desecrating a corpse. But in the midst of the hoopla, Edwin finally succumbed to his disease, and the judge who was presented with the case decided that George had already suffered enough. George buried his son, and no charges were ever filed in connection with the exhumation of Mercy and the other Brown family members. With Edwin's death, things in Exeter quieted down, with no one reporting anything any more sightings of least for a while. Years later, people in the area began claiming that they had witnessed "unusual activity" around her grave, although no one ever claimed to actually see the unfortunate girl herself. Although, even today, there are still occasional reports of odd lights and strange apparitions in the cemetery where the Brown family are buried, it seems that Mercy Brown is finally at peace...despite the infamy that will always be attached to her name.

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