HorrorAddicts.net 116, Kristin Battestella


Horror Addicts Episode# 116

Horror Hostess: Emerian Rich

Intro Music by: Valentine Wolfe

kristin battestella | new years day | only lovers left alive

Find all articles and interviews at: http://www.horroraddicts.net

111 days till halloween

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David Watson, Dan Shaurette, Marc Vale, KBatz (Kristin Battestella), Mimielle, Dawn Wood, Lillian Csernica, Killion Slade, D.J. Pitsiladis, Jesse Orr, A.D. Vick

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Movie Review: I’ll Bury You Tomorrow


ibut 1Wow. Here’s something a little different for you horror fans out there. I found this film in an overcrowded little second-hand shop in one of Dublin’s most famous market areas. It’s the kind of shop I normally frequent because some of the best- and worst- horror films I’ve watched and reviewed on my horror film review blog (sandrafirstruleoffilmclubharris.wordpress.com) have come from just such places.

I’ve found some real gems in this way and for half-nothing too, so it’s little wonder I’m so often to be found browsing in them, ignoring the impatient stares and throat-clearings of the proprietors trying to get me the hell out of their shops at closing-time so they can go home, eat dinner, watch EASTENDERS, argue with the wife about whose turn it is to put the bins out and fall asleep in front of THE NEWS AT TEN.

This looks good, I thought when I first picked up I’LL BURY YOU TOMORROW, which from now on ibut 2shall be referred to asIBUT. It’ll be perfect for my blog. And it is good, but it’s also weird and off-the-wall and contains subject matter unlikely to make it suitable for viewing by all the family on Christmas Day between showings of FROZEN and IT’S A WONDERFUL LIFE.God help us all, Granny Ivy would choke on her brussels sprouts and good old Uncle Albert might just have that coronary that’s been threatening ever since Auntie Betty ran off with the milkman in 1974.

This low-budget horror film was made in 2002 and transferred to DVD in 2006, but it has a much earlier feel to it than that. I watched it without first checking the DVD box for the year it was made and so I spent most of the film thinking I was watching something from the early ’80s. Most horror fans will know that this was a very tasty era both for great acknowledged classic horror movies like POLTERGEIST (1982) and AMITYVILLE 2: THE POSSESSION (1982), and also for really good bad horror films, if you get what I mean.

ibut 3I’m talking about movies like DON’T GO IN THE HOUSE (1980), for example, which would be another perfect example of Films Not To Watch With Your Family Over Dinner. DON’T GO IN THE HOUSE was actually classed as a video-nasty, in fact. Some viewers might think the same about IBUT, though nowhere online was I able to find the actual words ‘video-nasty’ in connection with it.

Dolores Finley is the film’s heroine, or maybe anti-heroine would be closer to the mark. She is a rather strange young woman who arrives at the American one-horse town of Port Oram with a trunk in tow, a trunk which clearly contains something she is not keen for others to see. She has come to the quiet little town in answer to an advertisement in the newspaper. It is an advertisement seeking someone to work in the town’s one and only funeral home, run by Percival and Nettie Beech.

Dolores gets the job with little difficulty. She grew up working in her parents’ funeral home, she’s a ibut 4personable enough young woman who also happens to resemble the Beeches’ murdered daughter Sharon, she was the only applicant for the position and so on and so forth. Percival Beech, her new employer, is hugely impressed by how comfortable she is around the corpses and how competently she handles them. Nettie Beech just cares about Dolores’s uncanny resemblance to Sharon and thinks that having Dolores lodging in their home will be just like having their darling Shazza back again. You can tell already, can’t you, that this is all going to work out wonderfully well…?

We find out early enough what exactly Dolores is humping around in that lil’ ol’ trunk of hers. It’s actually her parents’ heads. Well, what else could it have been? Silly us, we should have guessed. It turns out that Dolores is as crazy as a loon, but not without reason. Through flashback, we see that her Mom and Pops used to tie her to a gurney and abuse her sexually in their own mortuary when she was growing up. That’s enough to turn anyone doo-lally, I suppose. Then, in another flashback, we see Dolores turning the tables on the loathsome pair. Guess whose turn it is now to be tied to the gurneys and horribly tortured…? You guessed it. Mom and Pops Finley. Poor old Dolores. With parents like that, she was never exactly going to turn out stable and well-adjusted, was she…?

ibut 5Any-hoo, after her arrival in Port Oram, Dolores decides to finally dispose of her parents’ decomposed skulls, probably to avoid detection and public exposure. She buries the heads in a nearby abandoned building, only to later find out that she was being watched the whole time by Jake, a fellow funeral home employee who’s got quite the little racket going on the side. With his transexual partner Corey (played by the director) who does the stiffs’ make-up at the Beeches’ place, he’s been selling the ‘closed casket’ bodies for their organs, and for big bucks too.

Jake blackmails Dolores into joining him in his evil scam, but Dolores is already as mad as a box of frogs and is actually not at all opposed to getting involved in something that will see her become a more powerful figure at the funeral home. Their agreement sets in motion a bloody train of events that sees nearly the entire cast of the film slaughtered and wallowing helplessly in their own blood. Hope that’s not a massive spoiler, tee-hee…

The DVD box promised me ‘murder, mayhem, body-snatching and necrophilia.’ There was murder, mayhem and body-snatching in abundance. Was there necrophilia? Well, it was strongly implied that Dolores likes to have sex with male cadavers. There was touching, fondling and even dancing- yes, dancing- all taking place while the gorgeous Ms. Finley was topless or dressed in sexy lingerie. I can’t really say that I saw any actual corpse-sex, as such, but the implications were strong. Strong enough to cause chaos at that Christmas dinner table we were discussing earlier if you were to stick IBUT in the old DVD player instead of A MUPPET CHRISTMAS CAROL or THE GRINCH THAT STOLE CHRISTMAS, anyway.

There’s a whole cast of weird, unpleasant or just plain ugly characters in the film that are great fun to ibut 6watch as they run around the place being as sick in the head and utterly dysfunctional as they know how to be. Check out crazy old religious nut Nettie Beech, Corey the transexual make-up artist to the stiffs, the local minister and, in particular, the receptionist at the morgue. Just what is up with that, y’all…? I’m f***ed if I know, haha. It’s the kind of film where you wouldn’t be surprised to have the notorious Divine cropping up doing something disgusting or illegal, or even disgustingly illegal. That’s how messed-up it is. But if you think that’s your thing, then you might just enjoy it.

I found IBUT to be bizarre and even a tad incomprehensible in places but, overall, it’s a terrific watch for fans of the horror genre. It really made me think, too. Like, about who exactly might be interfering with my earthly remains while I lie in my coffin in the funeral home clutching my rosary beads in my cold dead hands. If IBUT is to be believed, well, almost anything could be happening to my pimped-up corpse and I wouldn’t even be aware of it. That’s the real dirty rotten swizz, the fact that I’d be unaware of any sexy shenanigans taking place with regard to my deceased person. If I’m going out on a ride, I want to damn well know about it and enjoy it, haha…

Go forth now, horror fans, and find this film and watch it. Roll around in the foul-smelling vomit that pukes forth from its diseased pores and anoint thyselves with it good-style. Then put it back in its box, say: ‘Well, that was interesting,’ and make thyselves a nice cup of tea. It’s good advice. Thee should take it…

HorrorAddicts.net 114, H.E. Roulo


Horror Addicts Episode# 114

Horror Hostess: Emerian Rich

Intro Music by: Valentine Wolfe

h.e. roulo | particle son | the walking dead

Find all articles and interviews at: http://www.horroraddicts.net

174 days till halloween

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Horror Addicts Guide to Life Author Spotlight: Sandra Harris

Sandra Harris writes fiction, poetry and movie reviews. For Horror Addicts Guide To Life  Sandra wrote an article called How Hammer Horror Changed My Life. In her article Sandra talks about how being a fan of Hammer Horror and finding a community of like minded fans led her to be a writer. To read Sandra’s article along with several other articles on living the horror lifestyle, pick up a copy of Horror Addicts Guide To Life.Recently Sandra was nice enough to tell us what he likes about horror:

What do you like about the horror genre?

HammerDraculaI came to worship at the altar of the horror genre late enough in comparison to those who were born suckling at its unholy teat. For most of my life, I was timid and nervous and I thought that books and films featuring bloodsucking vampires, devils (horny or otherwise), demons, zombies, witches, boogeymen and other fearsomely ghoulish beasties that routinely go bump in the night were not for me. I felt excluded from them, if you want to know the honest truth. They were for other, braver people, not for wimps like me.

During Halloween of 2013, however, egged on by a friend, I watched my first-ever HALLOWEEN movie featuring the impassive, white-masked villain, Michael Myers. I followed this up with a short season of Hammer Horror films during Christmas of 2013. A sort of transformation took place within me. I loved what I was seeing. I was hooked. I then watched scary film after scary film, read creepy book after creepy book, and by the summer of 2014 I was a fully-fledged horror addict. Not as knowledgeable, maybe, as the folks who’ve been at it for years and years, but hopelessly addicted, nonetheless.

This brings me to the question: What do I like about the horror genre? Well, I don’t just like, I positively, absolutely Halloween_coverflippin’ love the freedom it’s brought me to be a whole new person. I’m no longer Sandra Harris, film and book addict but one, sadly, who’s too afraid to open that one last door marked HORROR and take a walk on the dark side. I’m now Sandra Harris, film and book addict who’s free to walk anywhere she damned well pleases, thank you very much. Even places that stink of fear and death and despair and have icky cobwebs that get stuck in your hair and tubes of lotion that it must put on its skin so it doesn’t get the hose again… (Movie quote. Look it up!)

I feel so freeeeeeeeeeee…! I feel as liberated as someone who’s managed to cast off the tight, confining, ill-fitting, even slightly itchy brassière of timidity and lack of confidence and is now running topless, knockers bouncing deliriously in their much-welcomed, new-found freedom, straight into the abandoned murder house or deserted shopping mall of a thousand of my nightmares. Did there have to be boobs in that analogy? No, I guess not, but it just seemed apt, somehow. Don’t steal my analogy, by the way. I’ll be copyrighting it before you can say lift and separate…

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a baby in horror terms next to the people who can watch someone stab someone else in the ear with a pencil and think it’s mild and tame compared to some other stuff they’ve seen. I have friends who tell me fondly that I’m a newbie who’s still only studying HORROR 101 in the University Of Life and that I must serve a long and gruesome apprenticeship before I can call myself a true horror addict. That’s okay with me. I’ll serve my apprenticeship. I’ll do the time. And I’m pretty sure I’ll enjoy every minute of it.

I love that the horror genre challenges me every day to push myself, to find and push right on past my boundaries. I think it helps me to be more open-minded. I’ve watched, read, written and even published things since discovering the horror genre that wouldn’t have even seemed possible a few years ago. In the last six months, I’ve published two books of horror film reviews and an erotic horror novella based on Christopher Lee’s smoulderingly sexy performance as Count Dracula in the Hammer Horror DRACULA films. Does that sound to you like the Sandra Harris of a couple of years ago? Well, you don’t know me all that well so you probably couldn’t say either way. But I know me, and I can tell you that it doesn’t sound like me in the slightest. It’s the me of today, though. And I love, love, love the new me.

What are some of your favorite horror movies, books or TV shows?

I adore Stephen King. He truly is the King Of Horror. My goal is to one day be able to say that I’ve read all of his books and mean it. As he’s written, like, a bazillion books, I reckon there’s enough material there to keep me going until I’m one-hundred-and-ninety-five years old. I’m incredibly jealous of his tremendous output and productivity. Actually, in the time it took me to write this he’s probably written two novels, three novellas, a book of short horror stories and the film script for a movie adaptation of one of his books, so I guess you’d better make that one-hundred-and-ninety-eight years old…

I also adore horror anthologies. Yes, exactly like the incredibly special and excellent one recently produced by tumblr_inline_nmqkp0Er5a1szqb3l_540horroraddicts.net, haha! I particularly love ones that contain stories about haunted houses but, generally speaking, any good spooky tale of the macabre will do.

Film-wise, I’ve been watching movies lately like THE AMITYVILLE HORROR (1979) and AMITYVILLE 2- THE POSSESSION (1982) and they’re so brilliant and scary that I think I might like to watch a few more films in this vein, especially if the evil is originating from a haunted house with a severely troubled past, as in the aforementioned two films or even in POLTERGEIST (1982), which is another good one. I want to watch a few more episodes of TALES FROM THE CRYPT as well, a terrific scary half-hour television show hosted by the pulchritudinously-challenged Crypt-Keeper. (Pulchritudinously? It’s a word, look it up….!)

In what way do you live the horror lifestyle?

Well, naturally, I sleep for most of the day in my special self-assembly coffin from Swedish furniture giants IKEA. It’s pretty comfortable and well-equipped with all the knick-knacks, doo-hickeys and whatchamaycallits required by any51rLIQ1XURL self-respecting wanna-be vampire (I’m a wanna-be vampire, by the way), including DVDs of the entire TWILIGHT saga and easy-to-open sachets of fake blood. I don’t get up until the sun goes down and then I begin my night by bathing assiduously in the blood of virgins, or at least I used to until virgins became harder to find than… well, than a thing that’s actually quite hard to find. Nowadays, I just use a nice moisturising soap that doesn’t dry the skin or leave me smelling like a compost heap.

I spend most nights moping around my local graveyard, writing gloomy gothic poetry, arranging myself artistically across the graves and getting to know one or two of the transients who congregate there by night to chat and smoke and drink and just generally shoot the breeze. They’re actually a pretty good bunch and we have a high old-time together. Some of the local residents have gotten up a petition against us, claiming that we make the place look untidy with the debris from our human sacrifices, orgiastic apocalyptic-style sexual free-for-alls and takeaway snack-boxes from Luigi’s Late-Nite Chipper across the street, but we don’t care. We figure life is for living, right…? Or, as in my case, being Un-Dead…

I nip back to my coffin before the first rays of sun can illuminate the logo on Ned The Knife’s Tesco Bag-For-Life, I grab the eighteen hours beauty sleep essential to keep my skin looking smooth and Un-dead, and then the whole glorious hoop-la can begin all over again…

What are you currently working on?

In January 2015, I published Book One of what I call my ANNA MEETS COUNT DRACULA trilogy. It’s an erotic horror novella that tells a scandalously saucy tale of sex, spanking and vampirism in Victorian England. It’s based on legendary horror actor Christopher Lee’s performance as Dracula in the Hammer Horror films of the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s and its tremendous fun to write. I’m working on Book Two of the trilogy at the moment, so hopefully I’ll be ready to publish it well before the end of 2015. Book Three should then appear in 2016. Fingers crossed…!

Where can we find you online?

  1. Here are all the links to my email, Facebook Page and Twitter profile, my blogs and my published e-books:


















Horror Addicts Guide to Life – Available now!

FinalFrontCoverHorror Addicts Guide to Life

Available now! 

Cover art by: Masloski Carmen

Editor: David Watson

Do you love the horror genre? Do you look at horror as a lifestyle? Do the “norms” not understand your love of the macabre?

Despair no longer, my friend, for within your grasp is a book written by those who look at horror as a way of life, just like you. This is your guide to living a horrifying existence. Featuring interviews with Midnight Syndicate, Valentine Wolfe, and The Gothic Tea Society.

Authors: Kristin Battestella, Mimielle, Emerian Rich, Dan Shaurette, Steven Rose Jr., Garth von Buchholz, H.E. Roulo, Sparky Lee Anderson, Mary Abshire, Chantal Boudreau, Jeff Carlson, Catt Dahman, Dean Farnell, Sandra Harris, Willo Hausman, Laurel Anne Hill, Sapphire Neal, James Newman, Loren Rhoads, Chris Ringler, Jessica Robinson, Eden Royce, Sumiko Saulson, Patricia Santos Marcantonio, J. Malcolm Stewart, Stoneslide Corrective, Mimi A.Williams, and Ron Vitale. With art by Carmen Masloski and Lnoir.


Horror Writing Month: SANDRA HARRIS




You could say that my ANNA MEETS COUNT DRACULA stories came about organically. They were the obvious next step on a journey that started over Christmas of 2013. I’m not kidding you, dear reader and fellow horror fan, when I say that the whole thing not only took me by surprise but it also kind of blew the roof off my head, turned me upside-down and inside out and set me back on my feet again as well, only this time with a specific destination in mind. This time, you could say that my feet knew exactly where they were headed.

A short season of late-night Hammer Horror films during Christmas 2013 unlocked a part of me that I’d only previously been aware of in a sort of hazy, peripheral way. It was a part that adored all things Gothic, things like ruined castles and abbeys, bloodsucking vampires and beautiful women with heaving bosoms who fall prey to all manner of monsters, ghouls and things that go bump in the night. I acquired a copy of Bram Stoker’s Gothic masterpiece, DRACULA, from my local Tesco when it came free with a daily newspaper. (The book, that is, not the supermarket.) I devoured it from cover to cover. I loved it, as surely anyone must who takes the time to read it.

Bram Stoker was Irish, same as myself, I told myself wonderingly afterwards. If he could do it, maybe I could do it…? Obviously not on the same scale, I reasoned. Probably not something that would be remembered in a century’s time like Stoker’s DRACULA but maybe something a bit sexy, a bit titillating, something that gave people a kind of illicit thrill when they read it…? Sexy and titillating I can definitely write. Hell, sexy and titillating I was born to write. Hmmm. It was food for thought, anyway.

lee-5I watched and re-watched all the Hammer Horror DRACULA films I could get my grubby little mitts on. Hammer Horror, by the way, is the name given to the horror movies made by the British film production company formed in 1934 by William Hinds.DRACULA (1958) is arguably Hammer Films’ most famous and successful production, created during the golden years of Hammer Horror. Christopher Lee, born in London in 1922, played Hammer’s Dracula in their superb series of films about the evil- but handsome- Transylvanian count.

Here we must depart from the strictly factual for a moment and move into the realms of personal opinion. Christopher Lee in his heyday was a big ride, as we say here in Ireland. Or, a big roide, if you want to be truly authentically Irish about it. He’s still a big ride, in my humble opinion, and always will be. In his role as Dracula, he is pure sex. If I were going to write my own little version of the famous story, he was always going to be my Count of choice. Ooooh, the things I could write about with Christopher Lee as my leading man! Ideas were formulating in my twisted and deviant little brain. Naughty ideas. Wickedideas. Erotic, kinky-as-f**k, downright filthy-dirty sex-meets-horror-meets-sex-again kind of ideas.

In June of 2013, I wrote my first piece of Dracula fan-fiction for a Creative Writing workshop I was taking. It went down well with the class, so I typed it up and put it on my newly-created horror movie review blog with the title ANNA MEETS COUNT DRACULA. The response was encouraging so I decided to keep going, just to see where the story would take me and how far I could go with it. At the time of writing this piece, I’ve written and posted over thirty instalments of the story and the readers and followers of my blog are still enjoying it and clamouring for more, so I’ve every intention of continuing to write it, at least until it comes to a natural and satisfactory conclusion. (Though I’ll be gutted when it does!)

drac_1513745c1Let me give you an overview of the plot. Lady Anna Carfax (yes, that’s a reference to Carfax Abbey!) is young, rich and beautiful and living in Victorian London in the time of fog-wreathed, gaslit streets, hansom cabs and Jack The Ripper. She lives a sheltered, fairly boring life and so she’s thrilled skinny when Count Dracula makes a nocturnal visit to her virginal bedchamber in the autumn of 1888. This period, by the way, is known to all Jack The Ripper fans such as myself as The Autumn Of Terror because of the murderous shenanigans of the aforementioned JTR, who gets a mention in the story. See, there’s a bit of actual history in there as well…! Anyway, Dracula is sternly handsome, commanding and authoritative and, the way I write him, he’s a stone-cold expert on female sexuality.

Dracula is responsible for Anna’s awakening as a vibrantly sexual woman with needs and desires that, naturally, only he can satisfy. (Clever bastard, isn’t he, fixing it that way!) In her bedroom at Richmond House, her family home, he teases her and toys with her until she’s practically begging him to take her away with him so that they can be together properly. When he eventually spirits her away to his heavily-fortified castle in a remote part of the English countryside, she is both fascinated and horrified to find out exactly what men and women do behind closed doors on their wedding nights.

Dracula takes Anna’s virginity, turns her into a vampire and instills in her a twisted desire for pain, sexual humiliation and physical punishment that only serves to complicate her life and ensure that she is further in thrall to her master, the Count, than is strictly good for her. (Thrall, that’s a real word, right…?!) As a woman, Anna submits to Dracula completely and utterly, but the newly-formed vampire in her needs to find an outlet too, and believe me when I say that that’s going to cause some problems down the line for the D-man…

ANNA MEETS COUNT DRACULA is peopled with an eccentric, sex-mad cast of characters who are in and out of each other’s beds with the single-minded determination of a dog who’s spied himself a particularly juicy cut of meat. We have Thomas Renfield, the young footman at Richmond House who’s so easy on the eye he’d be a Hollywood movie star if he were around today. He can’t make up his mind between Hester Price, Anna’s personal maid, and little Bessie Stoker, one of the kitchen maids, so he’s doing himself a favour and having them both.

Hammer Dracula Christopher LeeThere’s Sir Blaise Carfax, Anna’s older brother, who likes prostitutes, and rich, boorish swell Sir Daniel Rochester, who also likes prostitutes. It was Victorian London, okay? A lot of men liked prostitutes. Don’t blame me. Take it up with the Victorians, the prostitute-loving lot that they were. Now, if I may return to the subject of prostitutes for a moment… What? Oh, I never left it…? Oh, all right then. We’ve even got evil Nicholas Flint, who gets his kicks from strangling prostitutes and blaming it on poor old Jack The Ripper, and Vera Stoker, Bessie’s mother, who has to work as a prostitute in order to keep a roof over her kiddies’ heads and food in their hungry little tummies. Jeez Louise. Looking back, there was a whole heck of a lot of prostitution in Victorian times. You’d think somebody would have done something, wouldn’t you…?

Any-hoo, I’m including an extract from ANNA MEETS COUNT DRACULA in this blog post, but it won’t be sexually explicit so as not to offend the good people who prefer their horror to come without the dirty bits. If you want the full-on, undiluted version of the story, then go to my horror film review blog. You’ll find the links below in my author bio. I’m off now to think up yet another saucy situation in which a Victorian lady, gentleman or vampire- or prostitute- might find themselves. The possibilities, dear reader, are literally endless, the combinations and permutations stretching over the horizon to infinity. In other words, I’m going outside and I may not be back for some time. See you all in the next cartoon…



PART 31.

Count Dracula had changed into fresh linen and was combing his slicked-back dark hair, edged with grey at the temples, when Valeria quietly entered the room. No-one, not even the nude handmaidens who normally did all the cleaning and tidying of the castle, was allowed into Dracula’s private dressing-room except for Valeria. Not even Anna, who for the most part was confined to her bedroom while she impatiently awaited the Count’s nocturnal visits.

“Does my Master require anything?” Valeria murmured as she approached him now. At six feet five inches in height, the Count towered over her as he did most people. Valeria, though she had served him for a long time, was always struck anew by his sternly handsome appearance each time she encountered him.

His eyes were so dark as to be almost black, and they were magnetic. Magnetic and compelling. They made Valeria feel as if she could get lost in them. His cheekbones were high and sharp, a direct result of his Eastern European heritage.

His lips were well-shaped and his jaw perpetually shadowed with an imminent growth of dark stubble, though he shaved every evening upon waking. He was the most handsome and charismatic man Valeria had ever known, and also the most suavely dangerous.

The Count shook his head.

“Not at the moment, Valeria,” he said.

“Master looks fatigued after his trip,” ventured Valeria then. Only her long-standing as chief among his female servants emboldened her to make such a personal remark.

“It’s been a fatiguing few days,” the Count replied with a short, humourless laugh.

“How are things at Richmond House?” asked Valeria, referring to the house in London in which Lady Anna lived with her mother, Lady Grace Carfax, and her older brother, Sir Blaise Carfax. Had lived, Valeria corrected herself. Since her abduction by Count Dracula, Lady Anna now lived with Dracula in his castle in a remote spot in the English countryside, a place where it was unlikely she would be found. Unlikely, though not, Valeria supposed, impossible.

“Investigations into Lady Anna’s sudden disappearance are continuing apace,” Dracula replied with another short bark of a laugh. “Though not very successfully, I might add,” he went on as he fastened his cufflinks. “The Metropolitan Police are scratching their no doubt worthy heads in bafflement at the complexity of the case. I rather fancy that Lady Anna is quite safe where she is at present and that we have no immediate cause for alarm.” He had travelled to London incognito to check personally on the status of the investigation.

“That is indeed good, Master,” said Valeria. “And… and what of the new arrivals to Richmond House?” she continued, lowering her eyes demurely so that Dracula should not see the excitement in them. “Lady Athena Carfax and Lady Abigail Carfax? Did you… did you see them while you were there?”

“Yes, my dear Valeria, I saw them,” replied the Count, his dark eyes alight with mocking amusement. “And yes, they are as beautiful as you have heard. But no, I have no immediate plans to bring them here to the castle to join their pretty cousin, so you must swallow your disappointment as best you can and content yourself with being permitted the continued care of Lady Anna.”

Valeria flushed. She might have known that Count Dracula, who knew everything about her and who could read her thoughts as easily as if they were the printed word on a page before him, would be aware that she was desperate to get her hands on- and fangs into- the beautiful Carfax sisters, both cousins of Lady Anna’s.

Valeria’s preference in life had always been for soft, yielding female flesh. Lady Anna was truly a vision of beauty, but Valeria wanted the sisters too, and Count Dracula would not permit her to go to Richmond House to feast on them nocturnally there. She wondered if perhaps he was planning on keeping the delectable sisters for himself. It would not be the first time that that had happened.

Now she shrugged, feigning an indifference in which Dracula would be unlikely to believe.

“Is Master certain that he requires nothing further for the moment?” she said, easing the straps of her white Grecian-style gown down over her shoulders and baring her perfect, snowy-white breasts. “That he has no needs which he requires satisfying…?” she continued as she dropped to her knees in front of him. “Needs which Valeria can perhaps assist him with…?”


This story is a work of fiction and comes (almost!) entirely from the imagination of Sandra Harris. Any resemblance to any persons living or un-dead is purely coincidental. This story is copyrighted material and any reproduction without prior permission is illegal. Sandra Harris reserves the right to be identified as the author of this story.Sandra Harris. ©


sandra-1fixedSandra Harris is a Dublin-based performance poet, novelist, film blogger, sex blogger and short story writer. She has given more than 200 performances of her comedy sex-and-relationship poems in different venues around Dublin, including The Irish Writers’ Centre, The International Bar, Toners’ Pub (Ireland’s Most Literary Pub), the Ha’penny Inn and The Strokestown Poetry Festival.

Her articles, short stories and poems have appeared in The Metro-Herald newspaper, Ireland’s Big Issues magazine, The Irish Daily Star, The Irish Daily Sun and The Boyne Berries literary journal.

She is addicted to buying books and will swap you anything you like for Hammer Horror or JAWS memorabilia, and would be a great person to chat to about the differences between the Director’s Cut and the Theatrical Cut of The Wicker Man. You can contact her at:






Review: Don’t Go In The House



Don't_Go_in_the_House_FilmPosterNow, if there’s one thing that really gives me the heebie-jeebies when it comes to horror films, it’s men who don’t have the manners and good taste to bury their mothers when they die. I always get the urge to say to them: ‘YO, M*****F*****, BURY YOUR MOMMA…!’ Norman Bates from PSYCHO (1960) was one such head-the-ball, as we say here in Ireland. (Pssst. It means nut-job.) Donald ‘Donny’ Kohler from DON’T GO IN THE HOUSE (1980) is another.

Donny’s story makes for spectacularly grisly viewing. I wasn’t expecting much from the film before I watched it, to tell you the truth, probably because of the corny name, but things got real ugly real quick. By the time the film was less than halfway through, my mouth was hanging open with shock. (Not a pretty sight, I can tell you.)

Donny lives with his ma in a house that is the identical twin of the Bates Motel. I love it, love it, love it. It’s big and creepy and old-fashioned and I wouldn’t set foot in it if my life depended on it. Donny, a man whom it is obvious from the outset is a socially-inept outsider, comes home from work one day to find his dear old mumsie dead in the armchair in her bedroom.

At first, he’s inclined to freak out about it. Well, you would, wouldn’t you? But then the voices in his head- I did mention that he’s a big weirdo, didn’t I?- tell Donny that he’s free now. Free from his wicked old meanie of a mother and the abuse which she inflicted upon him when he was a nipper. In a series of disturbing flashbacks, we find out that Donny’s mother had a nasty habit of holding his arms over a gas flame when he was younger in order to burn the ‘evil’ out of him.

Okaaaay, well, I think we’ve discovered the reason why poor old Donny is cuckoo-bananas. Donny, however, sees the sense in what the voices in his head are telling him. He decides there and then to go forth and do all the things he was never able to do when Mumsie was alive, badgering and bullying the bejeesus out of him all the livelong day. While his mother sits literally rotting in her armchair, Donny turns his music up nice and high and goes down to the basement to build a nice, steel-panelled crematorium.

dontgohouse3Excuse me, a whaaaat…? Baby, you don’t know the half of it. Bear with me a sec and all will be revealed. He brings a pretty young florist home to the Bates Motel, I mean, his gaff, under false pretences. He knocks her unconscious when her back is turned. When she regains consciousness… Well, this is where the nightmare really starts, and also, incidentally, where my jaw started to hit the floor. I kid you not, this is probably the most extreme scene I’ve come across in a horror film to date. Here’s the deal…

Little Miss Florist- without being too salacious about it- is stark naked and suspended from the ceiling of the flameproof room by steel chains. There is no escape. The door to the flameproof room opens slowly. A figure enters. A figure garbed from head to foot in a flame-retardant suit. He has a flamethrower. Do I need to spell it out for you…? Well, I will spell it out, but only because I’m a reviewer and it’s my job. I’ll do it quickly, though, to get it over with. Hesetsheronfireandputshercharredcorpseinanupstairsbedroom.

dont-go-in-the-house-151-300x174There, that wasn’t so bad, was it…? Well, okay. I know it’s gross. And icky. Gross and icky and sick. Sick, sick, sick. Donny commits this same atrocity with two more unsuspecting females who would have been a darn sight better off if they hadn’t gone in the house. Geddit…?The film’s called DON’T GO IN THE HOUSE and I said that they’d have been better off if… Oh, forget it.

Anyway, all three of these girlies bear a distinct resemblance to the late, not-so-great Ma Kohler, so I think we’re safe in assuming that when Donny kills them, he’s really killing dear old Mumsie and revenging himself upon her for all the years of abuse she inflicted on him when he was a child. He even gives Mumsie her turn on the receiving end of the flamethrower and afterwards makes her corpse bunk in with the other three for company. Aw, how sweet. They can have sleepovers and pillow-fights.

It is the four smokin’ corpses who ultimately bring about the downfall of the ‘Master of The Flame.’ That’s what the voices in his head call him, by the way. Yep. Cuckoo…! Donny’s plan to burn two young women together falls apart when the women are rescued by the local priest and Donny’s work colleague Bobby, who have reason to believe that Donny is in trouble. No s**t, Sherlock. Donny tries to hide in his mother’s bedroom but the corpses he is storing there come to life- in his diseased mind only, one imagines- and berate him for his uselessness. Well, if you will store corpses in your mother’s bedroom, what do you expect?

dontgohouse4He turns the flamethrower on the cadavers but only succeeds in burning down his whole house and incinerating himself into the bargain. Tsk, tsk. Isn’t it always the way? The film ends with a different young boy being treated harshly by his mother. The whispering voices in the boy’s head tell him that they are here to ‘help’ him. I smell a sequel…

This film, banned in some places on its release for being a ‘video nasty,’ is as grim and gruesome as all-get-out, but it’s a cinematic gem as well. The parallels withPSYCHO had me hooked- albeit terrified as well- from the start, and in the scenes in the flameproof room I was shown something I had never seen before. Call me a sheltered little princess, but the whole ‘fire’ business was a new one on me. The concept, to me at least, was original and shocking and made me lose sleep, and I love my sleep. It’s true. Ask anyone who knows me.

Watch the film first chance you get, horror fans, but for the love of puppies, keep a fire extinguisher handy, just in case DON’T GO IN THE HOUSE proves to be a mite too hot to handle. And when you’re told DON’T GO IN THE HOUSE, don’t go in the damn house. okay? Just don’t. The warning is there for a reason.


sandra 1fixedSandra Harris is a Dublin-based performance poet, novelist, film blogger, sex blogger and short story writer. She has given more than 200 performances of her comedy sex-and-relationship poems in different venues around Dublin, including The Irish Writers’ Centre, The International Bar, Toners’ Pub (Ireland’s Most Literary Pub), the Ha’penny Inn and The Strokestown Poetry Festival. Her articles, short stories and poems have appeared in The Metro-Herald newspaper, Ireland’s Big Issue magazine, The Irish Daily Star, The Irish Daily Sun and The Boyne Berries literary journal. She is addicted to buying books and will swap you anything you like for Hammer Horror or JAWS memorabilia, and would be a great person to chat to about the differences between the Director’s Cut and the Theatrical Cut of The Wicker Man. You can contact her at: