Guest Blogger: Carole Gill

When I was twelve years old, I read Daphne DuMaurier's Rebecca. Over the course of the next few years I read every novel she wrote. That, along with Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights and Charolotte Bronte's Jane Eyre did it.
What was that I hear you ask?
Answer: I was under the hypnotic spell of the gothic romance narrative.
I cried out for Heathcliff along with Cathy. I felt her icy ghost hand reach inside the window to her old room.
I wept with Heathcliff when he opened her grave for he could not bear to be parted from her any longer.
I felt Jane Eyre's love for Edward Rochester, her joy at being at last his bride and her horror of hearing Rochester say at church, "there will be no wedding today!"
I heard his voice call to her during her self-imposed absence and I heard Jane cry out "I am coming, wait for me!" as she hurried to be forever with Edward Rochester.
I felt the second Mrs. DeWinter's terror as she gazed down upon the rocks Mrs. Danver's wished her to hurl herself down upon.
I felt her love for Maxim and her terrible fear that he would never get over Rebecca.
There was no turning back, not ever. Not even when I found that I loved writing and reading horror. Yes, horror!
You see, I joined the two together in my own writing, by taking dark horror and enriching it with gothic narrative!
My novel, The House on Blackstone Moor is a homage to these novels, yet it's storyline is far darker and more intense.
I wish to write gothic romance unlike any that has gone before. My novel has vampirism, madness, obsession, and devil worship in it.
It's told from the point of view of Rose Baines, who comes home to discover her mad, incestuous father killed himself and her family.
This is not paranormal romance with racy bits. This is darkest gothic horror joined with some romance. Romance I feel enriches the tale and makes us care far more about the characters.
Rose survives two madhouses only to come to Blackstone House, a lonely house on barren, haunted moorland. There are hideous secrets in that house and terrible evil within.
There are demons and fallen angels and Satan too as well as a host of vampires including child ones in this tale.
Here is an excerpt:

"I promise I will tell you everything. The only thing I ask in return if for you not to judge me until you hear my entire story.
When I recall that dreadful night I remember it in confusing images and noise. People came and went. Gentle hands touched me trying to soothe away the shock and the agony - voices too, hushed and sad voices, telling me things I could not then understand.
"Go away!"
I probably said that, though I can't be sure.
Lucidity was not my strong point that night. I do recall someone carrying me out of my home to a neighbor's house.
We lived in Notting Hill then moving from Mayfair after my father's illness - more about that later.
The house was on Blenheim Crescent, a respectable residence in a fairly affluent neighborhood. Despite this, the grander environs of Mayfair was much remembered and longed for by my mother especially. My mother who now lay caked in blood in her bedroom in Notting Hill.
"You remember me, don't you Rose? It's Dr. Arliss."
Dr. Arliss? Our physician. Was he there?
"I am sorry Rose, but you will have to go with them."
People can't be left around screaming, you understand, and I am silenced by strong hands. "Come along miss. That's better."
I hadn't the sense to ask where I was being taken. All I can remember is being removed from the neighbor's house.
They explained that I couldn't very well stay in my own home surrounded by the blood-spattered corpses of my murdered family now could I?
They half dragged me down the stairs and out into the icy rain.
"Just get her in . . . "
A woman reached for me. I caught sight of her face; she looked serious though not unkind. "Come along now dear."
Dear, that was nice. I do believe I thank her. Well, I wasn't right in my head was I?
"Where are you taking me?"
So polite, a soft refined voice heard at church socials . Not me. Churches and I never mixed. Of course I would regret that in the future.
"Harry go get the restraints"
Restraints? It doesn't affect me because it's nothing to me, I'm not really there you see. Well, not all the time.
I must explain something. The first hours following the carnage were a blur to me really. I have only come to understand things over time, which is better in a way, so I can tell you my story more clearly.
I dozed, I think. There had been a pinch in my arm earlier and Dr. Arliss telling me he was giving me something to relax me.
the wagon moved - clip clop - down the streets for an indeterminable amount of time, but then stopped. A door opened and other arms reached for me now. "That's right, love, all out."
They were taking me into a building of some sort.
"What is this place?"
I'm not sure if I asked that question, if I was able to. If I was, I know I didn't receive an answer. Someone had me under the arm, one of the men from the wagon. "It's alright."
Why was everyone telling me it was alright when it was the worst time of my life?
We stopped inside a vestibule. A woman looked up from a high desk, not at me. She looked instead at the man who was still holding my arms. "Name?"
He took out a piece of paper, glanced at it and said, "Rose Baines of 22 Blenheim Crescent, Notting Hill."
"Oh! A lady, are we dear?" I started to answer but her words drowned me out.
"Right, put her in with the rest of them."
This is when I started to feel fearful. The rest of them? That didn't sound nice. I needed help - had I been arrested? They didn't think I did it, did they!
I started to struggle, which was the worst thing I could have done.
"Now stop that at once!"
I cried out. "I am innocent please help me!"
They dragged me away then and as they did I caught whiff of ether and disinfectant.
Was I in a hospital? Maybe that was good, it was better than being in a prison.
Why then, if it wasn't a prison did I see a massive gate just ahead in the very direction we are heading?
I saw a surly face along with jangling keys and I heard the sound of locks being opened.
"In here."
It was a smallish room, more like a cage than a room and far too small for the small humanity populating it. A sea of the most miserable and pathetic faces greeted me. Some were holding their sides and rocking back and forth, others were sleeping or crying. One or two were crouched against the filthy walls muttering to themselves in their agitated state.
The realization hit me. They thought me insane.
I cried out yet no one came. "Please, someone!"
The pathetic creatures I found myself with began to repeat my cries. They didn't do it to mock me I'm certain, but it was horrible anyway.
At last I was quiet. I couldn't stand their shrieking and if that wasn't bad enough, most of them filthy and smelled of the street and the gutter.
I was there for a long time I think, crying quietly and dozing too. An attendant came around a few times, mostly to look in at us and then saunter away, immune to protestations or questions, mine included.
I did sleep. I don't know for how long . . .





Due to reader response, I am writing the sequel, Unholy Testament, which is basically a confession by a demon. He takes it upon himself to confess to the one he claims to love all the sins he has committed during his existence.
There is much ground to cover from his beginnings to ancient Egypt and Jerusalem to Dacia, ancient Transylvania, on to the Crusades, the Black Death, Countess Elizabeth Bathory and so on.
The story is told against a backdrop of tremendous tension as nothing can be assumed. There may be no happy ending here or perhaps there is.
After all, what in life is certain?
Please visit my website/blog, and join my Facebook author page, I would love to see you there!
Thank you!