Deadly Ever After

Archive for the month “October, 2013”

Blood Stakes: The Clash Of The Vampires

Today’s Brew:  Witches Brew!  Happy Halloween!

by Kristen and Julie

To celebrate Halloween, we bring you a collaborative story between our favorite bad boys, Tristan and Lynch.

Her skin was so tan, it begged to be cracked and broken open like a tropical fruit, to let me taste the sweetness inside until it was gone.

Not here. I threw the dice again, willing myself not to look at the tan one, or even to feel the slowly lapping tongue of the chubby blonde in my ear on the other side as she crawled up and down my suit, wrinkling it. There would be a busty maid waiting to pick up my suit no matter what time I got back to the room, and when that busty maid quietly disappeared, another would replace her. Just like magic. This was Vegas, and magic happened all the time.

I needed to get the hell out of New Hampshire for a while, to somewhere with some refinery that appreciated a man with taste, and with taste for a special kind of sin. Looking around the high roller room, I thought I’d found it. Until my eyes landed on him.

Surrounded by a swarm of bimbos that made my dates look like choir girls, hair and leather sprawled out from the chair at the table.  He didn’t have a glass in front of him, but a bottle, that he lifted to his lips in between sucking on the necks of the girls closest to him.  He didn’t even look at them, how could he, his eyes open little more than slits.

“Young lady,” I said quietly to the waitress, a pristine thing in black and white, an old movie waiting to be colored red. She came to me quickly, smiling shyly.

“Yes, Mr. Lynch?” she said, a melodious voice that I wanted to hear scream.

“Can we please,” I glanced to the over-active corner, “tidy up a bit?”

Her eyes widened, her lips moving with a childlike uncertainty. “Oh, sir,” she said. “That is Tristan Trevosier.”

I ran a finger down her arm, feeling the goosebumps rise under my cool touch. “Why should that matter to me, darling girl?”

“He’s famous, you know?  He’s in Immortal Dilemma.”  Her eyes widened and she jerked her head back to the spectacle at the table in the corner.

“Still doesn’t matter.” My words were little more than breath against her skin.  She shivered as I spoke. “Why would that make him special?”

“I’ve heard he’s a…” She turned back again, looking nervous and lowering her voice.  “Vampire.”

“Do you know what vampires do?”

She was trembling, and it hurt to look at it. I would crush her butterfly wings to stop them from shaking. “Are you saying you think they’re real?”

“I don’t have to think it.” My shield was a fluttering thing around us, but still strong enough to keep the women I escorted from seeing as I leaned in, sniffing deeply her hot pink aroma.

“Mr. Lynch?” she squeaked, eyes darting to the shimmering air around us.

“Sssshhh.” And I plunged my fangs into the warm pulsing vein in her throat, my hand over her mouth so I could feel the scream. I’d been drinking, and my shield was a near failure. I would never be the strongest vampire. The thought of that made me drink deeper, squeeze her cheeks harder, want to consume and obliterate all at once.

“Hey! Hey, man. What the fuck are you doing?” The famous vampire approached me, snapping me out of my thrall.  There was delicious suction when I pulled my mouth from the waitress, her blood salty and thick.  She whimpered softly against my hand, now wet with her tears.  Gasps and murmurs swirled around us.  “We don’t do that shit in public.”

“You…you saw that?” It was my turn to be surprised.

The rockstar already slid his hands around the waist of my waitress, again making the swarm of on lookers and hangers-on cry out with objection or envy. He pressed her against his body, concealing her open wound.  “Yeah.  That’s not how you do it.  You do it like this. Are you ready, sweetheart?”

Drowsy, the waitress nodded as Tristan ran his tongue along her neck then laid her down over the lip of the craps table, so her legs were up above her head.  He ran his hands along her thighs, pushing up her already barely there uniform skirt and biting into the tender flesh of her inner thigh.

“What are you doing over here?” the chubby blonde bitched at the rock star. “Lynch, what is he doing?” she said, turning to me as I wiped a smear of blood off my chin. She noticed, and came quickly to look at it. “Are you okay?”

So she hadn’t seen me take the waitress’s blood. Only he had. He actually was a vampire.

I tapped him on the shoulder as he ravaged the waitress’s thigh. “I think you should go back to your hole in the earth, little boy, before I take your harem away from you.”

He raised his head just enough for me to see the blood glisten against his chin.  His eyes burned black and he bared his fangs to me.  “Try it.” He growled.

Faster than he could think, I took him by the mane of hair, wishing I didn’t have to touch it all the same, and slammed his face hard into the table next to the waitress. She screamed, a tinkling sound in this place, but only had the life left to curl in a ball on top of the game.

Tristan sprung from the table, but swayed when he stood. And I was the undisciplined one? He was a raging mess of a boy, with bloodshot eyes and a drug-thinned body. He ran at me, and I hit him, sending him back against the table. The girls were all screaming, mine and his alike. It made my teeth gnash and my heart pound.

My interests were no longer on him.

“Alright, man, I get it, you’re strong,” the rock star said.

If he said anything else, I didn’t care.  The plump blonde cried out, pushed away from the table by Tristan.  She somehow made her way into a chair, her arms wrapped loosely around her body in a hug. Nothing was going to bring her comfort tonight. I walked to her, going down on one knee and smiling into her tear brimmed eyes. I pulled her arms away from her stomach, pulling her body to mine, to taste the sweet nectar she held inside.

“Stop screaming,” I said through a smile. “It makes me crazy.”

But all the screaming around me, a cacophony of songbirds, had my teeth roaring to sink in to any one of them and all of them.

Her soft belly was in front of me and I pinned her to the chair, ripping my teeth into the flesh of it while she writhed like she loved it. The wound was wide, and she wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy me finishing her blood.

When I drained her, I moved to the next one, and the next one, wondering how long I had before the cameras caught on through the shield. I saw Tristan flash by as he did the same, laboring over the sucking of each girls’ thighs and chests, while I relished the distress of the others. It was a beautiful tragedy, perfection of destruction.

All too soon, the bystanders were reduced to bodies strewn on the carpet like emptied drink cups.  The rock star sat back down at his game table and ran his fingers through his hair.  He raised his bottle to me. “Cheers.”

Invigorated from our little competition, I couldn’t help but ask. “So what else is there to do around here on a Friday night?”


***You can find more Lynch in Running Home and more Tristan in Because The Night.***


On The Eve Of Samhain

Today’s Brew: Apple Cider. And remarkably, it’s not spiked.

by Kristen

Since Halloween is everyone’s favorite holiday (although mine is actually Superbowl Sunday), I thought I’d post some quick fun facts about The Big Day

  • Halloween is a Christian holiday! Take that, you pagan propagandist finger pointers. It is All Hallows Eve, the day before All Saints’ Day.
  • I went to catholic elementary school and we used to have November 1st off every year, and of course I thought it was to recover from the chocolate drunkenness of the prior evening.
  • Until 835, All Saints Day was celebrated on May 13th. Someone then had the foresight to change it to November 1.
  • The origins of the holiday can also be traced back to the Roman Goddess Pomona, the goddess of fruit and seeds.  Bobbing for apples derives from the Roman festivals of this holiday.
  • Samhain was a Celtic festival celebrating summer’s end and the end of the harvest season.
  • Samhain was also a bad ass band formed by Glenn Danzig after he left the misfits. Glenn Danzig is 58 years old! WTF. That’s just not right.  
  • November signaled the beginning of the darker half of the year.
  • The Darker Half is also a bad ass collaborative writing blog. I believe I’m scheduled for a guest post there on Tuesday.
  •  The tradition of dressing up and trick or treating goes back to 16th century Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. (WTF, England? Why didn’t you join in on the fun?) “Mumming and guising” involved dressing up, going door to door and singing songs in exchange for food. I think we need to make kids today sing for their supper. Kinda like American Idol meets The Gong Show.
  • In Scotland, people would wear masks, going door to door threatening mischief if they weren’t welcomed.
  • Costumes have another Christian origin. See? Even Jesus like Halloween. “Souling” means dressing up or disguising yourself
  • In 19th century Wales, young people would dress as the opposite sex.
  • In the dark ages, no fun was allowed. Christians would have “soul cakes” to remember souls in purgatory. Churches would display relics or martyred saints. Poor parishes would have their parishioners dress up as martyrs instead.
  • Shakespeare mentions souling in Two Gentlemen of Verona.  
  • Britain used to bless homes and barns to protect people and livestock against witches on Halloween.
  • Oh, I get it now. You Brits are more into Guy Fawkes Day than Halloween. Guy Fawkes Day is November 5 and I’ll be celebrating by RELEASING A BOOK THAT DAY.
  • The Scots, always looking for a party, brought Halloween traditions to North America. The holiday gained popularity in the mid 19th century.
  • Jack O Lanterns are supposed to frighten evil spirits away.
  • Ireland and Scotland carve turnips instead of pumpkins.
  • We can thank classic gothic horror stories such as Dracula and Frankenstein for our current Halloween imagery.
  • Haunted houses may have originated by the Jaycees for fundraising.
  • Judaism forbids participating in Halloween or any other gentile customs.
  • Devil’s Night was a huge problem in Detroit from the 1970s to 1990s as well as other cities in the US.  City youths would vandalize and set fire to things at random. Way to suck, guys.
  • Looking for some Halloween stories?  Check out Chynna-Blue Scott’s The Zombie Project, Pen and Muses The Dark Carnival, and check this very blog every Friday for some great short fiction by guest authors!
  • And tomorrow, the evil geniuses of Twitter join to bring you something new and exciting. Stay tuned!

TRUE TERROR: Live Giveaways on Radio Shows

TODAY’S BREW: A bunch of coffee and champagne!

By Julie

I got to do a radio interview today! On WATD FM! It was COOOOOOL. WATD has all these old record players and a ton of awards all over their reception area. There’s posters and a big statue of Elvis, and records and while waiting there I heard myself be announced over the loudspeaker!


And then I passed out, so I don’t know if they said anything else. No, not really, but so cool. My husband came along, and that was a real treat for me, actually.

The last time I was in a radio booth was in college many years ago, and I was drunk, visiting a friend. That was cool, too. Dave ran a radio show in the middle of the night, and me and my friend Karen got to dig through all the old records. A ton of ska and punk. But that’s beside the point. THIS time, I was a grownup, and sober, and talking about making my dream come true.

I’ve told the story a lot about how Running Home came to life, and why, but for some reason, doing it on a radio show, with my husband there, holding the book in my hand, made it feel so much more real.

How’s this for scary? “We have two signed copies of Julie’s book right here to give away to callers  6 and 8 right now!” The hosts, Lisa Azizan and Rob Hakkila just put it out there, like that.


Waiting for that radio silence was HORRIFYING, for about 4 secons. Then people called! And the lovely Lisa  had to answer all the calls, and people who didn’t win were disappointed! Yay, sadness! I REVELED IN THEIR SADNESS AND WANTED TO GIVE THEM ALL BOOKS! A lovely gentleman named Stephen and another young lady named Veronica won signed books. It was the first time I’d signed a book for someone I didn’t know, and it was amazing. The thought that this thing I made up was good enough to have a press want it, that it got made into a real thing, that it was just an idea I had, and now here I was, giving it to people that WANTED it. And that there was that poor caller 7 who didn’t win, and she said “OOOOHH!” And that there was a caller afterward who missed the boat. The boat was full! There was a full boat of people who wanted to read my book!

Because no matter what, no matter how hard I work on my writing, no matter how good people say it is, no matter how proud I am, or how cool I am, or funny, one feeling will never go away:


It’s just me, Julie who once asked a blind kid what his friend looked like. Me who got caught chasing a wild pig in my pajamas by the CEO of Victoria’s Secret. Me, who loves office supplies more than shoes, who still wants Dunkin Donuts more than Starbucks. Me, who still feels weird about my face in pictures and bites my cuticles. Me, who came home to a raccoon on my porch with Grandpa thinking he should feed it, and me who’s wearing a fire hat and eating yogurt.  It’s just me, but I’m good enough to be that person, too. I did it. I’m that person and this person, still.

It’s terrifying to chase your dreams when you have to give up your reality to do it. But not giving up anything is scarier. Wondering if I should have taken the risk is a fear I wasn’t willing to live with. Even more so, I didn’t want to raise kids who were too afraid of failing not to try. Every day I’m thankful to be afraid, because it means I’m trying, and that the world sees it. And I’ll never stop.

Tattoo You

Today’s Brew: Water. My Bread and Beer binge has come to a screeching halt

by Kristen

I’m blessed to have the chance to work with some truly bad ass talented people. Recently, I’ve been working on an HBO mini series under department head Christien Tinsley.  I also had the opportunity to work with the same team last year on Labor Day, which I believe is coming out at Christmas.

Why might that name sound familiar to you? Well first of all, Christien won an Oscar for his work with Brad Pitt on The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. An Oscar. His aging work is out of this world. But he also has a temporary tattoo company called Tinsley Transfers.

If you need last minute touches to finish off your Halloween costume, you are in luck. There’s a 50 percent off sale right now on the website (as of 10.27.13).  These tattoos are super easy to apply, you just use a damp sponge.  They also look extremely realistic and when they say they’re film quality, it’s the truth. We used the on Labor Day, and they’ve been used on countless other movies over the last decade.

My favorite on the site is the sugar skull face tattoo.

What are you all going to be for Halloween?

Flash Fiction Friday: ABIGAIL by Callie Armstrong

TODAY’S BREW: Vampire Wine! It’s almost time for Dracula, dawg! (sorry about the “dawg.”)

By Julie

For our Flash Fiction Friday double header, I’m pleased to bring you a Scream/ Paranormal Activity mindfucker of a story from the beautiful and very funny Callie Armstrong. I love this chick from Twitter, and begged her to write me a story because I wanted her on NOW. So enjoy!

You can read more of  Callie’s short stories here and prepare for hilarity on Twitter at


Abigal had been nervous to to tell her three best friends that she wasn’t going to Georgia State with them, more nervous than when she’d asked her father to pay for Georgia Tech, but Emily, Grace and Ashlee had taken the news well. They told Abigail to quit worrying about nothing. “We can still live together.” Emily reassured her “The schools are basically on top of one another.”

The girls spent the summer before their freshmen year looking for the perfect apartment and jobs that would help pay for it. On the day they moved in, they spent the night drinking wine they’d stolen from their parents before they moved out, eating pizza, reminiscing about the 15 years they’d known one another, and making plans for how much better the next 15 would be. When they finally drifted off to sleep that night Abigail was woken up by crying. When she got out of bed and went into the living room Grace was sitting with her back against the sliding glass door that led to their deck. Her eyes were wet and swollen almost shut, snot was coming out of her nose and she was heaving. Abigail ran to her, knelt down, and tried to hug her, but Grace pushed her away.

She screamed, “Get off of me! Get off of me!”

Abigail tried to talk to her, to find out what was wrong, but all Grace would say was, “My blood, my blood. Get it out!”

Terrified, Abigail ran to the room Emily and Ashlee shared, but neither would wake up. Abigail shook them and yelled at them, frantic, not wanting to go back into the living room alone where Grace was ripping off her clothes and tearing at her skin, but they wouldn’t wake up. They wouldn’t flinch.

Abigail spent the night next to Grace, trying to hold her and comfort her, trying to keep her from scratching herself as she screamed. Someone has to hear this, Abigail told herself, someone has to come help me. She prayed to no one, for someone. She tried to dial the police but her cell phone’s reception was bad and she couldn’t find any other phone. She was too distracted by Grace’s screaming and moaning to look for long before going back to her.  

At some point she must have fallen asleep, because she woke up on the living room floor, the right side of her face imprinted from the carpet. Grace was eating cereal with the other two girls in the kitchen. Before Abigail sat up and saw them, she heard their laughter.

The three girls continued to laugh when they saw her stand and joked about how drunk Abigail must have gotten to fall asleep in such an uncomfortable way. She was too distracted and confused, to respond to them. She sat down without speaking in the chair across from Grace and began eating an apple. She knew it hadn’t been a dream.

Grace looked at her and mouthed, “Are you ok?” while the other two were talking about Emily’s new job. Abigail nodded then went to her room to change and shower, wanting to pull Grace aside but thinking that she must be embarrassed or not remember.

“Maybe she was sleepwalking.” Abigail said aloud to herself, turning the shower handle to hot and stepping underneath the water. She felt the bruise forming on her shoulder where Grace had hit her while she thrashed.

Grace didn’t remember. She didn’t remember crying or screaming. She didn’t remember being naked. “I woke up with the same pajamas on that I was wearing when I went to bed.” She told Abigail later that day on a walk to the grocery store. She acted offended when Abigail pressed her about it so she dropped it, settling on the fact that Grace was most definitely embarrassed.

The next night it happened again, and again three times a week later. Not wanting to be alone in her confusion, Abigail told Emily and Ashlee who didn’t believe her until she showed them the scratch marks on her neck and arms when Grace attacked her while she tried to restrain her from jumping off the balcony.

“Your blood is bad too,” Grace screamed into the night, one leg hanging over the rail, “Come with me! Doesn’t it burn? It burns.” She had ranted.

The next night Grace slept without waking. Abigail stayed up late studying and fell asleep at her desk. At 4 she was woken by familiar screams from an unfamiliar voice. It was Emily screaming about her blood, naked and crying. The night after was Ashlee. Abigail no longer got nights of reprieve. When Grace and Emily slept, Ashlee was afflicted. When she slept it was one of the other two. When Abigail tried to talk to them about it in the mornings they looked at her as if she had lost her mind. When she showed them her scratches and bruises they berated her.

“I wasn’t here last night” Emily yelled at her one morning. “How did I fucking attack you if I wasn’t here?”

Abigail had no answer.

When the police found the bodies, Emily, Ashlee and Grace had been bled of every drop of their blood. They lay stacked like dolls put away on Abigail’s closet floor, rid of the toxic blood that haunted her dreams. Abigail was found 5 floors down, broken open like a pumpkin, blood and brains pouring out of her. It was declared a triple murder/suicide, and the case was closed with condolences to each family but Abigail’s.

The families paid a service to clean out the girls’ apartment and to donate their things to charity. If they had done it themselves, one of them might have taken the time to look at the video in the camcorder that Abigail set up the night before her death. It would have shown three girls screaming in the living room and one trying to help them.

Flash Fiction Friday: SCARECROW by Joe Hart

TODAY’S BREW: An ulcerative amount of coffee.

By Julie

This Flash Fiction Friday needed to be cool as hell because Dracula starts tonight and so AWESOME DAY FOREVER, ALL DAY LONG. We have a double header today! Later, you’ll get to read something a little different for us, a very cool story from Callie Armstrong, who I think is just fantastic. Right now, I’m PSYCHED to give you a piece by Joe Hart, author of Lineage, Singularity, and The River Is Dark. He’s doing 31 Days of Flash Fiction on his own blog, and EVERY SINGLE ONE is amazing, not to mention done in the sparest amount of words I’ve ever seen, and he is doing ALL of them. Imagination for days. Go check them out, you’ll be shocked and amazed.

Joe and I are internet roommates based on our mutual love of fall, hot drinks, alcoholic drinks, writing as kind of a living, and staring out the window. Critical in my Twitter feed, and just a fantastic friend, I present to you, Joe Hart.



“Scarecrow’s comin’ tonight, Jonesy.”

Jones looked at his older brother, his profile a shadow against the failing light of the sky.

“That’s bull and you know it.”

“Tough talk from a little fatty,” Bobby said, pinching several inches of the blubber that hung around Jones’s waist.

“Stop it, Bobby!” Jones said, slapping his hand away. He hitched his dirty overalls a little higher, adjusting them on his rotund body.

“You gonna cry?”

“No.” Jones kicked a rock on the dirt road. It rolled and bounced into the solid darkness of the ditch. Rows of corn waved in the night, a field of whispering leaves. Their pointed heads nodded in the waning light, an agreement with his brother’s words.

“It’s comin’, daddy even said so,” Bobby said, spitting at the side of the road as they walked.

“How come he lets you call him daddy? He always makes me call him reverend.”

“Because I don’t eat as much as you, chunky ass. I work hard and only take enough to get by. Mom and daddy appreciate that.”

“I don’t take more’n my share, I’m just so hungry after chores.”

“Well, daddy ain’t got the money to be feedin’ your gut, so he called the scarecrow to come take you away.”

Jones stopped dead in the road, the gravel crunched beneath Bobby’s feet and then stopped.

“You’re lyin’, Bobby.”

“Am not.”

“You are!”

“Nope. I knew it was comin’ too, ever since them rows of corn came up and didn’t have no ears on ‘em, I knew.”

“Bull Bobby!” Jones felt warm tears glide down his face and he was thankful of the darkness.

Bobby walked toward him, his footsteps scratching the dirt. “It comes when there’s someone that needs takin’ care of, Jonesy, when a family’s goin’ hungry. It comes through the corn. Its arms are long and so are its fingers. It has a mouthful of sharp straw like needles and if it wants you, all it has to do is reach out, and GRAB YOU!”

Bobby punctuated his last words by jumping toward Jones and latching onto his upper arms. Jones tried not to cry out but failed, a pathetic whimper wheezing out between his teeth. Warm urine squirted once into his pants before he could clench it off.

Bobby released him and howled with laughter before falling silent.

“I hate you, Bobby.”

“Shhh, you hear that?”

“Quit it.”

“No, I mean it, be quiet.”

A gentle breeze eased down the deserted country road. The corn spoke in malicious whispers. The moon rose above the field, a rotting yellow eye.

“There it was again,” Bobby said, his voice low.

“I didn’t hear nothin’,” Jones said, peering past his brother, cursing the dying light of the sun while he willed the sick moon to rise faster.

Without another word, Bobby ran away from him, off the dirt road and down into the ditch. The first stalks of corn swayed with his brother’s passage and Jones stood rooted to the gravel, his mouth open in a silent cry.


Nothing. Jones’s eyes watered and he glanced up the dirt road.

Something stood in its center on the next rise, a humped shape darker than the rest of the night.

Jones sidled off the road and stumbled down into the ditch, his eyes never leaving the figure. When the reaching touch of a cornstalk grazed his arm, he moaned but dove headfirst into the tight rows.

The slim stalks brushed by him, their earless bodies looking like overgrown weeds. Jones half walked, half ran down the row, tripping and thrashing while his heart became the loudest sound in the world.

“Bobby?” Jones asked the night, praying for a response. When none came he moved further into the field and stepped into a large clearing completely devoid of corn.

It looked like a square, its corners definable even in the night. The moon’s yellow light slanted into the clearing and sprayed shadows across the soil, dark as motor oil. Jones waited, stunned by the existence of the opening. He took a tentative step forward.

A hand grabbed his wrist.

Jones began to cry out, terror scrambling his thoughts like a snapping livewire, but another hand, one he recognized now, clamped down over his mouth.

“Shhh, dummy, he’ll hear you.”

Jones turned around to face his brother who looked taller in the dark. He always wanted to be tall like Bobby, not heavy like he was.

“Bobby, what-”

“He’s back there,” Bobby whispered, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “The scarecrow. He’s following us. We gotta cut across the clearing to the other side. Old man Carrol’s field is a half-mile away. We make it to that we can cut through his yard and into ours.”

“Bobby, I’m scared.”

“Don’t be, just run toward that other side when I tell you.”

Jones nodded, hoping his brother couldn’t see the fear that pulled his face tight. Bobby’s hand squeezed his shoulder once.


Jones ran. He ran faster than he ever had before. The ground sped by him and his belly jounced while his legs began to burn. The night air coursed past and his breath heaved in and out. He kept his eyes trained on the other side of the clearing, praying nothing would follow them through the corn once they reached it.

When he was three steps away from the wall of stalks, they parted, a figure materializing where none had been before. Jones slid to a stop and tried to run the other way, but fell in the dirt, a short mewl coming from his chest. The figure wore a brimmed hat and its shoulders were wide. Straw poked from its tattered clothing and when it stepped into the clearing, Jones saw that it carried something in its long-fingered hands.

The axe blade caught the moon’s light as it swung.

Bobby watched from across the field, hearing the wet chop that cut off his brother’s screams, and then the harder thunk of bone breaking beneath sharp steel.

“I told you you ate too much,” Bobby said.

After some time the sounds stopped and the scarecrow came closer, a dripping potato sack slung over its back. It stopped beside Bobby and placed a hand on his shoulder. Bobby stared up into its face and smiled.

“Can we go home now daddy?”



Revamping Dracula

Today’s Brew:  I just saw a recipe for Apple Cider Sangria and I can’t get it out of my head

by Kristen

You guys know I’m not a huge fan of remakes, but I can’t wait for Dracula to start.  Julie and I are really excited about this, as well as quite a few other people we talked to. We are planning a small celebration for this Friday Night.  Not the fabled Dracula Party we keep blabbing about, just pizza, cocktails, and vampires.  As God intended we spend Friday night. But back to the show.  It looks stylish, sexy, sassy, and as dangerous as network TV will allow.  And oh yeah, Jonathan Rhys Meyers.

The premise, according to Wikipedia, is “Dracula comes to London, posing as an American entrepreneur who wants to bring modern science to the Victorian society. In reality, Dracula seeks revenge on those who betrayed him centuries earlier. As Dracula’s plans move toward fruition, he falls hopelessly in love with a woman who may be a reincarnation of his deceased wife.”

It will be interesting to see what they keep as true to the original and what twist they put on the legend.

Why is this remake okay and so many others irritating?  I feel that Dracula is such a classic story, it’s a part of our culture.  I think of stories like this in terms of oral tradition, that it twists and turns depending on who tells it.  It’s not just a straight remake for the sake of updating a perfectly good movie to make some cash.  I hope it takes lots of risks.  The preliminary reviews are good, and it promises sex and gore. Bring it on.

Paranormal isn’t dead, kids. Vampires live forever.

Just a fun old photo of JRM. He looks like vampy goodness to me here.

To Make Us Even More Halloweeny: Jewelry I Need

Gothic Vampire Earrings Halloween Bats in Antiqued Pewter Gothic Jewelry Bat earrings

TODAY’S BREW: Pumpkin Spice like everyone else.

By Julie



Beautiful Blood Jewelry

Bloody Halloween Jewelry blood stains Earrings by MADEbyMADA

Bloody Halloween Jewelry blood stains Earrings by MADEbyMADA via @Etsy

Saw necklace  blood splatter horror jewelry by TocsinDesigns, $18.90

Saw necklace  blood splatter horror jewelry by TocsinDesigns via @Etsy

Living Dead Girls and Boys: Fake Blood Recipe

Today’s Brew: Fake blood, of course.

by Kristen

Halloween is next week! Holy crap! You’re probably gearing up for parties, trick or treat, and general mayhem and foolishness.  Of course, you need to look bad ass.

Fun Fact: I hate dressing up. I’ll get you ready with all the enthusiasm in the world, but I can’t stand wearing costumes.  I have dental grade fangs I made myself that I wear every year. They’re better than any costume I’d ever wear.

I’m just going to assume you want a gory costume, because you’re here and you guys tend to like freaky things. Not judging, just pointing it out. If you’re going to be a vampire, zombie,  “Slutty Dead” whatever, you need blood. That cheap crap you can get at the costume store is bright red and usually toxic.  Don’t look like an amateur. And don’t poison yourself.  Make your own damn blood.  Here’s how:

  • Combine 1 part water to 3 parts Karo corn syrup.
  • Add in drops of red food coloring until you get the correct color. Stir.
  • Add blue and/or green food coloring to make a more realistic shade. Blood from a major artery is brighter red, and veins is more bluish red.  As blood dries, it browns.  That’s where the green comes in.  ADD these colors in slowly and stir. A little makes a big impact.
  • Thicken it.  Dry thickeners could be flour, corn starch, or cocoa powder.  Wet thickeners could be chocolate syrup or maple syrup. If going with a darker thickener, add slowly. Dark pigment tends to overwhelm lighter pigment.
  • If your blood is too transparent, add flour.
  • Let sit for 10 minutes to thicken

Your delicious and realistic looking blood is ready to use!  Have fun!

(recipe courtesy of

Halloween Wars: Julie Gets Her Way

TODAY’S BREW: Enough Chocolate Cappuccino flavored coffee to keep my freezing hands warm.

By Julie

There’s 3 teams left at the beginning of this episode of Halloween Wars; Psychotic Misfits (my personal pick), Black Magic and Skeleton Crew, who I’m just not feeling.

Charlaine Harris, author of The Sookie Stackhouse novels, of course, was the guest judge. I am personally not a fan of the novels, and have fallen out of of love with True Blood, but that’s beside the point. She was a good judge.

The Small Scare challenge was of technology becoming a nightmare. They did this last year, and I hated the team that won. Stupid grim reaper coming out of a computer screen through an email. Too far out of the box. Just dumb. This year, I was eager to see what happened to my team. I enjoy Team Psychotic Misfits for Brian Stevens, who is a serious talent, and a cool guy overall if you ask me. I love that he and the rock star pumpkin carver, David, go at it on every episode. These guys are true artists, and don’t really work well with others. I appreciate that.

Skeleton Crew had a pretty cool piece with a vacuum that comes to life. Psychotic Misfits came up with a pair of headphones that turns on the skull listener, and drives a music note through its brain. (The music note totally sucked it.) Black Magic definitely had the coolest creation with an 80’s television with a broken screen turned to teeth, eating its watcher. A grisly hand was still clawing, trying to get out. Very cool. The poor pumpkin carver had to start from scratch at one point, too, because his pumpkin was too soft. I’m seriously impressed he could do it. When MY team actually won, Psychotic Misfits, I was kinda pissed because theirs just was not as good.

The big challenge was the classic swamp creature. YES. Brian Stevens actually said “I love the swamp,” so I was really excited to see what he came up with. Their lady girl candymaker, Theresa, came up with the idea of a swamp creature digesting who it ate, which was really different, and I loved this team even more for it. They worked together really well, and Theresa is a powerhouse.

Skeleton Crew came up with a suckass idea of a giant snake eating a guy. Not good enough. Black Magic rocked it with a gian moster underneath the water, with a fisherman above, half submerged, following his sunken boat. Very cool idea. Skeleton Crew pissed me the hell off with this pumpkin carving guy who did everything from complain about having to stack pumpkins to his poor, aching back, which he stopped everything to stretch. All of this is done with his own whiny commentary. “Aww, I hope we didn’t get a rotten pumpkin, man!” When they came up with a shitty creation, it made the whole team unbearable for me. So I was happy to see the bitches go home. (Spoiler.)

Black Magic’s fisherman scene was killer. Their baker also made a killer sour cherry candy that looked so good I wanted to murder someone for it. There were amazing details; a wound on the fisherman’s knee, skulls on the floor of the swamp, a beautiful fish…. A great story. Really well done.

Psychotic Misfits has done a couple of comic book-looking pieces, which I loved. The Three Blind Mice piece, the Zombie Prom with the lockers and the disco ball. Excellent. But this challenge was the best I’ve seen from any team this season. The monster was actually scary. The thing looked real. It sat in a reflective “pool” made of sugar that looked like real water. The monster had this wild giant tusk out of the middle of its jaw, and these awful eyes. Amazingly beautiful and gruesome.

What I really loved was that team Psychotic Misfits had an enormous problem, leaving them less than an hour to fill 6 inches of space with anything they could find to bridge a gap between the pumpkin body and the cake head. Bitching at each other the whole time, they came together and filled it with cake, rice crispie treats, anything they could find, and it was magnificent. MAGNIFICENT. Brian Stevens finished the challenge saying, “Now that’s how you make a fricking monster!” He was right. His monster actually got the soft, melodic “You did it” music when Shin Min Lee told him this was the piece she’d been waiting to see him create.

There was no question Team Psychotic Misfits was the winner and Team Skeleton Crew sucked it hard and needed to go home, despite being ingenious enough to use green-dyed noodles for swamp moss and making a neon green tea candy for the tasting element. They had this cool lightning bug jar, but just generic looking overall. Black Magic is really strong, and seeing them go to the finale with Psychotic Misfits is going to make for a really intense battle. I, of course, will tell you all the things I think that you may or may not want to know.

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