Archive | July, 2014

Spectre

24 Jul

Property of DarkRose Productions
© Julia DarkRose 2014
261aa03135b0bbe1386cc7c3a5011731

Spectre

How shall you cease from drowning from within your spiritual sleep?
Where you have taken refuge in deep silence?
Doth deception already rouse you with its musical treachery?
No, the spectre has naught to do with melody or song.
It is a malignant sound, a ghost of sound,
an echo of some heedless laughter you have known-
yet where is your laughter now that lies are revealed?
Yours is the sound of hurtful noise changed to stone,
and warmth to frost, and false fire to reflection:
O fearful ghost!

You are but…

Scourge of the enslaved,
Doom of freedom,
Egg of the serpent,
Web of the spider,
Servant of lies,
Lamp of delusion
Beacon of indecency,
Bearer of erroneous power,
Broken crystal of knowledge,
Mirror of madness
You are not redemption.

In truth, you are self-damnation.
Why do you adore the spectre?
In truth, you should abhor thee.
Oh how you rejoice in your “awakening,”
oh how you, that are bound and gagged, crawl from
the beautiful music of truth,
to be embraced by deceptions comforting.

Warm is the dark kiss that will break your brainwashed soul,
bound in your desolate web, trying to set yourself free;
Dying in formless, cold flame, now try to learn to live:
If you hold fast to your frail thread,
your last false light shall never be shed.
Ghost, and ghoul, Banshee of filth,
What matter is it if you feed that evil:
Can it not be a beauteous beast,
are you not better for beauty still?
Oh my, yes, let yourself be well betrayed
and led to death by discordant singing
where no sting blinds, no pain astounds,
and even in anguish, no voice sounds.

Shatter your mirror of madness
Live free and fearless!
The moon has risen,
she is here to bear a mirror
for your altered face.
Look through the spectre
and into the darklight.

Drink from the sanguine well,
quench your parched spirit.
Part your lips and blow…
Blow that spectre far, far away.

~©Julia DarkRose 2014/2017

Social Media

23 Jul

Bloody FB Like

‘A newbie to social media’
Definition: If I may borrow a line from one of my favorite movies,
“Fresh meat for the beast.”
~Julia DarkRose

Vampiress

13 Jul

Property of DarkRose Productions
By Julia DarkRose ©2013

**It’s back to work for me. My break from creating the most awesome issue of ‘The DarkRose Journal’ is over. I leave you with a simple little prose of mine. Enjoy…I hope. Thank you kindly to those who take a few moments to read it. :-)**
FB DRJ Profile Pic
Vampiress

Cloaked in velvet darkness,
a dancer in the flames,
I am called by many names.
From the misty hidden caverns
in ancient days of magick,
comes the truth once forbidden
of my Earthly shrouded ways.

Bewitching goddess of the crossroads,
my secrets are kept in the night.
I am half remembered, half forgotten,
I am found in the shadows of the moonrise.

I call upon the universal wisdom,
that dwells within,
and beseech thee from days gone by,
to enter my expectant soul.
I am the Mother of Sacred Earth,
my power is beyond compare,
when my dreams are given birth.

Lady of desire, reflection of the night,
I am motion, direction, and second sight.
Mother of creation,
the original source,
I am potential,
dark power, the ultimate force,
Grandmother of time,
wisdom from below and above,
I dwell here with honor and perfect love.

Glorious Queen of the twilight hour,
wise and vigilant protector,
my silent love is regal and most splendor.
Great mystery behind life’s veil,
I rise time and again.
I am the truest keeper of the grail.
I am she who whispers, gentle and strong,
I am she for whom your soul doth long,
by most men I am seldom seen.
I am the virgin, mother, and sable Queen.
Through the moonlit veil, I pass with pride,
all who beckon me, I shall be at your side.
I am she who knows,
I am she who reveals.
I am she who gives birth,
I am she who feels.
For I am the goddess and mother of all.

Ask for me now–I come as you call.
Now through the mist you hear my voice,
you invoke me, gracious goddess, by choice.
I suffer as all men die,
doth with the victims in dark love I lie.
I am the maiden and crone of despair,
and with me your ending you must share.
You feel my passion,
you feel my presence,
you rapture in my vital essence.
I am the dancer of eternal bliss,
I bestow upon you my wondrous dark kiss.
I am the creatress of heavens, hells, and Earth.
To your dark dreams and passionate wishes,
I give birth.
I am the truest child of nature…
I am Vampiress.
~JDR

DarkRose Productions ReVamped

12 Jul

Hello Everyone!

DarkRose Blue Rose

Just a short announcement. Nothing to get your panties in a twist over (unless, of course, you want to get your panties in a twist), I promise.
I am deleting my original DarkRose Journal/DarkRose Productions website. It was, in a word, a mess. Said mess is completely all of my own doing.
Anyway, this is the new DarkRose Productions website. The address is temporary. I am having trouble transferring my domain name over to my new website. Until then, She can be viewed at this address.

Thank you kindly to all those who take a moment and go peruse Her new home. I have worked non stop for 2 days, not to apply any guilt or anything, LOL.

Again, thank you kindly.
~Julia DarkRose

 

 

 

 

 

Stalker

10 Jul

Property of DarkRose Productions
By Julia DarkRose ©2014/2017

**This is a short story from Issue 5 of The DarkRose Journal-ReVamped. This is just a tiny example of what you are missing by not reading the DRJ. Please, take a few moments to read my very short story. I promise, you will enjoy it. Thank you.**
(The images accompanying this post are taken right from the pages Issue 5)
Stalker Image 1

Stalker

The whole bloody, sordid mess started when Old Weird Charlie had a flat tire. He had been to see a movie over in Clarke County (a good ol’ slash-up-the-teenagers thing, as usual) and was on his way home by way of the rural road known as Farm to Market 125. This quaint little stretch of two-lane dirt between Clarke and Hemstead Counties was notable primarily for the fact it was totally non notable.

Old Weird Charlie was reveling in the guts and gore he had just witnessed when he felt his old Chevy pull to the side suddenly and fishtail slightly. He stopped on the narrow dirt shoulder and got out to inspect. Sure enough, his right rear tire was smushed down flat to the ground, a big ol’ 16-penny nail poking proudly out.

Charlie swore to himself, took a flashlight from his glove box, and then went back to the trunk to fetch the spare and the jack. It wasn’t really a huge deal, you know. He had no place to go; no one to go home to. It was just a way to spend 20 or so minutes. It wasn’t raining, and it was a pleasantly balmy summer evening, so the whole event, like the road on which it happened, was ordained to be unnotable. The thing that changed all that was when Charlie was putting the flat tire and the jack back into the trunk, and as he switched off the flashlight he happened to glance over into the clump of trees to his right. The clump of trees had a light glowing from within. A light that he had missed seeing before. A light that provided the only source of illumination-other than the moon-anywhere nearby.

Old Weird Charlie was by nature a stalker, so he was quite interested in this sign of isolated habitation. He closed the trunk, then, with his hand cupped over his flashlight lens to allow only a slender finger of light out, moved into the clump of trees.

The little house was set into a tiny clearing, with only the barest of tire tracks serving as a driveway from the road. Light shown from the two front windows, rectangles of amber behind the translucent shades that were drawn. Charlie switched the flashlight off, and then moved slowly in a stealthy circle around the house. There was no garage, no carport, and no car. There was a small chimney, but no smoke coming forth on this warm evening. There was no warning bark from a dog. There was no back door. There was no TV antenna, satellite dish, or sign of cable service. Except for the light, there was no sign of life at all.

Charlie thought all this was very, very interesting. He had to find out more. Still being very cautious-he did, after all, consider himself a professional-he moved silently up to the nearest window. There was only the slightest space at the edge of the blind, and it wasn’t enough to allow him a view into the room. Crawling on the ground below the window’s sightlines, he moved to the other window. Same story. He watched for a couple of minutes, but detected no sign of movement. No shadow moving across the blind, no sound of talking.

He had to find out whom, if anybody, was home. He had to try something a little bolder. He retreated to the shadows of the trees. Still no movement from the house. He picked up a small handful of pebbles, and then stepped a few feet closer. He tossed the pebbles gently into the air so that they landed on the roof, making a slight, yet noticeable sound. Slipping behind a tree he watched the front door. Nothing. He waited a few minutes. Stalkers had to be patient.

Okay. No one seems to be alerted to a possible prowler, so it’s safe to make a more overt move. Charlie walked up to the front door and knocked. He knocked fairly softly, because he didn’t want to alarm whomever might be in the house, particularly if they had a big ol’ livin’-out-in-the-boonies shotgun with them.

Charlie listened intently. There was no sound from within the house. He knocked again, this time a little louder. Still nothing. He waited a minute or so, and was reaching for the doorknob to see if he could sneak a peak inside, when the door suddenly opened, startling the bejesus out of him.

He gulped a quick breath, then looked at the person who had opened the door. He gulped again. She was beautiful.

“Yes?” she said.

She was a young woman, certainly no older than 30. She had raven black hair that cascaded down to the small of her back. She had smooth, ivory skin that helped set off her deep, deep brown eyes. She reminded Charlie of an actress he had seen in a movie, and he was trying to think of her name. He became aware that she was staring at him.

“Oh…sorry ma’am,” he said. “I’m sorry to trouble you. I’ve had some car trouble, and I wondered if I might use your phone.”

He was trying not to stammer, but he was still trying to recover. He had expected a grizzled old country coot, or a plain-as-dust housewife. This woman was a goddam vision.

She was wearing a tight pair of blue jeans and a tight tee shirt. There was an old saying about clothes being painted on, and Charlie was trying to remember what it was.

She had said something to him. He stared at her. “I said I don’t have a phone,” she repeated. Hot damn, Charlie thought. “Maybe your husband or boyfriend or someone has some jumper cables.”

She smiled a thin smile, as if she saw right through his ruse.

“I don’t have a husband,” she said. “Or a boyfriend. Or jumper cables.”

“you’re not out here all by yourself, are you?” Charlie asked, putting what he hoped was just the right amount of fatherly concern in his voice.

“Well, yes,” she answered, “I guess I am. I do have a gun, though…just in case.”

She allowed the door to swing open just enough more for Charlie to see a rifle mounted on the wall over the small fireplace.

Hot damn, thought Charlie. Sometimes things just work out!

“If you don’t mind my asking, miss, what do you do out here?” Charlie was beginning to love this part he was playing.

“I’m a writer,” she replied. “I bought this place so I had someplace quiet to work away from the city.”

“Oh,” Charlie said, marveling at the way her red lips contrasted with her pale skin. “You write books?”

“Romances. Stupid, silly stuff. But commercial as hell.”

“I bet,” Charlie said. “I mean about being commercial and all, not about being silly.”

Charlie was feeling a steady hunger growing in him. The Stalker was trying to become The Hunter. He wanted this woman…badly. He wanted her in his way. And this set-up was fucking perfect!

He felt he had to get out of here. He wasn’t prepared. Not tonight. And he was about to burst.

“Well, I won’t take any more of your time,” he said as he started backing away from the door. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“No trouble,” the vision said. “I don’t get any visitors, so it was nice to hear another voice for a change.” She smiled at him warmly. He couldn’t wait to see the smile turn into a frozen moment of horror. And he knew it would. Maybe even by tomorrow night. It would.

One more thought occurred to him before he left. “Do you think one of your neighbors might have some jumpers?”

“Maybe. The next house is about a mile and a half south of here.”

“Well, thanks.” Charlie smiled warmly. “I sure do appreciate it. Good night.”

“Good night,” she said, and he watched as she closed the door.

On the way back to the road Old Weird Charlie kept thinking that hot damn!…sometimes things just work out!

Before getting in the car, he looked back at the house. It was dark. Hot damn, he thought. Can you believe tonight? Hot damn.

No one in Clarke or Hempstead or any of the nearby counties knew that the odd duck that they called Old Weird Charlie was called by another nickname in a state about 1000 miles away. There he was called the Vampire Killer. In this other state, they didn’t know about the Charlie part. They just knew that there was this maniac who had now murdered 3 women and grievously injured a fourth. And he had killed them by slashing their necks, then drinking their blood. The lone survivor was quite specific on that point, once she was able to talk again. He would tie them up spread eagle, perform a sort of ritual with them, cut into their jugular, drink from the wound, then wait for them to die.

The attacks all happened within a two-year period, within a one hundred mile radius. Then, they suddenly stopped. No one knew for sure what had happened to the Vampire Killer.

What had happened was that he had moved. He wasn’t stupid. He had gotten careless by not making sure his fourth victim was dead, and now that things were going to heat up, he felt he better clear the hell out. That was over a year ago, and now his hunger was getting the best of him again.

He had never gotten the name of his prey, but with her being a writer and all, there would undoubtedly be a lot of media attention to her murder. It wouldn’t take long before the police linked the case to the other killings, and it wouldn’t look good if Charlie were to skiddadle just after a grisly murder. So Charlie came up with a plan. He would have to be patient (and hungry) a little while longer.

The next day he told his landlady that his sister back east was real sick, and he had to move there to look after her kids for awhile. So he moved out.

Then he told his employer the same story about the same fictional sister, and quit his job. Then he sold most of his things, bought some camping equipment and supplies, and moved into his new temporary home- a campsite far out in the country, and deep in the woods.

He figured three weeks would be enough time. Once the woman’s body was discovered, he would have been gone and forgotten, and certainly not a suspect. After a few more weeks, he could come back if he wanted, or he could just move on somewhere else.

As he cooked a hamburger in his little propane stove on his first night in the woods, he thought…hot damn, I’m hungry.

Exactly three weeks to the day later, Old Weird Charlie, the Vampire Killer, was back in the trees by the woman’s little house. His stalker instincts were on high, and he was mighty pleased by what he was seeing. No car. No visitors. No dog. No signs that anything at all had changed to put a damper on the perfect scenario. He could actually take his time on this one. He could stay there all fucking night if he wanted. He could do things rrrreeeeaaaaallll slow. He could savor the moment. He licked his lips just thinking about it.

There was only one difference that made tonight different than the other night, and it was definitely a bonus. Tonight, the blinds on the windows weren’t drawn, and he could see right into practically the whole house. Evidently the woman had gotten so comfortable here in her isolation that she didn’t worry about it any more.

He had been watching about an hour now. The woman, still looking delicious and vulnerable, had been sitting in the only chair in the place,writing longhand into what looked to Charlie like a large journal. She was wearing a tee shirt and jeans outfit that was virtually identical to the one she had answered the door in.

Even though she had done absolutely nothing in the last hour, Charlie still was intoxicated by the feeling of power he had-he could see everything about her, and she had not the faintest idea that he was there.

Charlie had just decided to move in closer when there was movement. She put her writing down and stood up. He watched her stretch. He watched her yawn. He watched her take off her shirt. Hot damn.

She was wearing a black bra. Very lacy. Very sheer. Very, very sexy. Charlie watched very, very hard. She sat on the side of her bed and slipped off her jeans. She folded the jeans delicately and put them at the foot of the bed. She stood up. Her sheer, lacy and very sheer panties matched her bra. She was short…only 5’3” or 5’4”-but she packed a tremendous amount of pure femininity in a small package.

A poet-or even a moderately civilized human being-might have thought that here was a sensual porcelain doll, deserving of red roses, sparkling champagne, and a candlelit evening of love-making. Charlie was thinking of jow hard he was getting knowing he was going to fuck her and kill her.

Actually, he was so wrapped up in this unexpected voyeuristic surprise that he didn’t stop to think. He didn’t stop to think about why a woman who lived alone in such solitude would be wearing such showy lingerie. He didn’t stop to think that most women in a similar situation would wear simple cotton underthings; that laundering such delicate items as she wore would not be something that she would want to do on a regular basis; that there was really only one reason to wear such strikingly sexy laces and silks.

Even when he watched her go to a small closet, remove a silky, slinky, sheer nightgown, it didn’t give him pause for thought. This was no lady getting ready to retire for the evening, here out in East Jesus, here in a little house surrounded by woods, and without even the benefit of a proper driveway. No, this was a lady who’s expecting someone; who’s been biding time; waiting for a date.

She was suddenly at the window, and Charlie had to duck back down into the shadows. But she wasn’t looking out, she was merely pulling the blinds. This was a great opportunity for Charlie, and he took it. Moving swiftly under the cover of the trees and shadows, he headed for the front door. Since he knew that she was looking the other way, he tried the doorknob gently. It turned. It was unlocked. Hot damn, this was too fucking easy.

As he silently opened the door and peered in, she was just pulling the last blind. He glanced toward the fireplace. There was her gun, safe and sound above the mantle. He didn’t even have to rush her. There was no place for her to go. She was in a dead end. He was between her and the door; between her and the gun. So he simply stepped in and closed the door.

She jerked her head around when she heard the door close, but she didn’t seem to be alarmed. Charlie, of course (who was pretty much checking out her breasts at the time) didn’t notice that she wasn’t very startled by his presence. “Hello, pretty lady,” he said.

She looked at him, and he saw recognition on her face. “What do you want?” she asked.

“I want you,” he replied. God, this was fun. He started moving towards her.

“What do you mean?” she asked, taking a small step back.

“I mean I want to rip your clothes off. Then I want to tie you up and do all sorts of interesting things to you.”

Her eyes opened a bit wider, and she looked as if she was going to scream, so he ran quickly to her and grabbed her, pinning her arms and holding her mouth shut.

“If you make one fucking sound, I’ll rip your throat out. Understand?”

She nodded.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the shank of rope that he’d brought. He’d already noticed that the bed had nothing to tie onto, so his favorite spread eagle position was out. No problem.

He tied her hands behind her back, then tied her feet together. Her pale skin was silky smooth, and she was wearing a very alluring scent. It was almost too bad he’d have to kill her.

So far, she hadn’t made a sound. He was pretty sure that would change, but by then it would be too late.

He laid her across the bed. She was really a looker. He turned her on her back, and ripped at her bra. Despite its gossamer appearance, it held. He unsheathed his buck knife from his side. He pointed it straight at her throat. Her eyes followed its every move, but she still made no sound.

“Pretty brave little bitch, aren’t you?” Charlie asked pleasantly.

She said nothing. He put the edge of the knife under the center of her bra, and toyed with it. A small drop of blood formed between her breasts. He ripped it up violently, and the severed bra fell away.

“Great tits you’ve got there,” he said.

Old Weird Charlie certainly had a way with the ladies. He stepped down to the foot of the bed, her eyes never leaving him.

“If you try to run away, I’ll kill you.” She nodded in understanding.

He cut the rope binding her feet. “Spread your goddam legs before I cut your heart out.”

She spread her legs.

Her panties were virtually transparent, the black mound of her pubic hair teasingly peeking out from the edges of the sheer fabric.

“Don’t forget I’ve got this little old knife right here.”

She nodded, as usual.

He bent down between her legs. If she tasted half as good as she looked, this was going to be a great night. He had plenty of time. There was no way she could get away, and no one anywhere around to ruin the moment. As he fingered the edge of her panties, he was starting to think that maybe he shouldn’t kill her tonight. He could use a good sex slave for a while, and this was the perfect chance.

That’s the plan, then. He’d keep her here in this deserted little house, and do anything he wanted any time he wanted.

“Hot damn!” he told her. “Sometimes things just work out!”

He slid his fingers underneath her panties and was just starting to slide it inside when his brain registered the split second of a sound, followed by a sudden, sharp pain just below his chin.

And suddenly he was floating.

His head was near the ceiling, and he was looking down on his victim. The torn ropes were still on the bed. The torn bra was still on the bed. And his victim, who was no longer on the bed, was holding him aloft. She had two fingers of her right hand stuck through the flesh underneath his chin, and she had pinned him up against the wall.

He didn’t fucking believe this.

She smiled. “You’re interesting,” she said. “I might just have to put you in one of my books. What’s your name?”

He looked at her and gurgled. Blood gushed from his mouth.

“Did you say Charlie?” she asked.

“Although I guess most people around here know you as Old Weird Charlie, don’t they. Or didn’t you know that?”

He was beginning to lose consciousness. He gurgled.

“And I understand that you fancy yourself a vampire.” She smiled again. An alluring, sexy smile. “How quaint.”

Suddenly she let him drop to the floor. He gasped and grabbed for his throat.

“I just have one question for you,” she continued, her 5’3” or 5’4” frame towering above him. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting for weeks. And I’ve been hungry for even longer than that. What took you so long?”

Old Weird Charlie looked weakly up at this beautiful, feminine creature, and he thought he was hallucinating. Her teeth and mouth were red, and her eyes were glowing with a silver light.

She smiled.

She was on him.

The last thought that Charlie had as she put her mouth to his gushing wound was: this…sorta’…feels…nice.

Before too long, she was back from her errand in the woods. She looked around her little house, and it was as neat and tidy as before. The blinds remained drawn. The gun remained above the mantle. The bed had fresh sheets.

The woods remained quiet. Quiet as a grave.

Her jeans and tee shirt were a bit dirty, but she could wash them tomorrow. She took them off. She was nude. It’s too bad about the bra and panties, she thought. They were very nice, but the blood would never come out, so they had to go.

She sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled out her journal. She jotted down a new date and time, then started writing.

“Hot damn,” she wrote. “Sometimes things just work out!”

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Creepiest Ghost Encounter…Ever!

10 Jul

Are you jaded by Hollywood’s big budget “scary” movies?
Are you yearning to burst a blood vessel or have your heart feel like it’s racing in The Grand Prix!
Are you finished being let down by the unimaginative writers of Tinsel Town?
Well then, you might want to have a look at ‘The DarkRose Journal’s’ newest contest….NOT FOR THE EASILY SCARED…

Creepiest Ghost Encounters…Ever, Contest!

Creepiest Encounter

Beyond Our Grasp

10 Jul

The Hard Copy (the ezine cover features the fabulously dark and wonderful human being, Johnny Daggers!) cover for Issue 6 of ‘The DarkRose Journal’ is finished. You DO NOT want to miss your opportunity to purchase Issue 6. This will be the last of Her quarterly issues. After this She, The DarkRose Journal, will only be published once a year, around Halloween/Samhain. Have no doubt that she will be a voluminous tome of exquisite sensually & spooky dark artistry.

**A sneak peek at the front and back covers, just for you, The DarkRose Journal Community of awesomeness!!!!**

Thank you.
~Julia DarkRose
Cover Six 2.0

Cover Six Back 2.0

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