Vampire Legend and Lore in a Modern Sanguianrian Reality

The Adrian Trilogy,” by Lyn Gibson is a three-part fictional account of the vampire legend experienced through the life of a modern-day warrioress ~ once real estate practitioner, Adrian. Her long-standing lucid dreams continuously elicit an epic figure in the form of Christian who is an eight-pack wielding hunk of manhood with a taste for blood and all-things Sanguianrian. Christian works to keep Adrian untainted by his malady but love and lust turn the tide of time to their both being immortals. Of course, their communications are full of passion and play before and after Adrian gets bit.

As a reader though, you might ask . . . what is Sanguinarism? 

sanguinarian-vampire-awakening-i4That is a great question.

Sanguinarians are human beings with a compulsion, or need, to consume blood. While in “To Be His Soulmate,” the narrative explains that due to his loss of his true love, Christian is destined to a life of damnation as a vampire. The story also shares that the act of consumption of blood is not distasteful to the Sanguinarian. In fact, it is definitely a need to ensure immortality and once again gain access to his formerly lost love . . . Adrian.

In today’s world, there are entire communities of Sanguinarians that really exist! These people believe they have debilitating issues “if” they don’t have a regular blood intake. And, many claim they are, in fact, the “true vampires.”

So what happens to them physiologically if they don’t consume blood?
stat6There is a theory that there is a genetic basis for the condition of Sanguinarianism. And, symptoms involve autoimmune deficiencies, emotional distress, fatigue, headaches, frequent illness, muscle and joint pain, rage, and other issues that are not defined by any “other” disease. The interesting element is that these individuals have instant relief by drinking blood. Some Sanguinarians report that they suffered for years with symptoms that baffled modern medicine and with a blood-consumption – they experience almost instant relief.

Is there actually a beast inside the Sanguinarian ready to explode onto the scene at clubs and bars throughout the world?

The individuals who suffer from what they describe as an “undisclosed disease” state that their awakening process may involve blood rages, which they refer to as Twoffing being overwhelmed by blood deprivation), yet . . . they also have curative blood provisions and very scientific underpinnings to their consumption of blood through regulated resources. In other words, they have medical blood treatments.

What about supernatural powers?

There are “some” Sanguinarians who suggest they do have enhanced mental and physical capabilities after feeding. And, they do state photo-sensitivity is one of many ailments they suffer. Some do practice Wicca, spell-casting, old religions, etc.; however, most Sanguinarians state they are human like everyone else and just have a debilitating issue that requires blood for a cure.

Certainly, there is such a strong interest in vampires for many reasons – including the romance, sexuality and normally sensual nature of them in films in movies and books like, “The Adrian Trilogy.” This series certainly gets our blood boiling and entices readers to want more, which Lyn Gibson is very good at providing. So on behalf of Author Lyn Gibson, dpInk: DonnaInk Publications, L.L.C. is beginning this new series of posts regarding Vampire Legend and Lore in a Modern Sanguianrian Reality.

19771a0ffa27bd58da369f73eb29f103The Sanguinarians are the “first” group we are mentioning but there are others:

  • Energy Channelers,
  • Fairths,
  • Furries,
  • Hybrid Vampires,
  • Metahumans,
  • Otherkin,
  • PSI-Vamps,
  • True Vampires,
  • and etc.

Yes, there is more to the field of vampirism than fictional narratives . . . it appears some real creatures of the night knock at the door of our understanding. The publishing initiative hopes this series of short blog stories – presented bi-weekly – alongside Lyn’s normal posts will keep readers pinned to the edge of their seats as we learn more about vampires who claim to be the real deal!

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10706About the Author: Ms. Donna L. Quesinberry is the Founder – CEO of dpInk: DonnaInk Publications, L.L.C. a small woman-owned bi-business arm of 1) dpInk (www.donnalquesinberry.com) – management consultancy featuring business development, capture administration and proposals with copy-writing, business documentation and technical communication services support and 2) DonnaInk Publications, L.L.C. (www.donnaink.com) publishing initiative featuring 30 plus authors and their works for intellectual readers with diverse interests.

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Comte de St. Germain – the history of Vampire Jack

Author Lyn Gibson

Visit DonnaInk Publications, L.L.C. for a copy of, "Adrian's Fury" or "To Be His Soulmate!" St. Germain

After a recent one hour on-air interview, I have been contacted by several parties that have either requested more information or have volunteered first hand experiences concerning Jacques d’Saint Germain, The New Orleans Vampire. Since the show I have begun to research him a bit further. This blog is the first of more to come on Saint Germain, I will start here from the beginning:

Comte de St. Germain was said to have been born in 1712, details of his birth and life as a child are obscure, however Germain was said to have been the son of Francis II Rákóczi, the Prince of Transylvania. In contradiction to this date are two statements, one by Rameau, a relative of a French ambassador from Venice who testified that he had known St. Germain in 1710 and that he then had the appearance of a man near his fifties. The…

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Haunted Louisiana – The Myrtles Plantation

myrtles Our story begins in 1796 when General David Bradford, aka “Whiskey Dave” of the Whiskey Rebellion, obtained a 650 acre land grant from Baron de Corondelet.  Bradford had fled the United States to avoid arrest and imprisonment for his involvement in the Rebellion, he would land in Bayou Sarah which, at that time was still a Spanish colony.  Bradford would later be pardoned for his actions by President John Adams.

When construction began on the original home it was said that workers had unearthed a Native American burial ground.  Bradford would order the remains burned thus initiating over two centuries of hauntings that endure to this day.   Bradford experienced great losses during his time at his family home.  One of his sons would fall into the river while working one day, his body was never recovered.

After having received his Presidential pardon, Bradford, his wife Elizabeth and 5 children would move to Pennsylvania where he would pursue his political career resulting in him being appointed Deputy attorney-general for Washington County.  The  mansion would remain in his ownership until 1820 when it was purchased by his son in law, Judge Clarke Woodruff.  The Woodruff era would produce one of the Myrtles’ most well known ghosts; a young Creole slave girl named Chloe.

Woodruff took Chloe on as his Mistress.  She was moved into the main home to live with his family while caring for his children.  Chloe, however, yearned for more than just the position of Mistress.  In an attempt to gain leverage, Chloe would often eavesdrop on family conversations as well as debates held amid the many prominent guests that frequented the mansion.  After several warnings she was caught one evening eavesdropping on a heated conversation between Woodruff and some of his more affluent visitors, Bradford ordered her left ear to be cut off and banished her from working within his home.

Chloe, devastated by the terms of her punishment, devised a plan to see her way back into the home.  She would bake a cake laced with poisoned herbs and when the family became ill, it would be she that would care for them and bring them back to good health.  A good plan, but unfortunately Chloe would lace the cake with lethal doses of her herbs; Woodruffs’ wife and two of his children died.

Now Chloe was even further distraught.  She had cared for and loved his children for years, as if they were her own.  Chloe, no longer able to bear the guilt, would confess to her actions.  Woodruff, in response, ordered for her to be hung just outside of the mansion, her body would then be weighted down and thrown into the Mississippi river.

Woodruff and his last remaining child would then move to Covington Louisiana, the house would be sold in 1834 to Ruffin Gray Sterling.  Sterling and his wife would remodel the homestead, it would nearly double in size to become what we know as the 11,000 square foot Myrtles Plantation.

The Sterling era would bring about even more of the frequently seen apparitions.  Four years after completion of the renovation, Sterling would succumb to Consumption.  Further tragedies struck the family throughout the years as only 4 of their 9 children would live long enough to marry.

The Plantation suffered along with the family as it had been looted and vandalized many times by soldiers during the Civil War.  Many rogue soldiers had lost their lives by charging onto the estate grounds as both the family and slaves had been armed to protect their home.  It was during one of these looting sprees that Sterling’s son-in-law, William Winter, was shot on the front steps as he tried to defend the family’s interests.  After crawling into the house and halfway up the stairs, he died in the arms of his frantic wife.

Occurrences

Many guests have reported the loss of just 1 earring while visiting the Plantation.  Later earrings will turn up in the oddest of places, discovered by staff as they clean and organize.  Perhaps this is the work of Chloe as she would only require the one earring!

There are reports of bloodstains on the parlor floor which will appear and disappear on their own accord, no matter how often the floor is cleaned.  These stains are said to appear where Union soldiers met their demise as they attempted to loot the mansion during the Civil War.

An apparition is seen frequently on the stair case and at some times the sound of fleeting footsteps will accompany him.  It is said to be that of a man dressed in his Sunday best.  Many suspect the apparition to be remnants of William Winter as he met his demise on those very steps.

chloe1a1    Chloe is seen frequently about the grounds, even sometimes spotted on the very limb from where she was hanged.

In this picture there is the apparition of a young slave girl just in between the two buildings.  This photograph has been researched and debunked by many well-known paranormal investigators. National Geographic has used this photograph in a documentary of the Myrtles’ Plantation.  It was also researched by Mr. Norman Benoit who performed a shadow density test, thus proclaiming that all of the physical measurements of the apparition were of human dimensions and proportions.  The circumference of the head, the length of the shoulder to the elbow and the length of the elbow to the wrist were all indicative of a human.

 

childThe ghosts of children are often captured in photographs all about the interior of the Plantation as well as it grounds.  So many children have perished on this property it would be quite difficult to accurately identify any one of them.  As records were not kept on the slave population and waves of plagues were rampant during this era, there is no way for anyone to know exactly how many children passed away on this property over the past 212 years.

This photograph was taken by a teacher on a school field trip.  The figure of the little girl in the window was not discovered until some time after.  Note that the child appears to be looking directly into the camera.

 

mirror Owners and staff have reported hand prints on mirrors and windows for centuries.  The infamous mirror which hangs near the staircase is a prime target.  Previous owners have gone as far as replacing the actual glass to rid themselves of the nuisance, but to no avail; the hand prints would only return.

 

 

 

 

As the Myrtles have been visited and investigated frequently through time, reports range from the inconspicuous to the insane.  Guests have had many encounters with the ghostly inhabitants.  Many items have gone missing and some overnight guest complain of their difficulties in getting out of their beds in the mornings after having been tucked too snugly into their sheets while they slept.

The Myrtles offers guided tours and is currently in operation as a bed and breakfast where many paranormal enthusiasts have conducted their own private investigations.  The Myrtles Plantation is definitely a destination for anyone seeking a ghostly encounter.

 

As fall dawns, vampire historian and author Lyn Gibson shares more than candy

dpInk Horror Affirmation Dailies

Visit dpInk (DonnaInk Publications) today for deep pocket discounts of The Adrian Trilogy with an additional 25% off during the 4th of July Sales Event!

Visit dpInk (DonnaInk Publications) today for deep pocket discounts of The Adrian Trilogy with an additional 25% off during the 4th of July Sales Event!

Short & Gory is here! (Teaser Alert!)

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Author Lyn Gibson proudly presents “Short & Gory” a collection of twisted and macabre shorts that hale from a very dark place; the Author’s mind!

Lyn, an emerging horror author from Southern Louisiana, enjoys striking terror and paranoia into the hearts of her fans; and the fans love it!  Her newest release is reminiscent of Stephen King’s “Creepshow” yet with a twist of a darker hue!

Enjoy the teaser below, the first Chapter of Ms. Callum, the opening story from “Short & Gory”!

 

                                                                              Ms. Callem

 

                                                                             Chapter One

 

Every small town has one, the sweet little old lady that lives in the turn of the century home just down the street from the post office. Every Ms. Callem, regardless of her name, has been around for as long as anyone remembers. Everyone knows and loves her as she is always a pillar of the community, a living relic of a more simple and civil time.

This crisp and bright spring morning finds Ms. Callem hanging a sign on her white picket fence, just behind the blue Hydrangea.

“Morning Ms. Callem” Roland, the mail carrier, tolled.

“Why, Good morning Dear!” she retorted as she turned slowly to acknowledge a familiar voice.

“Rentin’ that room out again I see!” he smiled warmly as he sorted through a stack of mail to find her parcels.

“Yes, Dear, these young folks just don’t stay in any one place for very long” she answered as she crossed her arms over the gate.

“Yes Ma’am, You right about dat!” he nodded as he offered her mail to her.

“As soon as I get to know them, they’re gone, just me and my roses” she smiled fondly as she accepted her parcels.

“And the most beautiful roses anyone has ever seen; Good day to you now!” Roland smiled as he carried on his way.

Ms. Callem waved her mail at him in response and turned to make her way back inside her old family home.

It was a fact, people traveled from Parishes all around just to purchase her roses. They were all handsome breeds, buds nearly the size of her delicate and withered hands, blooms that were enormous, which lasted for weeks; and the most intoxicating of fragrances. The most baffling fact about her roses; they bloomed year round. When asked how she had created such a breed, Ms. Callem would smile and say; “It’s a family secret, passed down by the lady of the house for generations.”   Part of the “secret” was an old greenhouse to the rear of her property, rumored to have been slave quarters in darker days.

 

Though her roses were high demand, Ms. Callem would take on tenants from time to time, both to enhance her income as well as provide company for a lonely old woman. The last of her short term tenants, a young man, fresh from college.

 

Vincent had drifted in from town just after graduation, in search of a job as the economy had worsened since he began his studies over four years ago. Polite and courteous, yet a bit of an introvert, the young man offered little companionship for Ms. Callem. One would suppose that she had not missed him once he left, however his absence was noticed by some as he had vanished without reporting to work, or returning for his pay checks.

 

Ms. Callem had just made her way up the steps, across the old wooden porch and was at the door as her phone rang.

“Oh My! Who could that be?” she spoke aloud to herself as she inched towards the phone.

“Hello?” she answered. “Good Morning Ms. Callem, and how does this fine morning find you?”

She recognized the voice immediately. “Well, Father, I’m blessed, and how are you love?” she asked warmly.

“Just fine” he answered with a smile in his voice. “Ms. Callem, as you know Mr. Martins’ funeral is Friday.” “As he was a long time member and contributor to our Parish, I thought nothing would be more fitting than your roses for his memorial” he explained. “Might I come by later this afternoon and purchase one dozen of your’ most magnificent red roses?” he asked.

“Why of course, dear!” she exclaimed.

“Wonderful! I will come by around 2:00 then” he said.

“Very well, I’ll make sure to have coffee ready!” she tolled as she ended the call.

 

Though everyone in the community always waved and stopped to speak with her during their evening walks, few ever had the time for a sit down visit. Ms. Callem was excited to have a guest call. She would bake cookies!

Rejuvenated, she made her way to the kitchen and began to gather the necessary ingredients for her grandmother’s sugar cookie recipe. Soon the cool spring breeze wafted the aroma of baking cookies throughout her home. Now nearing 2:00 she started her coffee pot and walked out of the back door to fill the Fathers’ order.

“Good afternoon everyone!” she exclaimed as she walked into the decrepit old green house. Row upon row of roses in every color imaginable filled the small improvement. From the floors to the exposed rafters above, buds and blooms grew proudly from the putrid soil beneath them.

“Aren’t we the lovely group” she taunted as she reached for her basket and scissors.

Ms. Callem made her way through the greenhouse selecting the most handsome of red roses, placing them one by one in her basket until it had become burdened with the weight of their massive buds.

“And you make one dozen” she giggled as she placed the last of them in her sagging basket and made her way out of the greenhouse.

As she closed the door she sat her basket onto the ground and placed a large padlock onto the door latch, securing it tightly before retrieving her basket and returning to the kitchen.

 

She had barely reached the back porch as she heard Father Ryan calling for her. “I’m here Father” she said as she scurried through the parlor to open the screen door for him.

“I was concerned when you didn’t answer” he smiled as she held the door open.

“I’m sorry to have worried you Father” she said smiling, “I was out back cutting your roses for you” she explained.

“Oh, I must see your’ greenhouse some day” Father Ryan said as he entered and inhaled the aroma of fresh coffee and cookies.

Ms. Callem chuckled as she led him to the kitchen. “I’m sorry Father, it’s a family secret; in order for me to allow you into the greenhouse you would have to marry me, and we both know that’s not going to happen” she giggled as she directed for him to sit at the table.

The Father blushed at her comment then, spotted the roses on the counter across from him. “They are truly beautiful” he said motioning towards the basket as she placed the cookies and coffee onto the already set table.

“Those are the St. Vincents” she smiled as she sat and began to pour for them.

Father Ryan stayed for quite some time, they conversed of old times and loved ones long since passed and as expected, the history of her home.

Ms. Callems’ home was one of the first established in the rural parish. As with many old houses, it had a history of odd legends and occurrences. It was also one of the first estates in the area to offer housing to its’ slaves.

Rumors of voodoo and witchcraft had hovered over the home site for many years, but those that knew the tales the best were now long since in their graves. One would hear an occasional whisper of black magic rites that had been held on the grounds many decades passed, only to be scoffed away as folks around here don’t much believe in those things anymore.

The afternoon had grown into early evening. Father Ryan thanked her for the coffee and cookies while presenting her with a check for the roses that he now gingerly lifted from the basket.

“I trust I will see you at Mr. Martin’s service Friday?” he asked as she ushered him to the front door.

“Of course” she smiled warmly, “Mr. Martin was a fine man” she added as the Father stepped from the porch.

“Until then” he said as he nodded to her and made his way to his car, placing the roses on the passenger seat before turning to wave once more.

 

The old woman, sad to see her guest leave, turned and made her way back into the house in order to clean their dishes. Now nearing sunset, it was time to tend to her roses. She laid the dishtowel down on the counter and made her way to the pantry.

The small musty room was lined with shelves on both sides. One side held a multitude of empty mason jars prepared for use, the other was laden with jars that contained varying levels of some dark liquid. Ms. Callem walked to the rear of the pantry and retrieved several jars, balancing them carefully within her fragile arms as she made her way back into the kitchen and out the back door.

She inhaled the aroma of sweet olives and honeysuckle as she meandered down the walkway to the rear of her property where the old wooden greenhouse sat.

Her back yard, though an oasis during the day, took on an entirely different demeanor in the evenings; Even Ms. Callem did not venture off of the back porch once the moon took over the night sky. The fact of the matter was that the rumors of voodoo rituals were true. Though the old woman had had no part in participating, she being the last heir of her family line was now responsible for maintaining the daily rituals that had been set in motion by her ancestors.

The eerily alit greenhouse, only steps away from her now, beckoned for its’ evening visit. Ms. Callem carefully sat the mason jars on the porch next to the door then fished the key for the lock from around her neck. Soon after, she carried the jars inside and closed the door behind her. Hurriedly she retrieved her water jug and began to pour the contents of the jars into it. Though she had maintained the ritual for as long as she could remember, she could never get used to the stench of the liquid as it oozed from the jars.

With the last of the jars emptied she lifted her water jug and began to tend to each plant individually. She took great care in her pruning, even conversing with each plant as she would portion the mysterious liquid upon its’ roots before moving on.

Though having been grateful for the distraction, the Father’s visit had rendered her later than usual in her tasks. The greenhouse had a very odd air about it this night, triggering an early childhood memory of she and her grandmother as they worked diligently to tend the roses one evening.

 

Ms. Callem had been late returning home one evening as she had spent the day at the local swimming hole with some of the other children from the community. She remembered entering the house to her grandmother who was quite irritated by her timing. “How many times do I have to tell you, the roses must be tended to before the moon hangs high in the sky?” she scolded as a young Ms. Callem approached. “Gather the jars and meet me at the greenhouse, quickly!” her grandmother ordered before an excuse for her tardiness could be given.

The old woman sat the now emptied jars into the sink and filled them with water as she struggled to recall the entire events of that evening. She could remember that her grandmother was nearly frantic as she appeared at the greenhouse doors with the evenings’ supply of plant food.

“Grandma, what’s wrong?” she had asked as she entered. Her grandmother quickly retrieved the jars and began to empty them into the same water jug that she now used, without responding. Even at a young age, Ms. Callem could remember the feeling of something evil that surrounded them as they worked diligently to tend to each plant. As they made their way to the last row she could remember that the soil was shifting around the roots of the last few plants. A strange mist had begun to accumulate in the tiny structure, and she was certain that she could hear the sound of drums combined with muffled screams.

She had become frightened and frozen with fear as the mist seemed to rise up, enclosing her as it became more dense. She could hear her grandmother in the background chanting as she rushed to tend to the last remaining plants.

As the last of the black liquid was poured onto the soil, the mist began to retreat and the typical sounds of crickets and locusts now rang through the night air. Having completed her tasks, her now frenzied grandmother took her by the hand and led her from the greenhouse, locking the door solidly behind them.

“Sit with me child” she said as she returned the key for the lock around her neck and sat on the steps of the greenhouse. “It is time that I tell you about the rose garden” her grandmother said as the young Ms. Callem sat curiously beside her.

 

The old woman had now finished washing the emptied mason jars, she sat them upside down to drain. Ms. Callum then gathered the jars from the night before and made her way from the greenhouse, locking the door tightly behind her before returning to the house.

 

Ms. Callem had been drained from the excitement of her visit and now having completed her evening chores she sat her frail frame upon the antique couch in her parlor. Her eyes alit upon an old family photo that hung on the wall above the fireplace across from her. Pictured within the photo were her mother, her grand parents and her great grandmother. Though the smiles upon their faces told of happy days, their eyes hinted at a deep dark secret that had all but drained them.

The old woman sighed as emotions overtook her; Part of her felt disdain for her ancestors as they had so obligated their descendants with their curse while she also felt an overwhelming sense of bereavement as she looked into the eyes of her mother, still a young child at the time of the photo. She could still remember the details of her passing vividly though at the time, she, at that time, had only been a small child.

 

She remembered awakening to the sobs of her grandmother emitting from the parlor downstairs. The young Ms. Callem had peeked from the banister above, listening in as her grandfather tried futilely to comfort her. Through the mounting wails, even through the mind of a child, she was able to discern that her mother had been late in tending to the roses; and her body was still in the greenhouse. Stealthily she crept down the stairs to avoid their detection; she would go to see for herself.

She could recall the sense of dread that consumed her as she ran across the dew-covered lawn to see that the door of the greenhouse had been left open. She ran inside to find her mother laying face down on the floor.

The old woman shivered as she continued to replay the scene within her mind. She could recall kneeling at her mother’s side, with every ounce of strength that the young girl had, she strained to turn her mothers’ rigid body over to face her. Her mother, once one of the most lovely young women in the community, now lay withered and blackened, her face frozen in an eternal scream of terror.

She must have fainted at that moment as her next memory was one of her grandmother leaning over her, as she lay tucked safely in her bed. It was not long after that her grandmother had begun to teach her how to tend the roses.

Ms. Callem sighed heavily as she now attempted to wash the vivid image from her mind. She rose from the couch and made her way up the stairs to retire for the evening. As she lay in bed, she stared up at the ceiling above her; What would become of the roses, and the secret that they protected once she was gone? she thought. Her hands were tied, she having been unable to bear children had ended the Callem bloodline.

 

 

Short & Gory is now available on Amazon.com!

 

Follow Lyn here

A big SHOUT OUT to all of my sponsors!

poster finalThings are shaping up nicely for the upcoming launch party!  June 27th promises to be an exciting night for Tangipahoa Parish!  Lyn Gibson’s “Short & Gory” Launch party is the first of it’s kind for the area. 

Ticket price of $25.00 covers dinner and drinks with emerging horror author Lyn Gibson; attendees will also receive a free copy of “Short & Gory” (Copies of the Adrian Trilogy will also be on hand!)  Author Lyn Gibson has plenty of surprises planned for her fans as well!

Don’t miss out, get your tickets soon this is a private event and seating is limited!

Tune in to Triple UUU 98.9 fm on Wednesday mornings between 8-10 for updates on the event as well as early a.m. antics with DJ TC Elliot and Author Lyn Gibson!

 

Thank you so much to all of my sponsors! Your support means the world to me!

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