Teaser and Excerpt from UNHOLY TESTAMENT, sequel to The House on Blackstone Moor!

Here’s a Teaser for the upcoming - 'Unholy Testament':

Eco, the son of a fallen angel and human mother, cursed in the womb.

Eco who has lived since time began enjoying his damnation wallowing in sin and corruption. Eco the demon spawn, who was seen in all his evil glory in The House on Blackstone Moor, is now featured in the sequel, Unholy Testament.

And what of this testament? It is a confession he has presented to one he loves; a woman who was savagely raped by him and witnessed the horrific destruction of her friends by him!

She and her step children find themselves on a transatlantic steamer, if the other passengers and crew seem odd all begins to fall into place when Eco reveals himself! He wants Rose to read his confession. He cannot forget what he did nor can he forgive himself. Never in the thousands of years that he’s lived has he ever loved a woman as he loves her.

“I saw them take you out of the house, Rose. I saw them lead you away on that the worst night of your life.”

The day Rose discovered her family was slaughtered by her mad incestuous father.

“I sinned against you gravely Rose—I think really because I was jealous and wanted you for myself. Your very touch can cast out evil from my heart…”

She is trapped there on the ship with the children, a virtual prisoner. And if Eco is in charge who are those strange people that surround her?

“This confession is a fair accounting of my past and of all my sins, a chronicle of each and every decadent and murderous act of evil I have committed.”

For the remainder of the voyage she will read this unholy testament, this accounting of Eco’s existence.

Follow Eco from the time of his birth to his mother’s savage murder by his father, to Satan, his father figure—experience through his eyes an Ancient Egyptian Vampire cult, read his accounting of the time of Jesus. Eco was there to see it all.

He chose Barbarras over Christ; he called out Caesar’s name at Pilate’s court. And because he did Father Satan is proud of his chosen.

“Go forth to Dacia and create vampires, Eco.”

Dacia, ancient Transylvania welcomes him and so Eco goes.

The Crusades, the Black Death, the greatest child murderer in history, Gilles de Rais, who rode with Joan of Arc he will dialogue with—from there he will meet and fall under the spell of the blood countess herself, Elizabeth Bathory, whose crimes both repel and fascinate him.

On to other times: Mathew Hopkins the Witch Finder General, Sir Francis Dashwood’s Hellfire Club where Satan is worshiped and will appear!

And what of Burke and Hare and his encounter with them?

And along the way, witness those vampires he creates by drawing them forth from hell, vampires for yet more covens!

And what of Rose and the children; what happens to them when there is nothing more to read and she must tell Eco how she feels?

What, too, of the terrible discoveries aboard the ship: the
unimaginable horror in the hold—and the horrifying truth about the other passengers?

Bear witness to it all, witness for yourself the savage depths Unholy Testament will take you to!


Preview
sequel/prequel - Unholy Testament by Carole Gill
EXCERPT:

'He was speaking and I was sitting there before him ready to listen! Did I see a look of triumph in his eyes, I wasn’t certain.

“Rose, are you ready to listen?”

I have in the past wondered if he was able to read my thoughts. Louis isn’t and has assured me it is not something demon spawn can do—but I have wondered if Eco wasn’t bestowed with this ability.

At last I nodded. “Yes, go on.”

I felt something shift then, perhaps something like a balance of power. All I had was my pride and my hatred of Eco. I found it reassuring. It was the only way I could be in close proximity to him. My hatred would be like my armor.

“Go on Eco. I will not say it again.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Yes, I shall. I am collecting my thoughts.”
Or thinking what to say and how to say it, I thought. I wondered if I’d hear any truth. If Satan was the great deceiver and Eco was his favorite—what was Eco then?

“Very well Eco I am waiting tell me something of your life first.”
He began.

“My mother was called Omet and she was beautiful, but she was not as beautiful as her sister, Britwa. But Britwa walked too close to the fire as a child.

I often wondered whether or not my mother pushed her sister into the fire. Omet must have grown bitter and ever more jealous until one day she just did it. She saw her chance of defeating her competition and when Britwa toddled near the fire she pushed her.

I think Britwa knew very well she was pushed and I also think she forgave her sister; such a pure heart had she. Yes, Britwa was imbued with goodness as Louis’ father was. And me, what hope did I have against that sort of parentage?

My father was not Rose anything like Louis,’ war in heaven or no war in Heaven! He was a lusty, sin-loving fornicator. Yes, my father loved sin and hated innocence. And as for Louis’ father—well you saw them both.

It is easy is it not to imagine my father leaving a small child near the bloodied and broken corpse of its mother, the mother he himself killed. Yes, I cannot forget that. I certainly cannot forgive that.”

“Did you cry for her, Eco?”

There was some defiance in my tone, but I didn’t care.

“Not really, I knew only hate from her: curses and bitterness at the fact that I had been born.”

He was staring at me again. He wanted so badly to see a reaction from me but I would not give him any. I just sat there staring at him, waiting for the next manipulation to take place.

I didn’t have to wait long.

“They were kind to me. But then came Britwa’s turn to die only she died at the hands of her tribe. But Tulle took his revenge; I have documented it as you will see.

After that it was just we three and still there was only kindness. Even Louis the solemn-faced little boy my own age was kind. I didn’t give him reason to be either.

I pushed him and pinched him when I could, when no one saw. But he never cried out. Instead he’d regard me with those sad and soulful eyes. I think he felt some compassion for me.

But that made me hate him even more! I hated that. I still do. I could never understand how he managed those soulful looks when we are both without souls, but perhaps that is not entirely true at least in Louis’ case.”

“I’m certain!”

“Yes Rose, I know you are and I for my part I am as well. Louis and I are entirely different. Though our damnation binds us tightly…”
“I doubt that it binds you that tightly.”

He reached for the journal then. “Will you read it? Do you think?”

“Under threat or not?”

“Please it is all that I ask, that and nothing else at least for now.”

He handed me the testament; this tome of his mad existence this entreaty to me to forgive and to love him.

“I will go now so that you may begin. I shall come back to discuss it with you as you go along.”

I did not reply but only watched him leave. As for the testament it seemed to suddenly grow heavier in my hands.

(end of excerpt)

Keep a look-out for, Unholy Testament! It will be released later on this year!

Friday Flash: His Secret Place



He was a solitary little boy, morose and distrustful of others. He hadn’t always been that way. He felt his parents used to love him but then it all seemed to change as if they changed.

Sometimes he’d catch his mother looking at him, as if she was sorry he was there.

Her eyes were full of hurt and some kind of pain or was it something else, something she didn’t wish to tell him?

Maybe it was a secret she shared with his father. He didn’t know.

He hoped things would get better but they didn’t. They got worse when his mom’s tummy got big.

“You’re going to have a baby brother or sister won’t that be nice?”

He used to nod and say sure because he thought it would be but then he wasn’t too certain because he didn’t understand the questioning look in his mother’s eyes.

“I hope it’s an easier birth. Yours wasn’t.”

How flat and annoyed her voice sounded every time she said that and she said it a lot.

His father spoke to him once; only once not twice, he counted.

“You okay son, is everything alright?”

He opened his mouth to spill his guts and to at last unburden himself but his father looked worried. It was as if whatever was up with his mother had rubbed off on his dad.

“Well here you go.”

His father smiled and gave him an extra fifty cents to buy a comic book.

That’s all he had really--his comic books and his bike.

They gave him the bike for Christmas and he loved it. He thought of it as a peace offering.

"Next year this time there will be a little stranger here, but not a stranger for long."

Eventually the stranger came with his mother. Actually he had liked her being away even if it was only for a few days. A neighbor stayed with him. She was all excited.

“Nothing like a new baby coming home!”

Yeah big deal. The first sight of it made him want to puke. It was wrinkled and ugly and it screamed and if that wasn’t bad enough his parents were always looking at it and talking to it.

He never saw his mother without that thing in her arms or on her lap.

All around him were bottles and diapers, dirty stinking diapers and a big pail she threw them into.

He retreated; he backed away from the whole lousy thing, from the ugly screamer and his parents and he immersed himself in his hobby.

He liked to study things, learn about things; nature and animals. And it was good because he could be a doctor someday.

His parents would be proud of him and so would the kids at school and what about his teacher?

He wouldn’t let them know though; he wanted to surprise them all; to keep it a secret thereby making it more dramatic when the moment would come and all would be revealed.

Meanwhile he’d work in private in the shed out back.

His father didn’t use it anymore. Hell he hadn’t even been inside it for more than a year which kind of made it his shed.

He loved the way the door whined open and the dark mustiness hit him. It was great being in his own private place.

Last week in school the teacher announced a special show and tell. She wanted everyone to know about it.

“We all have secrets, secrets we don’t wish anyone to know and sometimes we have secret places where we keep something, something we want to keep private.

That was true. If the shed was accessible to anyone, his secret pursuits weren’t. He kept them under lock and key in an old suitcase under the floorboards.

What kid didn’t have a place to stash his prized possessions?

Only last week on TV he saw a show about a boy with a secret hiding place. The boy kept all of his comic books there so his brother wouldn’t tear them up or slobber over them because the brother was younger.

He’d probably have to face those sorts of things when his own brother got a little older.

He was pleased about the suitcase because it was light enough to carry to school for show and tell.

He could just picture the moment when he opened it up: the gasps and cheers and applause.

It was going to be hard to get through the week and wait for show and tell.

He finally lived to see Tuesday, it wasn’t easy. But he had and he was in school ready to go.

Nearly everyone commented on his suitcase. Most of it nasty and spiteful.

He just smiled. “You’ll see!"

The teacher even looked impressed.

His turn came third. The teacher motioned him up to the front.

“For show and tell today I have brought my collection, it’s a hobby you see. My parents don’t know about it no one does.”

“We’ll know!”

One of his worst tormentors shouted out.

The teacher shushed him but he only sniggered.

At last it came time to open the case. So he did. He wasn’t prepared for the look of horror on everyone’s face; horror and retching.

And if that wasn’t bad enough the teacher was shaking. “Get that out of here. Take it out at once.”

What was wrong with her, this was a big deal; he had revealed his greatest secret.

His father came to school.

“Mr. Dahmer, your son brought this in. Do you know about Jeffrey’s hobby how he collects and dissects road kill?”

Jeffrey’s dad shook his head and looked at his son with new eyes. Now for the first time he was frightened of him, really frightened because something didn’t feel right, he wondered if it ever would.

~*~

Jeffrey Dahmer 1960 -1994,

He murdered 17 men and boys between 1978 and 1991,

As a child he also collected and 'experimented' on road kill.

© Copyright 2011 Carole Gill

1000 words



Friday Flash Fiction: BIJOU

The boarded up Bijou Movie Theater was one of his favorite spots for the night. He often curled up there with his boxes and newspaper and wine.

He was nearly settled down when a man appeared, dressed in a movie usher uniform.

“Come on in, it’s warmer inside.”

“I’ll be alright. I’ve got plenty of newspapers.”

“There’s good food!”

Come to think of it something did smell good. It reminded him of something from long ago: Saturday at the Bijou with enough allowance money for a ticket and popcorn. And his pal Ralph would be there just like he always was and—!

Shitty blast from the past moment!

Where was Ralph? Oh yeah Vietnam and Ralph wore a body bag to come home.

“Right this way, sir!”

Suddenly he recognizes the guy. “You’re the usher from the Bijou! Hey I remember you!”

“Sure you do. Come on, show’s just starting and you don’t want to miss it!”

Doors bang open, music starts up and he can see the movie credits roll. Why it’s Gunfight at the O.K. Coral! His favorite western!

The usher shines his flashlight. “Take any seat you like!”

 Gee, it’s just like old times.

The whole front row is packed with kids, most of whom he recognizes.

Must be ghosts. Is he dead too?

A voice in his head:

It’s not like that. This is different. There’s a lesson here maybe a chance to start over--!

He wants it so badly he starts to cry. That’s when the house lights go on and the people stand up. Christ! The place is jammed and they’re calling his name:

“Jimmy! Jimmy!”

The usher rushes up on stage. He’s gesturing for him to come up and join him. So he does and damned if he doesn't get a standing ovation.

“We know all about your life; everything, the tragedies, the war, the drink--! You’re among friends now fella!”

He’s overcome, it’s all too much and then suddenly in the midst of the whole thing someone shouts out his name, someone way in the back of the theater.

“Hey Jimmy! It’s me, Ralph!”

The usher urges Ralph to join them on stage. And he calls out that he’s coming. But as he gets closer, it’s evident that half his head is missing. He looks just as he looked when he was caught in the cross fire in 'Nam.

“But Ralph is dead!”

His buddy cries out: “yeah I know! Think I’d forget?!” Then he shouts something else that sounds like a warning, only Jimmy can’t hear him.

“What’s that you say?”

"Never mind that! Come on Jim. it’s all for you. Sit down and watch!”

He actually does sit down but that’s because his legs give way under him. The film starts, only it isn’t the western, it’s something else entirely. It’s the story of his life!

They’re all there; his parents and his kid brother, the one who died because his folks didn’t have enough money for an operation.

 So much pain in the house then, pain and loss and everything changes. He meets a girl, his girl. Well not really, more like everybody's girl. 
He gets called up for service. “You’ll wait for me, Gloria?”

 Yeah right.

 His parents see him off. He knows they won’t be alive when he comes back and they’re not.

He goes to see Gloria though.

“Gee tough about your folks. Well I wish you the best, take care of yourself, see ya.”

He knew she wasn’t much but he liked to pretend she was.

He misses her but he gets new friends. And between Mr. Booze and Mr. and Mrs. Drugs he forgets how miserable he is and it’s great!

The pain’s still there. Of course the VA Hospital does what it can or so they say.

The years just continue to slip by actually it’s his life sailing by on a fast-flowing current.

“How are you liking this?” The anxious face of the usher. “It’s all true, ain’t it?”

“Yeah and then some.”

The film continues and it’s hard to see through his tears but he tries and he just manages to see his life on the street: feet kicking him, the sound of taunting, stuff being dumped on him, crazies screaming at him, cops telling him to move along, a five dollar bill given to him by an old woman. “I wish it was more.”

More stuff now, hospital stays—harsh hands, kind hands, words that comfort, words that hurt.

And the thing is all of it leads to pain, pain in the guts, in the heart and head—pain is pain, man.

“I’ve seen enough!”

It all stops then. The film goes off. The usher looks annoyed and the audience starts to jeer.

The usher nods. “Sorry, but you called it!”

He gasps then because the usher looks different, he’s covered in scales and open running sores and he’s got wings.

Suddenly he starts moving toward him and the audience does too, looking like the monsters that they are!

“You’re all monsters!

“Not monsters, demons!”

“Demons? I’m dead?!”

“No fella, you’re not dead, you’re haunted!”

“But you’re not ghosts!”

"Who said demons don’t haunt the damned, Jimmy?!”

The usher begins to drift toward him, his smile broadening, his mouth opening:

“It’s show time, Jimmy!”

They all converge on him, jaws snapping flesh being torn apart and he screams and he keeps on screaming until his larynx is torn up and he can’t scream anymore.

Screams in the night, but no one bothers. Why would they? The theater’s been boarded up for years.

But you can still make the midnight show! 

945 words

© Copyright Carole Gill 2011

GUEST POST FROM ACE HORROR WRITER, THOMAS SCOPEL All About His New Book And A Give Away!

It is my absolute pleasure to present the very talented  horror writer, Thomas Scopel!

He's doing a guest post here today and I'm delighted.

Go Thomas!

Creepy Carnivals Are a Good Thing: My Inspiration for TWITCH

By Thomas Scopel

With performers like the pint-sized midget Tom Thumb, P T Barnum may arguably be the most famous showman in history for having oddities in his world renowned traveling circus. But, he as well as various carnivals and circuses are hardly the only ones; for typically a person need only to seek out the nearest nomadic carnival in order to find similar attractions.

Regardless, these freak type shows are many times over a constant draw and I suspect they always will be. For most people harbor a deep seated interest in the peculiar and this was my curiosity that put me on the road to eventually writing the tale of Twitch.

Some years ago, I found myself at a rinky-dink carnival. This carnival wasn’t anything special by any means and was rather normal. Among other rides, a Ferris wheel, a vast assortment of games offering stuffed prizes to a potential winner, loud bellowing music, cotton candy and a variety of attractions with one advertised as a petrified slug-person. I paid the seventy five cents and thus, allowed to walk beyond the entrance curtain to see it.

To say I was disappointed would be an understatement for what I viewed, looked to be a little more than a plastic doll wrapped in medical gauze encased in a clear Plexiglas covered coffin-like box. As I stood meticulously inspecting every inch of detail, many folks would come in, offer a quick glance and leave; usually mentioning something to the effect the attraction wasn’t worth the money they paid to see it. I couldn’t disagree with them. Although, others offered personal theories as to what the slug-like person may be too and it was all the comments as to what got me to thinking about Twitch.

Twitch, in my envisioning, is much like that slug-like creature except he is alive and has feelings. Listening to those mingling folks, I had the sense most of them, had this oddity been alive, would have belittled and injuriously laughed at the attraction’s misfortune. This angered me a bit and really set my mind into deep thought wondering numerous what if’s…

What if this attraction were alive?

Would people abuse?

Would they throw things at it?

Would they laugh and ridicule?

And…

What if this attraction, even without arms and legs, could and would wickedly defend itself against those folks who caused personal harm both physically and mentally?

Well, the story of Twitch was born and created in my head right then and there and this tale lingered in the grey matter ever since. Of course, at the time, I wasn’t a writer nor did I have any intentions of becoming one. I may have been a voracious reader but, after all, I was also a typical teenager and not even faintly concerned with what I wanted to do with my life.

Regardless, the seeds were planted and the inspiration grew. When I finally did entertain writing notions, inevitability was natural and the tale of Twitch made it onto paper.

And so, the tale of Twitch is now a digital novella. It is a tale of deserving retribution and a warning for those who view and treat the unknown with ridicule and pain. For this stubbed limbed, white eye deformed carnival freak attraction is often abused. But, he harbors a dark secret and his retribution is far worse…for people can be so vicious…and so can Twitch…

Twitch is available for download at Amazon, Smashwords and Barnes & Noble dot com for only 99 cents.

For a chance to win a free copy of TWITCH (digital) along with a signed photo? Simply email winacopyoftwitch@yahoo.com

If you are the winner, I will request your mailing address for sending the signed photo. And, rest assured, I will not use your address for anything else…I promise.

Part 4 Background To My Novel: The Hellfire Club or Inspiration For Vampiric Orgies In My Novel!

The infamous Hellfire Caves

Before I explain about the caves depicted above let me refer to my novel. The tunnels that lead from Blackstone House onto the Moors are depicted in my novel, The House on Blackstone Moor.
Without giving too much away let me say that some pretty horrific blood rites/orgies occur in the those tunnels.


The inspiration for this comes from the rather strange history of 'The Hellfire Club's caves.


The Hellfire Club was an exclusive, English club that met sporadically (about every six months) during the mid 18th century. Its purpose, at best, was to mock traditional religion and conduct orgies. The men were called Monks and the woman Nuns. Pretty offensive to many of us now and then.


I think they were mainly happy to have their orgies but they were also said to indulge in satanic rites and sacrifices.


It was established by Sir Francis Dashwood. . The club, which consisted of "The Superior Order," of 12 members, allegedly took part in basic forms of satanic worship. Sir Francis was the 'Abbot.'


In addition to taking part in the occult there were orgies and parties with prostitutes and a few high born 'ladies' as well.


It is said that all of the members of the society had political affiliations and political gossip was exchanged among the members as well as favors. The complete list of members was burned by the way.


The motto of "The Hellfire Group"  was "Do what you will."


I think they did and I think they enjoyed doing it. Whether their deeds have been greatly exaggerated or not, for my purposes I was quite happy to use my inspriation in my book.


And let me also say that Sir Francis and his Club make an appearance in the sequel, Unholy Testament. Eco meets Sir Francis and sees to it that Satan does indeed make an appearance at the Club!

Friday Flash Fiction: PHENOMENON

          Look, I don’t know how this is going to end. No, that’s a lie I do know, but the thing is I still can’t believe it let alone face it.

          Our mission was nearly over; just star mining and some exploratories. It had all been routine hibernation, not longevity moded, we were only podded for a couple of months.

We were pod-stored and homeward bound but then five of the pod life systems quit. It happened when we were thrown off course. Freemont said something must have loused up the instruments and sensor panels. I didn’t think so then. 

Three of us remained, the others were packed away, wrapped in ice coils. The thing was no one wanted to shoot them out like so much waste, we wanted to take them back with us.

          I was plotting our return trip when Brady started yelling about something approaching us off starboard. I took a look. I didn’t like it. It was moving erratically like space flotsam, rolling and spinning away and looking very unstable and dangerous. But then suddenly it began to move smoothly, as if it was being piloted.

          “Where’s that thing from?”

          I looked at Brady. “Who the hell knows?”

          “What if they’re hostile?”

Freemont laughed; “if they’re hostile we’re screwed.”

I was going to say something clever, but that’s when the ship suddenly docked with us. That’s right docked. One second it’s 1,000 meters away and the next it’s ready to hold our hands.

          “They want to come aboard sir.”

          We had no choice. I ordered the hatch doors open and our guests came on board.

          I think we all began to relax when we saw them. They were human or at least partly so. 
          We welcomed them aboard.

          They had blue lingo implants attached to their heads. These enabled them to understand our greeting and respond. When they spoke they spoke in clear metallic voices. “Assistance given, we will take you down.”

          I figured they were a mixed barrel: human and cyborg. I was reminded of that old old film, Robo Cop—the guy’s human parts could still be discerned over the robotic ones. Somehow I found that reassuring.

          They were inquisitive and asked us some pretty routine questions. But then they asked us about the extra pods.

          We explained about the malfunctions.

          They called themselves the Committee. Their president introduced himself as Chador.

          “We shall take you back for resting purposes.”

          And so they did.

          The first sight of their world was thrilling. It was as though they had harnessed all of the stars in the universe, so bright was it. It was like a scene in every sci fi film or book I’ve ever read; a brilliant gleaming city, full of sonic rhythms and lightshows. We never saw anything like it.

          The buildings were fully sensored to light and heat, I also had a feeling they were security adapted as well. One wrong step and I just knew we’d be done for. Our technology was not nearly as advanced.

“How far ahead do you think they are, Captain?”

          “Thousands of years,”I replied.

          If I felt alright with them at first that soon began to change. And it was funny because they seemed nice at first and caring the way they helped transfer our dead.

          The thing was, I didn’t know why they wished to do that. You see that was when I still thought we’d be leaving.

          I wanted to know why they didn’t leave our dead on board but they asked to study them.

          Brady and Freemont thought it sounded okay, but the thing was it bothered me a hell of a lot, I just thought it was morbid, little did I know.

          Chador briefed us: “You will be fed and then accommodated.”

          Each time he spoke he sounded more like a robot.

          They fed us with sus packs, explaining that they didn’t have real food because they no longer required it.

          “We’ve obtained these sus packs from visitors, there should be enough there to help sustain you...”

          The stuff was okay, but it tasted like met-plastic composites, typical sus stuff.

          We were housed in a kind of dormitory, all screen-boarded with refractory light monitors and sensor beams.

          I just knew we were being cameraed.

          They said they were going to interview us. To me that sounded like they were going to study us. I would be proven right.

          We were  examined and interviewed by a council of science techs.

          What I didn’t like were all the questions they asked about our dead crew members. They seemed more caught up with them than with us.

          We started to get suspicious when the dizziness hit. It wasn’t long before we found we could hardly stand up.

          “They’re killing us!” Freemont said.

Brady didn’t say anything  because he was already in a coma.

          I demanded to see the chief sci tech.

          He was kind and really tried to make me understand.

          “It’s just the way it is. Our kind hasn’t known death or illness for thousands of years. We are curious as to what death is. We have heard of the phenomenon.”

          “Phenomenon?!”

          He nodded. “Is it something you fear this death?”

          He wasn’t being facetious, he really wanted to know.

“Yes, we fear it. You better believe we fear it!”

          He said he would take that under consideration. “If the others agree that we are to stop our science pursuits we will. Of course I cannot promise you anything...”

          I watched him leave.

          Freemont is now in a coma too, so it’s just me sitting here and wondering if we’re all going to die or not. The thing is I already know.

~*~

950 words

© 2011 Carole Gill

Dickensian Times Were All Too Real

 

Huddersfield, Deanhouse

This is pretty hair-raising stuff, I highlighted the worst bits of the overseers report of 1843. Details follow the article with a link.

The Huddersfield Township Workhouse, Birkby:

One particular problem area was the conditions for treatment of the sick at the Huddersfield township workhouse. Over a four-year period from about 1843, complaints about these were regularly made by Thomas Tatham, medical officer for the northern division of the Union. Eventually, in 1848, the Huddersfield Overseers conducted an enquiry and held a public meeting where their report was presented:

Please note: as this is a hospital the occupants are referred to as patients. In workhouses and insane asylums they were referred to as inmates. (carole gill)

OVERSEERS' REPORT The overseers... are forced to the conclusion that the sick poor have been most shamefully neglected; that they have been and still are devoid of the necessary articles of clothing and bedding; that they have been suffered to remain for weeks at a time in the most filthy and disgusting state ; that patients have been allowed to remain for nine weeks together without a change of linen or of bed clothing: that beds in which patients suffering in typhus have died, one after another, have been again and again and repeatedly used for fresh patients, without any change or attempt at purification; that the said beds were only bags of straw and shavings, for the most part laid on the floor, and that the whole swarmed with lice; that two patients suffering in infectious fever, were almost constantly put together in one bed, that it not unfrequently happened that one would be ragingly delirious, when the other was dying; and that it is a fact that a living patient has occupied the same bed with a corpse for a considerable period after death; that the patients have been for months together without properly appointed nurses to attend to them; that there has been for a considerable time none but male paupers to attend on female patients; that when the poor sick creatures were laid in the most abject and helpless state—so debilitated as to pass their dejections as they lay, they have been suffered to remain in the most befouled state possible, besmeared in their own excrement, for days together and not even washed; that the necessary stimulants ordered by the medical officer have been withheld; that when patients' lives even depended on the free administration of wine, the fever hospital has been left without for more than forty-eight hours at a time; that death occurred amongst the patients from which such stimulant was withheld, which the medical officer attributes to this very cause; that the party whose duty it was to have provided such wine, was repeatedly applied to for it by the nurses at the hospital and the medical officer.

Despite the outcry that the report produced, problems appear to have persisted. In 1857, a special commission found that lack of classification at Huddersfield resulted in 'abandoned women' with diseases of a 'most loathsome character' being mixed together with idiots, young children, and lying-in cases.

A report by Poor Law Board Inspector RB Cane after a visit to Birkby workhouse in October 1866 recorded that it was being used for the sick and for aged and infirm men and women, but was "wholly inadequate for their proper care". Its 110 inmates at that time comprised:

Able-bodied men	8
Old and infirm men	56
Boys from 9 to 16 years	1
Able-bodied women	16
Old and infirm women	22
Girls from 9 to 16 years	1
Girls from 2 to 9	1
Infants under 2 years

The detached hospital block was described as "wholly unfit for the purpose, and quite devoid of comfort and convenience" and the medical officer considered that the building was quite insufficient for the purposes for which it was used. Some of the aged men slept together in the same bed, and all the beds were much too close crowded together.

 The day rooms were much too small and very seriously crowded. There was no classification beyond an imperfect separation of the sexes. The men and the women complained of the violent conduct of two insane or idiotic inmates, one in each, ward.

After the subsequent opening of the new workhouses at Deanhouse (1862) and Crosland Moor (1872), the old Huddersfield town workhouse became an infectious diseases hospital known as Birkby Hospital. The hospital closed in the early 1900s and was replaced by a school.

 from THE WORKHOUSE, story of an institution:

http://www.workhouses.org.uk/Huddersfield/

I highly recommend this site to anyone interested in the subject.
I think too,  it's important to understand just how far society has come. We may not think we see change, but stepping away to study the over-all picture, it is pretty obvious that yes, things do get better. Writers like Charles Dickens, depicting reality as grim and horrible as it was did us all a great service.
(c. gill)

Friday Flash Fiction: BEACON

          The lighthouse keeper and his granddaughter often sat staring out at the sea, wondering if a ship would lose its way, wondering if those in peril on the sea would need their help.

          “We shall bring them ashore if they need us, Emily. We shall do whatever it takes to draw them forth from the angry waves.”

          The girl smiled and dimpled as her grandfather reached out to touch her golden hair.

          “You are Emily the fair and the dearest thing in the world to me!”

          She smiled  for she loved her grandfather.

          She loved, too the quiet life of the lighthouse. Yet though it was quiet, there was enough to do, for there were so many jobs. Her granddad did most of them but she helped. She lit the lamp at sunset and put it out at sunrise and filled it with kerosene each day.

She tidied the place too sweeping and cleaning the tower and the stairs and all around besides.

Her grandfather had enough to do, not only maintaining the lighthouse but seeing to it that there were candles and blankets for those in need.

Sometimes they were too late or ineffectual and they’d find drowned men, scattered on their island shore like so much flotsam. They hated that for it was such a waste of humanity.

At times like those they’d shake their heads and hope to be more successful in the future. They could only hope.

Then on a particular day, shortly after dusk they knew they were in for something major. They heard how the winds picked up for now great violent gales were causing the windows to rattle noisily in their wooden frames.

 “A great storm is brewing, Grandfather!”

          He knew it too, for he could hear the thundering noise bounding up all around them. It sounded as though the place would be brought down upon their heads.

          The lighthouse shook and the fire in the grate soon died, for the gusts blew down the chimney to blow it out.

          He lit another for it was best to be prepared. “No telling who might be here ‘afore much longer, Em!”

          She nodded and smiled and soon settled back to see what the night brought.

They were conversing quietly; he was reading poetry to her or trying to for he could see she was distracted by the noise of the wind and intermittent whine of wood. The lighthouse groaned for 400 years and was likely to groan for another 400.

          “I shall put the light on—come child we shall see if there are any ships about!”

          They climbed the winding stairs and though they tried to brace themselves they still gasped as the cold air hit them. It was something they could never get used to.

          They saw it almost immediately. There was one, small fishing boat, pitching up sharply with each giant wave. It looked so precarious being thrown about as though it were a toy.

          “Look there do you see?”

          She nodded. “They are done for. I shall go out with the lantern!”

          She hurried down the stairs and onto the shore waving the lantern over her head. “Over here, make your way here, to our lighthouse beacon! It is the only way!”

          They both watched then; Grandfather from his tower and Emily from the shore.

          It was hard to see, for it was deep night and the sky was moonless. But then a wondrous thing happened. The ship began firing flares, great red flares that burst almost gaily overhead. How they crackled and exploded. 

          “They’re coming Grandfather!”

A lifeboat was headed straight toward them. But it hit one of the rocks and was split asunder as its cargo was tossed ashore.

There were ten men at least, lying about, trying to crawl, calling out for help, begging and pleading to be saved.

          When they saw they were saved, they wept.

          “Bless you thank you, thank you!”

          “There now, you shall share our food and rest before our fire. You are safe now.”

          Some of the men laughed with the joy of relief, others were stony silent, seeming to disbelieve they had come to safety.

          They were given dry clothes and blankets, and something hot to drink. They seemed taken with young Emily, calling her an angel.

          “Aye you are that Miss!

          How grandfather beamed.

          “Sleep now, and be at peace, a watery grave shall not be your home!”

          Grandfather and Emily left the men to sleep in the parlor and tip toed to the pantry.

          “We shall think of the joy we have now, of the relief and solution to our great worry!”

          “Yes, Grandfather,” Emily replied. “We shall keep them alive so that we may enjoy their blood and flesh and eat to our fill."

          Grandfather sighed. “Yes, we have been here so long, my child, we fear leaving the island, though it could be the cause of our destruction by starvation! What weak-willed creatures of the night we are.”

          Emily smiled, for she was already licking her lips and thinking of that which she would soon be consuming, not only the rich ruby blood but great quantities of living flesh.

          “I wished for a good bounty and it has come, I am grateful as well as happy! But I must tell you I cannot wait long, for it has been too long a wait as it is!”

Grandfather nodded. “Be calm, for I shall get the chains and the long knives now, they are always kept at the ready, go and set the table for our feast!”

               

     

©  Carole Gill 2011

926 words