Jeanne Mccomsey

Suffer Not the Little Children Jeanne Mccomsey

When the curtain of terror is raised we pass through dark cemeteries filled with mauve cactus flowers dripping with sleep. There were no clouds or fog, yet the landscape was utterly black around the dark Satanic Vultures, perched, waiting. Is this how you like your daily dose of horror? Good! Grab a stake, a fistful of garlic and a Dark Rose as you enter my ultimate world of nightness. This series is about Victor; the most handsome Vampire to ever walk the earth; he's a man to either live for or to die for, he falls in love with a Manhattan Vampiress: Raven, he's elegant; she's homeless, he's sensuous; she's taut. The screams(excuse the typo)'scenes' are deliciously revolting with an undercurrent of never-ending chills, based not on the usual folk-lore but a new type of horrorification, Death's so close by you'll feel its breath on the back of your neck, he thinks that fear is life, fear is love, so one must welcome and embrace the horrors of love. Victor flitted from NYC to Gravesend, stopping for a moment as his soft lips kissed another, feeling nothing but a faint tugging as a tendril pulsed obscenely and squirmed through his mouth into hers, drinking thirstily from her veins: it was a Romeo and Juliet scene from Hell! His lust for living-blood supplies the vigor of his waking existence. Victor's children and Yellow Eyes, a cougar, live in a castle where even Angels fear to tread! The soul of this novel equals the Devil's midwife perpetually assisting at the birth of uselessness, but there's nowhere else to go, all the true ways are known. I'm in the habit of regarding these sadistic sensation-seeking readers as Dark Angel Spectators.