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The screams, that fourteenth night, continued until dawn. They were totally unlike any sounds in my experience. Impossible to believe they could be uttered and sustained by a human, yet they did not seem to be animal. I listened, there in the gloom, my hands balled into fists, and knew, suddenly, that one of two things must be true. Either someone or something was making these ghastly sounds, and Brother Christophorus was lying, or–I was going mad. Hearing-voices mad, climbing-walls and frothing mad. I’d have to find the answer: that I knew. And by myself.
–Charles Beaumont (THE HOWLING MAN)

Bark at the Moon, scream as a madman,
Five decades have past golden father of the dark,
Voice pure fire, pure blues in metal desire,
Spilled your sins as easily as blood on black altar,
Kept it real growing the red army to stay,
Kept them hypocrites screamin’ the Devil’s at play.
–KING OF DARKNESS

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“Yes, they had horns and other changes to them.” The whole crowd went deathly silent. No one dared say a word after hearing about the Claunes having horns. To ease everyone, “It might have been in-breeding folks. Not the supernatural stuff all of you have on your minds.” –Jeffrey LeBlanc (The Cats of Belle Rouge)

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And waving in a dusky dragon light

Great moths whose wings unholy tapers char.

Red memory on memory, tier on tier, Builds up a tower, time and space to span;

Through world on world I rise, and sphere on sphere,

To star-shot gulfs of lunacy and fear— Black screaming ages never dreamed by man.’

–Robert E. Howard (Babel)

1

Here they were: the drunks and the sinners, the gambling men
and the grifters, the big-time spenders, the skirt chasers, and all
the jolly crew. They knew where they were going, of course, but
they didn’t seem to be particularly concerned at the moment.
The blinds were drawn on the windows, yet it was light inside,
and they were all sitting around and singing and passing the
bottle and laughing it up, telling their jokes and bragging their
brags, just the way Daddy used to sing about them in the old
song.
“Mighty nice traveling companions,” Martin said. “Why, I’ve
never seen such a pleasant bunch of people. I mean, they seem
to be really enjoying themselves!”
“Sorry,” the conductor told him. “I’m afraid things may not
be quite so enjoyable once we pull into that Depot Way Down
Yonder.”
–Robert Bloch (That Hell-Bound Train)

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#vampires #pirates #Asmodeus #weirdtales #youtube #horrorshorts #horrorstories #thedevilofblackbayou #NewOrleans #neworleans #swamphorror #jeffreyleblanc #horrorstory #vampirehorror #books “I hear her screams. I am in darkness. I hear her shrieks. I am unable to act. I hear her pleas then silence. I sob in the lightning and darkness.”  —Jeffrey LeBlanc (The Devil of Black Bayou) https://youtube.com/@dwellerofthedark?sub_confirmation=1 Welcome ….to…. […]

1

Sometimes an Appalachian story is so humanistic, so brutal, and horrific, that its very existence is terrifying. We can’t believe such a tale has been allowed to fester and erupt like a malignant, rotting boil. Yarns like the one I’m about to spin, are the hideous tales whispered in the shadows and taken to the grave. But sometimes the tale, like the undead, rise up to haunt us again, and again for all eternity. And some of us have just a few meager years left to be terrified in each of our own haunted worlds. Alas, cold in the ground with the Conqueror Worm our only friend, we may continue to be tormented by the ghosts—or demons—of our past. –Jeffrey LeBlanc (Hell’s Forge: In the Beginning)

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And, like his innumerable ancestors before him, the king dares not destroy the Flower, for fear that the devil, driven from its habitation, might seek a new home, and enter into the brain or body of one of the king’s subjects- or even the heart of his fairest and gentlest, and most beloved queen!—Clark Ashton Smith (The Flower-Devil)

1

Long were the mansion’s mysteries, horrendous were its horrors, and vague were the details of the missing and presumed dead across the mansion grounds. For the past, and the forgetful dead had now hidden much of the sinister, and fogged the memory of the evil that had scorched the manor with a more devious name—Hell’s Forge. Jeffrey LeBlanc (Hell’s Forge)

1

“Among the brackens, on the brae,
Between her and the moon,
The deil, or else an outler quey,
Gat up and gae a croon:
Poor Leezie’s heart maist lap the hool!
Near lav’rock-height she jumpit;
but mist a fit, and in the pool
Out-owre the lugs she plumpit,
Wi’ a plunge that night.”–Robert Burns (Halloween)

The cutting wind is a cruel foe.
I dare not stand in the blast.
My hands are stone, and my voice a groan,
And the worst of death is past.
I am but a little maiden still,
My little white feet are sore.
Oh, lift me over the threshold, and let me in at the door!–Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

The white gulls wheeled above the cliffs, the air was slashed with foam,
The long tides moaned along the strand when Solomon Kane came home.
He walked in silence strange and dazed through the little Devon town,
His gaze, like a ghost’s come back to life, roamed up the streets and down.–Robert E. Howard

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Thro’ the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-moon’d abysses of night,
I have liv’d o’er my lives without number,
I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.–H.P. Lovecraft