Tag Archive: Dracula


At age twenty-one, Rhode Island’s most famous master of the macabre, H. P. Lovecraft, was a high school drop-out; an awkward and emotionally crippled shut-in who wrote all night and slept by day.  His only pleasures came from weaving his own bizarre, fledgling stories and composing his science column for The Providence Journal.  A request to edit a U.S. edition of Bram Stoker’s Dracula emboldens him to investigate Rhode Island’s own vampire legend, Mercy Brown, resulting in a showdown that would forever change the literature of horror!

s he reversed the car, I couldn’t help but look back at the pitch black graveyard.  There was a round, blue orb of light hovering over the area where Mercy Brown was buried.  I didn’t bother alerting Bernie to its presence.  I knew it was there expressly for me.

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On the ride home, even after I’d calmed, I could not shake the distinct feeling that we were being followed.  There wasn’t another soul on the road, and I felt silly as I looked behind us for the fifth time. Continue reading



Years before writing his most famous novel, Bram Stoker is working as the business manager of the famed Lyceum Theater Company of London.  Wishing to make a hefty donation to the company: a mysterious, dapper Slavic gentleman visits the theater with plans to mix business AND pleasure.

Letter (By Hand), Actress Lillian Adams to Her Mother
Dublin, 12 August


earest Mother,
I pray this finds you well and that your terrible gout is not too discomforting this week. I shall be home soon, and I am well tired of this summer run. Coming directly off the season as it did, my fatigue is beyond measure. I am sure most people would think it quite glamorous, being an actress with London’s famous Lyceum Company, la-tee-da, but it has been mostly tedious for me here. Mrs. McBride at the rooming house, though, has been so very kind to me, as I have said before. She takes the time to ask what food would be to my liking. I know how you tease at my fussiness, but I cannot help it.

The house at the Theatre Royal here in Dublin has continued full, and the people are very appreciative. Hamlet is so damn long. Sorry, but ‘tis a burden I cannot describe waiting for my few scenes. Mr. Henry-Bloody-Irving drones on and on with his speeches and I would rather sit backstage watching paint dry. I know you and all of London adore him; he is our illustrious leader and I should be grateful for the exposure. Miss Ellen Terry generally keeps a good spirit with us girls, but the same cannot be said for Mr. Irving. Oh, my dear, he frightens me so. You recall that time he railed at me when I was behind in my entrance. Remember, Lord how I cried. Thank God I still got me looks, as they say at home. He mostly leaves me alone. Continue reading