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Nickolaus A. Pacione

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Member Since: Jun, 2002

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Books
· Nickolaus Albert Pacione Delivers: A Library Of Unknown Horrors

· Emanations

· Dirty Black Winter

· An Eye In Shadows

· The Ethereal Gazette: Issue Five

· Quakes and Storms: A Natural Disaster Anthology

· Norwood's Discovery

· Stories of the Apparitions

· Halloween On Camera

· Tabloid Purposes


Short Stories
· Il nostro mondo θ violentata

· Fandom Weirdness

· A Rural Weird Tale

· A Personal Stalker

· The Monster Amongst Man

· Inquistion Revisted

· Witch's Party

· Misguidance

· Spectral Exile

· The Ichabod


Articles
· Examining The Blogosphere

· Gothic Tinged Memoir Anthology Call

· Gothicism on Trial

· OFFICIAL AUTHORSDEN ANTHOLOGY -- DYERS EVE

· The Aftermath: 2 Days of Darkness

· Review: The Tooth Fairy

· review: The Garden

· The Author Speaks

· Hammerhead: SHARK FRENZY

· Writing The Fossil


Poetry
· Desolated Oblivian

· Gates Of Charon

· Stonehenge

· Feburary Forlorn

· A Morpheus Sleep

· untitled

· eternal judgement

· Birthed In Ashes....

· Passing Judgement

· In Memoriam...

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News
· Magazine Submission Guidelines

· Gothic Extreme Horror

· Flying Cigars gets accepted..

· Story will be slated to appear in Insomnia Magazine

· Colaboration gets accepted -- then a sequel is available

· Lake Fossil II is live as a downloadable story

· In the Hospital.. got accepted on The Writers Post Journal

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Among Shadows
By Nickolaus A. Pacione
Posted: Monday, May 13, 2002
Last edited: Wednesday, August 25, 2004
This short story is rated "PG13" by the Author.

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Recent stories by Nickolaus A. Pacione
· A Personal Stalker
· Oct 13, 1993
· I Want To See You In Black
· Il nostro mondo θ violentata
· The Statue
· Carnival of Carpathia
· Ghosts In The Tornado: The Notes
           >> View all 73
photo by attendant in the sleeper lounge, March 27, 2002.  Author was sick with a cold.My physical body appeared extremely weary as it was drained by that of a vampire or the appearance of it being drained; but what I write of here was the dreams that came about from the return trip into Chicago from New Orleans, Louisiana. I don’t know if I can take everything in at once when it comes to the writing out the dreams as it is written here, draining from the senses of the weary as I am writing this page of a journal that I had not looked at in a span of weeks. The dream that I had when I was resting in the Metropolitan Lounge, though it is had been a week since I left there was so much to take in at one time — enough for an emotional overload as it is written among the dreams where I am writing as I am looking at the pages as I speak.
     It begins as this where I find myself waking with a burning gasp — one cannot begin to really describe such as the nature but when I walked into the hotel where the convention was held, it was something out of a period of time where I cannot begin to really describe in words nor that the words in themselves are what cannot be described. As I rested in the lounge, partially awake and partially asleep, it is was knowing that the hours were close to the time to leave Chicago to go down to New Orleans. The limpness of my body was that after being when someone recovers from a long surgery — weak and groggy — yet tired, but it was that of the mind where I knew that I was tired but could not fall asleep. It was so light in the room where I waited for the train that if a vampire was to actually walk into the room that they might actually turn to dust — I did not really leave that lounge the day I left for New Orleans, arriving in the room about seven in the morning and passing out about a few minutes upon laying down.
     Where it was in the senses that I could not tell where I was between the real and dream, in the never of the mind is where I cannot describe the senses of the thought between the dream and the real. I cannot really describe as such but where I was but when I was getting to uncover myself to put my shoes on that I was looking around at a time that was before — almost hundreds of years before that I was born before my birth though I felt like I have been there many years before my life. Where I find myself in the midst of the dream is while I was in the dark blue shroud — among the midst of what is written among the pages of many vampire novels, as it would come from the dreams of those written in the journals of Bram Stoker. It was in the dream that I have to take from the setting being in the room was full of fog and cold smoke — as it was after being in a cemetery full of ghosts or spirits of the old dead. But it was in the dreams where I will take into the thoughts as they are here with the mind — while on the train that the dream carried on in the hours later, I woke up from it not being able to recall some of the details but the one that I knew was that of an haunting gray fog.
     I could not really tell between the hours between night and day because in the dream it was dark as in the hours of an eclipse, but while it was when I was walking over to a local drug store is when I felt the grogginess of the tired senses that I had felt the impact of the dream fall into the details. Though I take the thoughts and record them — there are some where I cannot make sense of them fully but each part of the full picture is in the senses as the earth of the mind turned to ice. Tired — grown from the tired and the wearied thoughts as they are written here, that in the dream I felt as I was bit by a female vampire because on my arm had two bite marks. Bite marks as they were similar to that of a snake of some kind but yet they were that where they were had if blood was drained from me. It was in truth the effects of the heat created medicines that I picked up to put in my body to counteract the aches in the muscles from the lack of sleep; though it was in the thought in the matter where the pain was as being if my arm was being pulled off at the elbow or it had that feel if my arm was tied to a 200 lb. weight.
     Though it was something of what cannot be described in details as I am writing them here upon journal pages but it is in the sense of the mind where it comes in the detail of the dream where it appears all so vague. The detail of what is vivid being the fog in the shadows. Where it comes within the circles as it comes in the clay and dust of the dark; making sense of the mind of the thought — as it is coming within the dreams as it is winding among the depth of the mind, in the depths of the dreams as they are written. Where I find myself between a state where I am dreaming or when I am awake of the thoughts as they are written — laying in the matter between the description as I rested my eyes and covered myself with a shroud-like bag which was dark enough to shelter from the light, but it was even when I was trying to hide myself from the light long enough to sleep that I felt that the dreams were strong in the back of the mind. Draining of the senses being of the sense where the dreams in the mind are drifting between the thoughts of the waking and the dreaming.
     Where it was in the mind being in the dream as it is recorded — I found myself walking among them but I was the only one who looked from a modern neo-20th Century era with the mind of someone of times of the death of the century. Where I found myself within the dream as I was caught somewhere and someplace in time that was not my own. Growing from in the thoughts as it was the nightmares were strong enough to paint off the old folklore of witches and horror novels that were read while laying down in the room. Of the questions in my dreams after the thoughts dying of what I had once believed. Tomorrows of the returning in the thoughts as they are penned and inked in the torn journal pages; where it comes in the slipping in the senses of the mind and the dream as it is in the memories where it is written.
    Among them as I slip between the state of the waking and dreaming, that is where in the mind that I know it is recorded or needed to be written — where I found myself upon the couch curled up, and the fog around me was colder as the dead was to the touch to the skin. In the places where in the dream where it takes to the times where it touches with the ancient spirit worlds of the Egyptian dead — that it is in the mind where I see them in the halls as they had slept and rested. As this is written and days placed behind the day I had actually first had this dream, it is in the senses as my body fell limp in the mind. Where it is in the mind as I was riding the rails downward to the south — that it is in the mind and the dreams as they are written in the mind; knowing that it comes as the games among the soul. The thoughts and emotions crusting over memories from the dreams as they are collecting from the dust. Among shadows and among dreams that are cast from shadows — it is in the mind where it is in the sense of the thought patterns that are after my physical body had fallen limp.
    Hours had past since I had first fallen asleep but it was as if I had never started to dream only that it seemed to be late in the evening before going onto the train. Curled up on a small couch but it was where it didn’t matter where I fell asleep because I was tired enough to sleep anywhere; sound asleep but yet light enough to be aware of everything going around me — people leaving for their trains and my nervousness had played around the dream. That as I proceeded to rest on that small couch and the dreams that kept me company while in the sleep; among the darkness where it is among shadows and the rest in the mind as the dream is within me and with me. Pages as they are there, penned in ink — as I would sleep, the dream where it winds and turns that I see the troop of vampires among shadows. Where it is written from the dreams after a thousand sleeps — where it is written among the pages and journals documenting the dreams among shadows.
     My weariness from in the senses that are drawn out from the dreams as they are written and recorded beneath the depths, and within the mind as it is there — where I am in the state where it is between where I could not tell if I was either awake or dreaming. Overwhelming thoughts of the mind where it comes among the dreams; that it would come among the midst and the cold of the fog — among shadows where dreams have been spoken; where it is in the record, a gospel page of sorts. That it grows blurry to the senses where it felt as my blood had slowly been drained; though it comes to the feel of that when I awaken from the depths of the dream. As this comes from the depths of the senses — that comes among the pages where it is written, that it comes as the record of the dreams after they have been spoken.
     Which there is no telling as one sees this in the mind as one feels the cold of their soul chilling the rest of their haunted senses. Among shadows — it is coming among the depths where the dreams wind among the torments of the winds as they blow among the shadows of the soul. Among the mind where the unconscious of the sense thickens among the dreams as the body sleeps but the psyche is the state of the awake. Contortion of the mind as I am in the state where the dream slips so deep that I am deeply frightened to awake since it is there where the darkness grows from the cold of the fog. Where it comes among the mind and sleep that where the gathering of which describes the room of vampires — time is a place that forgets that they exist but they remind us that they are still around.
    It would be as I walked the streets of the French Quarter that I felt the effects of the dream coming within the full circle — that in the complete yet unwritten thoughts being in the mind as it is upon the pages at random. Where it gathers among the congregational questions — that it waits among the captive sleep within the nightmares and insomnia. Among the captive sleep which I write this — being in the awakening of the room within the place full of vampires but the congregations were not known to be seen but in the dreams the congregations are see there. Though it was there where I awaken from the dream as it is written here on this page — awakening with a gasping breath in the light among shadows.


© 04 April 2002

Web Site: the diary-x journal  

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Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner 9/11/2004
(((nickolaus)))

jaysus man, this is damn scary stuff. reminds me of dracula, but much better--BRAVO!

LOL at edward's comment :)

(((HUGS))) and love, karla. :)
Reviewed by Terry Vinson 5/20/2004
Nick,

This was new to me. A real 'head trip' in a dream-filled realm of the unknown. I suffered from bad insomnia a few years ago..and this brought some of that feeling home...

Good, creepy stuff...sleep tight...

Terry
Reviewed by ***** ********* (Reader) 5/24/2003
Oh. My. God! This was like returning to a time when horror wrting was exciting and unclassifiable, like the heyday of the Frank Belknap Long/ Clark Ashton Smith pulp era! An intelligent and literate story, written in a classy neo-classic style reminiscent of Lovecraft and the pulp authors of the 30's and 40's. Classic story telling! Nikolaus, don't change a thing: don't give in to fads -- this kind of writing will stand the test of time!
Reviewed by Ronald Dondiego 9/28/2002
Pure genius! Such a dark, random journey through the land of nod, where darkness holds its dominion - was truly struck by the power of your writing. Ron
Reviewed by Peter Adotey Addo 9/24/2002
You got me so interested ...i got scared...thank you
Reviewed by richard poor 9/18/2002
very good! a true vampyre doesnt suck blood ,it's the life force they suck,"we" misconstrued the interpertation of the word....
Reviewed by Edward Saint-Ivan 6/25/2002
If I was going to be a vampire, I would be a cajun one: "I come to suck your crawfish."
Blood is not safe to suck anymore.


Books by
Nickolaus A. Pacione



Collectives In A Forsaken Landscape

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Nickolaus Albert Pacione Delivers: A Library Of Unknown Horrors

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Tabloid Purposes

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An Eye In Shadows

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Signed copy!
Amazon, more..




Emanations

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Signed copy!
Amazon, Barnes & Noble, more..




Dirty Black Winter

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Amazon, more..




Quakes and Storms: A Natural Disaster Anthology

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