It was a recurring dream for many years.

I’m in the bleak underground, waiting for a train. There’s just enough light from the incandescent lamps to cast a dingy yellow glow. Trains pass, but they look ancient. Still, they are un-defaced by familiar graffiti. Near the passenger doors, the stops each train would make are listed on a flipping board. I don’t recognize any of these places.

Rooted to the platform, I ask strangers for directions. None of them have ever heard of this place I want to go to—never heard of Woodside, Queens.  Lost and disoriented, I feel deep distress and despair.

In my mind, I recall Manhattan’s glittering skyscrapers seen at a distance, beyond the river and the bridge. I remember my train rumbling speedily toward the heart of Queens, passing through the tunnel into sunlight. Sometimes, I’d catch the sunsets when my train emerged from the tunnels, and I was in awe of the dark navy sky and its sweeping reign over the houses with their golden-lit windows. Or the trail of light orange and the vibrant, darker orange that faded into a pale gray sky.

The strangers around me finally mention places that sound somewhere near where I want to go—still far, but I have some hope I’ll get closer. I’ll get there eventually. And I’m willing to settle for that.

Oddly, we’re outside now, still on the platform, but it’s more colorful here. I see trees and recognize the stranger beside me, but he’s barely an acquaintance. The train chugs along, but it’s too crowded when it arrives. I can’t get in, but he does. There’s simply no room for me. I don’t fit.

Suddenly, another train barrels toward me, its rapid arrival quite unexpected. I hear the beeps and clangs, and I think, “That’s the one.”

Without hesitation, I scramble on board. I never check where it’s headed. We travel farther and farther away from all that’s familiar. Soon, I am far from the place I call home and everything and everyone I had ever known. We pass an endless green sea with a boat in the distance. We are somewhere remote. I don’t recognize this place.

My dreams are vivid, yes, and colorful, and my recollection of them is thorough.

In another persistent dream I’ve had since my recovery, and until recently, I ride a motorcycle that I’m so proud to be riding. (I’ve only ever ridden on the back of one.) As the dream progresses, the motorcycle becomes a bicycle, which I did ride as a kid, and, in the dream, I’m still thrilled because I’m cruising everywhere, including up and down the dark streets of Woodside, my old stomping ground.

I’m experiencing freedom in this dream, and I’m celebrating it, so I’m happy. Except that the bike gets smaller and smaller until I’m on a tricycle that I’ve obviously outgrown.

There’s also a recurrent nightmare where I have to get home from Roosevelt Avenue—that walk home at night from the park I’d dreaded as a kid, as well as the route home after work from the train station when I lived in Woodside. It’s light at first in the dream but gets darker and darker until it’s completely dark. I’m never a kid in the dream, but, still, the dilemma frustrates me and plays out as an obsession. Whatever way I choose to go, that long, seemingly deserted hill can’t be avoided, which in reality is true unless I take the route from the crowded, brightly lit storefront area on 61st Street. Even then, I’d have to go past the place on Woodside Avenue where it’s eerily quiet at night.

More recently, I dreamt that I was stranded somewhere and ran into my parents. I asked for a ride home, and they refused for some reason that made no sense. At first, I thought, well, it’s beginning to snow now and starting to get dark, but I’ll make it. As I walked, it continued to grow darker. The snowfall became heavier, so I tried running. Creepy people tried to lure me into alleys. Somehow, though, I got past those creatures and arrived home.

My son was asleep in his room. I must’ve gone to sleep, too. In that same dream, I awoke in the dark to find the door locks broken off the door. A sign was on the front door saying, I hate you. I will destroy you. It was written in blood. People with cold, angry eyes and a few angels floated around the room. They did nothing to physically harm me, but they were holding my son captive, so I charged in there like a martial arts movie hero, kicking them all. They had an invisible shield I couldn’t penetrate, so I went to the door, opened it, and began screaming and begging for help. No one answered.

Now, I can easily interpret what that awful nightmare meant, but David said, “You should never go to sleep. Your dreams are horrifying.”

That had me splitting my sides, and he was equally amused.

Transportation is a common theme in these dreams, and I am moving by bike, train, or on foot. I think, symbolically, it has to do with where I’m going—my path or journey, my goal, and whatever happens in getting there. There’s the persistent question of whether I’m heading in the right direction, and, according to a book I’d read a about dreams, train stations represent transformation. I don’t think any of these dreams suggest I am lost, but I am consistently unable to go home, and I don’t fit or belong there.

The destination is always Woodside, although I haven’t lived there in decades and will never have to make that walk again from any street. Woodside, with its good, its bad, its horror, and its beauty, will always be special to me, and I get those bittersweet pangs of nostalgia when anyone so much as mentions my hometown of Queens. However, my fear at the time I lived there was possibly intense enough to carve out a permanent space in my subconscious mind. Or, it merely represents a place of origin because I’ve wondered if, in order to persist with your ultimate goals, you can’t go back.

The “threats” in my dreams are all of the obstacles.

Interestingly, I was about to say I hadn’t had a “train” dream in a while, but one occurred the other night. In this one, all the subway stops had their names changed. Some were crazy names like Anywhere You Want to Go, while others simply said 50th Road or some other ordinary thing. Per the usual, I had no idea where any of those stops would leave me on the way to Woodside. The platform on this station was perilously narrow, so I had to be careful, even sidestepping rocks while navigating what little room I had.

On a lighter note, I once dreamt I was a cookie, and mobs of people chased me, wanting to eat me. Amused, I told David that I’d had that dream.

“Of course, you did,” he replied, and we shared a good laugh.

Excerpt on ‘Dreams’ from Grateful to be Alive – My Road to Recovery from Addiction by D.K. Sanz

Woman sleeping/night moon feature photo by IceRedfield from Pixabay 

Train image by annca from Pixabay 

Monster in window image by 1tamara2 from Pixabay 

Train station image by Igor Ovsyannykov from Pixabay 

Gingerbread man image by artistlike from Pixabay 


Image by ELG21 from Pixabay


“Something is murdering my men.”

Thus reads the message received from a Nazi commander stationed in a small castle high in the remote Transylvanian Alps. Invisible and silent, the enemy selects one victim per night, leaving the bloodless and mutilated corpses behind to terrify its future victims.

When an elite SS extermination squad is dispatched to solve the problem, the men find something that’s both powerful and terrifying. Panicked, the Nazis bring in a local expert on folklore–who just happens to be Jewish–to shed some light on the mysterious happenings. And unbeknownst to anyone, there is another visitor on his way–a man who awoke from a nightmare and immediately set out to meet his destiny.

The battle has begun: On one side, the ultimate evil created by man, and on the other…the unthinkable, unstoppable, unknowing terror that man has inevitably awakened.

F. Paul Wilson, Author

My Review:


The Keep by F. Paul Wilson is a supernatural thriller set at the beginning of WW II. The story is rich in history and has many elements I love—Gothic horror, immortal creatures, Romania, a creepy fortress, revenge on nazis, and a worthy nemesis in Rasalom. The book is brilliantly atmospheric.

Wilson’s descriptions are lovely. It’s a fast-paced tale with a great twist, never dull, and it has characters I loved, which is always a plus. In my opinion, it’s a fun but not a terribly scary read, but, then again, I don’t scare easily.

The best part is, I’ve found a new favorite writer in F. Paul Wison and feel as if I should have known about him long ago!


REVIEW – The House on Blackstone Moor (The Blackstone Vampires Book 1)

This book was initially reviewed in May, 2012, but I am recommending it again to horror fans.

Before The House on Blackstone Moor, we experienced the wicked, self-involved albeit charming vampire and his polar opposite the long-suffering, brooding wimp with a conscience. Carole Gill’s Louis Darton is neither. Instead, he is the perfect balance between the twoa Byronic hero with substance. He endures, as the author writes, no matter what. He does so with great courage, inner strength, and compassion. Now that’s seductive!

As a fan of 19th century British literature and all things gothic, I found, in The House of The Blackstone Moor, all the elements I enjoy in a novel and all the features of a classic. The moods of great works such as Wuthering Heights, Pride and Prejudice, even Dickens (a la Oliver Twist and David Copperfield) surface throughout. Carole Gill presents excellent narration, well-drawn characters, and has a sharp ear for dialogue.

While hopelessly invested in Rose Baines and her beloved Louis Darton’s fate, I read this entire book in two days. No sooner had I put it down when an irresistible lure seemed to beckon my return. 😉 I’d have finished it in one sitting if I didn’t need to be elsewhere.

Between Darton and Satan’s cohort “Eco,” there is the additional element of the proverbial dark side with a twist. It brings to mind Anne Rice’s poetic Memnoch The Devil inspired by the Book of Enoch and Milton’s epic poem, Paradise Lost. This genre has been met and embraced in the past with great interest and sheer fascination. Carole Gill continues in that vein. She pulls it off quite skillfully with wonderfully bold and descriptive passages.

Carole Gill

About Carole Gill

Carole Gill is published by Creativia. She writes dark Gothic romance as well as contemporary horror.

Preditors & Editors’ Readers’ POLL


Her acclaimed 4-novel series, The Blackstone Vampires:
2014 – Amazon Bestseller in Dark Fantasy – THE BLACKSTONE VAMPIRES OMNIBUS
2015 – Amazon Bestseller in Vampire Horror – THE BLACKSTONE VAMPIRES OMNIBUS
2015 – Amazon Bestseller in Horror Anthologies – HOUSE OF HORRORS

eBook Festival of Words 2014
Best Horror: The House on Blackstone Moor and
Best Villain: Eco

Top 10 Books – 2013 – The House on Blackstone Moor
Aoife Marie Sheridan – ALL THINGS FANTASY
Publisher, Ultimate Fantasy Books

92 Horror authors you need to read right now,
Carole Gill – The Blackstone Vampires Series. ~Charlotte Books Examiner,

Justine: Into The Blood Book One – Blood and Passion Series is on sale at Amazon.
Book 2, Anat: Blood Princess, follows.

I, Bathory, Queen of Blood, a novel about the Blood Countess Erzsebat Bathory is her latest book.
For dark horror fans there is, Carole Gill’s House of Horrors and the novel, Circus of Horrors.

In 2000 she was selected by Northwest Playwrights of England for further development. Short stories and novels were what she preferred to write.
Her story, The Devil’s Work is being broadcast web and television in the Fragments of Fear Program in 2016.


facebook author page:

She is widely published in horror and sci-fi anthologies:

Fragments of Fear tv and You Tube, ‘The Devil’s Work
Killing it Softly, Digital Fiction Publishing Corp.
Sideshow, published by PsychoPomp
After Armeagedon short story collection by Brian L. Porter (guest story by Carole Gill)
Rogues Gallery, The Illustrated Police News, Firbolg
Enter at Your Own Risk: Dark Muses Spoken Silences Firbolg
Vampires: Romance to Rippers an Anthology of Tasty Tales
A S Publications: Enter at Your Own Risk: Old Masters New Voices, An Anthology of Gothic Literature,
Fresh Fear: Contemporary Horror
Triskaideka Books’ Masters of Horror Anthology One,
Triskaideka Books’ Masters of Horror Damned If You Don’t,
Sonar 4 Publishing’s Ladies and Gentlemen of Horror 2010,
SNM’s Bonded By Blood3 Languish In Lament,
Sonar 4 Publishing’s Whitechapel 13, Anthology,
Rymfire’s Undead Tales,
Rymfire’s Zombie Winter,
Rymfire’s Zombie Writing
Angelic Knight Press’ Satan’s Toy Box: Demonic Dolls and
Whitechapel 13, An Anthology of the Victorian Era
Sci Fi Almanac 2009 and 2010 and
Science Fiction Freedom Magazine, issues 1-4,
Sci Fi Talk’s Tales of Time and Space.Read less

Author Updates

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