Latest news with #blood
News.com.au
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- News.com.au
‘They walk among us': Inside Australia's top secret society of ‘real life vampires'
Mobsters. Doctors. Politicians. Musicians. What's the common thread connecting this motley crew? They're all in Australia's secret society of real vampires. Spawned from the goth subculture, this shadowy community – known as a 'vampire court' – now includes Aussies from all sorts of walks of life. Think real vampires are just pale people drinking red cordial? Think again. To many of its followers, the true blood lifestyle is about much more than fashion. It's about survival. And though they might not transform into bats or live forever, they do drink real human blood, wear surgically-enhanced fangs and let loose at vampire balls. These days, their ranks are being quietly pumped by social media and the decline of religion. Just don't ask these creatures of the night to throw light on their very dark way of life. They claim they keep to themselves and aren't dangerous. But critics claim some vampires use this cloak of secrecy to exploit people. So are they really monsters? Medical mysteries? Or just misunderstood? 'I want revenge' For centuries, vampire folklore has compelled us. Tales of bloodsucking beasts can be found in ancient cultures around the world including First Nations people. But in the last few decades, they've been forever fixed in pop culture as a romanticised symbol of finding identity in the world. This romanticism is at the heart of the complex history between real vampires and Sydney local Crystal, who does not wish to share her real name. On one hand, Crystal claims they've drugged her. Drank her blood without consent. Even forced her to drink the blood of others. On the other hand, she remains transfixed by their mythical morbidity. For Crystal, it all began when she was invited to an opulent mansion party in Sydney's affluent suburb of Vaucluse when she was just 18. Crystal, who was drawn to gothic culture at the time, said the house belonged to the father of a friend of a friend who worked as a nurse. Inside the party, she claims to have found herself in imposing company. She was greeted by yakuza and triads – otherwise known as the Japanese and Chinese mafias. 'They were just standing around wearing suits and watching anime movies', Crystal told 'And they weren't shy about what they did'. As it happened, the mafia is not the only bloodthirsty group these men belonged to. Crystal soon learned they were part of the Australian chapter of an international 'vampire court'. Inside, Crystal says she was given a glass of champagne. Soon after drinking it, she claims she sat on a couch and lost consciousness. When she woke up, she alleges she felt lightheaded and her neck and arms were dotted by what she calls 'love bites'. Looking back, she believes she'd been drugged. There were no other signs of assault. 'I didn't know what to think at the time,' she says. Before she left, Crystal was given a dark diagnosis. 'They told me I'd been infected with the virus.' She never reported her experience to the police. Indeed, real vampires would come back to haunt her before long. After moving into a Newcastle monastery to study business, Crystal met members of a local court. While things started safely, one night the group pressured her to drink from a bottle of red. It was human blood mixed with cordial. 'They said, 'it's time to join us',' says Crystal. 'You can't choose to join this society. They choose you.' Feeling powerless, Crystal agreed. But the court came harder than ever. Another night, Crystal woke with puncture wounds on her wrist. Crystal believes the vampires had fed on her while she slept. She kept quiet about the incident because the court had 'powerful people on their side.' 'There are doctors, nurses, business owners and musicians,' she says. 'It's very secretive. From the outside, they live normal lives.' Until now, Crystal kept her experience to herself out of fear she would not be taken seriously. Or worse. But now, she wants to raise awareness. 'I want revenge for how I was treated.' Despite this messy history, Crystal's experience with the court was forever imprinted onto her self-image. She hopes to one day launch a safe-space for people to appreciate vampire culture. Medical mystery Crystal's disturbing account is not unlike a scene in a horror movie, where vampires lunge from the shadows and maul victims' necks before sucking on the flowing wine-like liquid. It's important to note that vampiric crime is rare, and abusers of power are far from unique to the courts. For most members, this community offer a sense of belonging, and some courts are heavily involved with charity causes. Not all 'real vampires' feed on blood. And for those who do, the practice is traditionally safe. So how does it work? What's known as a 'donor' will willingly offer their blood to a vampire. Both take medical tests and other precautions. Complications are rare. Which is fine. But it begs another question: why? Real vampires claim they feel sick and lethargic if they don't feed on human blood. It balances their energy. Some believe this thirst for blood is a sign of a deeper mental health problem. So is it all a big delusion? When vampires follow a code of silence, it's not easy to say. But that secrecy is well founded. They've learned the hard way their lifestyle inspires revulsion. That's why this community stays in the shadows. Most Australian vampires I contacted for this story declined to take part in it. One local fanged figure you need to know is Jason De Marco, otherwise known as Don Jason. Don Jason runs the Sydney Vampires Meetup Group. He's also an electioneering member of the Liberal Party, bringing new meaning to idea of a bloodsucking polly. At least this one is honest. In a YouTube video made by married artists Gillie and Marc Schattner, Jason is seen wearing Edwardian-era clothing, surgically-enhanced fangs, and a wide smile. Among the graves of Waverley cemetery, he says Don Jason first knew what he was aged four. 'I was different to other children' Jason said. 'I said I'm going to grow up and be Dracula.' He says he drinks exclusively from the razor-sliced thighs of female donors. They don't just consent to this feeding. They're aroused by it. 'They seem to get an orgasm off it every time,' he claimed. 'People can assume we're insane: why do you have this need to drink blood?' 'The only thing I have to worry about is my innate illness, which was ironically an illness associated with the vampire myth.' 'My vitals can shut down and I look like a corpse. People who had it used to be buried alive.' Marc Schattner said Don Jason suffers from porphyria, a rare blood disorder thought to have inspired early vampire mythology. 'It can cause symptoms like extreme sensitivity to sunlight, skin blisters, and a reddish-purple discolouration,' he says. Jason is an extreme example. Some people just like vampires for a good old-fashioned doof. 'Not merely an event' The dawn of the vampire ball is misty. Sometime during the rise of Europe's medieval masquerade balls, a darker event emerged in honour of the undead. These days, the vampire ball circuit is an international network spanning Romania, the US and Australia. Melbourne's annual Carpe Noctem Vampire Ball was recently held in April. The founder of the event, who asked to remain anonymous, said it's about something bigger than costumes. 'More than just an opportunity to don elaborate attire, the Carpe Noctem Vampire Ball is a celebration of identity and belonging.' After a signature 'bloodbath cocktail' (ingredients undisclosed), the crowd – comprised of goths, role players and the real deal – take part in rituals including a 'sacrifice' that 'lifts the veil between the living and the dead.' Australian vampires Few real-vampires claim to have the magical powers you'll find in Twilight. But if I had to throw money on one of them being superhuman, Andreas Bathory is the one. He dwells on the sprawling grounds of Bran 'Dracula's' Castle in Romania's Transylvania. With these walls, Bathory drinks donated blood. Sometimes sleeps in a coffin. And channels Vlad the Impaler. 'It's not merely an event' Bathory says. 'It's a portal.' Bathory is the leader of the Ordo Dracul, a vampire court based in Transylvania. And he says more and more Aussies are signing up. 'New initiates are joining from Australia. Some of my dearest allies come from Melbourne and the Gold Coast,' he said. 'Australia resonates with the old blood.' Bathory believes these vampires thrive in silence. 'Just because we're not loud, doesn't mean we're not present. In our world we prefer to walk the line of shadows.' 'Realise their full potential' The University of Western Sydney's Dr Adam Possamai charted the rise of real vampires in his book Sociology of Religion for Generations X and Y. He believes it's a 'hyper-real religion' – a modern hybrid of religion, philosophy and popular culture that helps people find their identity in a noisy world. 'The vampire is no longer a monster that needs to be destroyed,' he said. 'It's now a superman-type of character that people aspire to become to realise their full potential. 'As society becomes more consumerist, I expect hyper-real religions like vampires to grow. But it's tricky to quantify.' 'Are they people who identify with the image alone? How far do their practices go? And how long will they keep them up?' Though Australian vampire groups have picked up have thousands of members on social media, the Australian Bureau of Statistics (ABS) said in a statement they don't formally recognise vampires. 'Vampires don't describe a stand-alone group in any of the statistical standard classifications used to disseminate Census data,' a spokesperson said. 'The ABS regularly reviews statistical standard classifications and holds public consultations to ensure standard classifications reflect the Australian community.' Until vampires are socially acknowledged, we'll never know how many of them walk among us or what secrets they hold.
Washington Post
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- Washington Post
Mike Flanagan, Stephen King screen whisperer, will sleep when he's dead
VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA — There are three dresses and six types of blood. Which best pairs with which? It's more complicated than you might think, and it's a question facing Mike Flanagan and his crew. They ask the angelically patient stand-in to change into yet another prom dress, so they can smear it — and her — in more blood.
Yahoo
18-05-2025
- Yahoo
SC man allegedly killed by his ex-wife named. She was found ‘covered in blood'
A Horry County circuit court judge denied bond Sunday to a woman arrested for murder after police found her 'covered in blood.' Horry County Police arrested Joyanna Vansant on May 17 for murder and possession of a weapon during a violent crime, according to the sheriff's office. She is accused of killing Frederick Vansant, Jr., 60, according to Horry County Chief Deputy Coroner Tamara Willard by email. Vansant was found by officers in a closet at his home, Willard said. Court and land records show that the man was her ex-husband. The two divorced in 2021, South Carolina Department of Social Services records show. On Friday, police performed a welfare check along Dinger Court in the Burgess area, which is the same street Frederick Vansant owns a town home, according to land records. Joyanna Vansant answered the door, 'covered in blood,' said a social media post from Horry County Police. The 53-year-old used to live at the address but no longer does. Police searched the home and found someone dead in the closet. There was evidence of a shooting, the post said. Judge Manuela Ardeljan Clayton said during the bond hearing Sunday morning that Joyanna Vansant has a Myrtle Beach address. The victim has family living more than three hours away, an official told Clayton during the hearing. The Sun News requested the police reports from the incident.
The Guardian
06-05-2025
- Health
- The Guardian
How sure was I that I wanted a baby? About 55% certain
T he light in the bookstore bathroom was dim. Even so, I could see the blood on the toilet paper. I wiped some more to make sure I wasn't just seeing things, and then I stood up, grabbing on to the porcelain sink so I wouldn't fall. Suddenly, I understood. I didn't want to lose my baby. I wanted to be this baby's mother more than anything I'd ever wanted in the world. I would do anything in my power to keep it alive. The trouble: there wasn't much I could do. A few more minutes passed, and then I slowly made my way out of the store and on to the street. Out on the sidewalk, I closed my eyes. I took a breath. Opened my eyes. The ground was still firm beneath my feet. I wasn't in pain. I could inhale and exhale. I'm going to be a mother, I told myself. I'm going to be a mother. That's when I texted my fiancé, Rob, and told him about the blood. 'Come home,' he wrote back quickly. 'Everything is okay,' he said when I walked in, stepping forward and holding my cheeks gently between his palms. 'Why don't you call the doctor?' So I did. I no longer could think for myself. I was a robot. It was nine at night and the doctor wasn't in the office. I called the answering service and told the woman on the other end what was wrong. I heard her typing and I thought: can't you just get the doctor? The woman's voice sounded unfazed. Like she was just trying to get through her shift. 'The doctor will call you back,' she finally said. 'Call me back?' It came out like a shriek. Rob's hand was on my back. 'When? How long? Don't you understand? I don't want my baby to die.' The next thing I remember: the doctor was on the phone, calmly asking me questions. How much blood is there? What color is it? Does the blood fill one pad per hour? 'I don't know, I don't know,' I said. Then, inanely, 'I'm sure it's nothing.' I'm still not sure why I said this. My mind was chattering so hard that words were just coming out of my mouth. 'It's fine, this is my job.' The doctor's voice was kind. 'Blood is normal. Twenty per cent of women experience spotting in the first trimester. Put on a pad, and if you fill it up within an hour then call me back. Do not hesitate. In the meantime, try and get some rest.' After I hung up, I cried into Rob's shoulder. I was sure our baby would die, and it would be all my fault. I t's not like I didn't know how I'd gotten here. A year and a half after Evan's and my marriage dissolved, I met Rob. Both of us were still fragile from our divorces. So fragile, in fact, that when we first got together, we called our exes 'ghosts' because of the way they haunted our budding relationship. The other thing that haunted our relationship? My sudden certainty that I wanted a baby. Now. Did I really want a child, or did I just not know what to do with myself if I didn't have one? Rob was on board, but his timeline was different from mine. As in, he didn't have one. Eventually, though, we came to an agreement, and I stupidly assumed that once we got on the same page about when to have a kid it would all be smooth sailing. Now I was 42 and pregnant, and having a full-blown panic attack. It wasn't just that I was certain we'd lose this baby. I was certain our child's death would be my punishment: for aborting the baby I got pregnant with when I was 17, for previously marrying someone who didn't want kids to prove to myself and the world that I was lovable, for traveling and pursuing my career and having adventures and believing I could be anything I wanted to be, all on my own timeline. I didn't always know I wanted a child. In fact, I spent most of my life thinking I didn't. But not long after my wedding to Evan, I sat across from my therapist and said the truest thing I knew at that moment: 'This whole baby question is driving me nuts.' 'Well,' she said. 'On a scale of one to 100, how badly do you want a baby?' I thought about it for a few seconds, letting my breath fill my body and then relaxing as the air pushed its way out of my nose. 'The honest answer is 55%.' Apparently I wanted a baby a teensy-weensy bit more than I didn't want a baby. No amount of analyzing or contemplation, books or talks with friends moved the needle significantly on that 55%. I'd made pros and cons lists. My conclusion was that there were lots of good reasons to have a baby, and lots of good reasons not to. The best I could muster was that I wanted a baby slightly more than I didn't. 'There you go,' she said, smiling, as if that's all I needed to know. But was that all I needed to know? Why had I internalized that I needed to be all-in to be a mother then? I'd spent my whole life hesitating before choosing motherhood because, let's be real, I was told that a mother's life happens in a distant galaxy from a life without kids – one where I would be exhausted, depressed and likely resentful of my partner if I was lucky enough to find one. I was warned that I would no longer recognize my carefree, pre-baby self. I was told that those two sides of myself, warring in my heart – the one who wants children and the one who doesn't – had to duke it out till death. Did I really want a child, or did I just not know what to do with myself if I didn't have one? L ydia Davis's one-sentence story A Double Negative put into words what I'd been feeling for so long. At a certain point in Davis's life, she realizes it's not so much that she wants to have a child as that she does not want to not have a child, or not to have had a child. That was exactly it. 'Some people might say you should really want a baby if you're going to have one,' I told my therapist that day. 'Who are those people?' she replied. I shrugged. I didn't know anymore. Parenting just seemed like something I should be 100% certain about if I was to have a kid. Maybe I should adopt a dog or get better at keeping my plants alive first. Maybe I should offer to babysit for my friends' children for a weekend. What should the parent-curious do? Parenthood is the one thing in life that's all or nothing. There are no do-overs. Before I left my therapist's office that day, I tried saying the words out loud. I want a baby. I want a baby. I want a baby. A part of me figured that once I named it, it would be true. All of the female empowerment rhetoric I'd been digesting for decades made it seem that easy: 'Name it to claim it.' I wanted so badly for someone else to tell me how to live. For someone else to define what a 'good life' meant. But I didn't know what to make of the puzzle pieces of other women's lives. What could I tell about my own life from examining theirs? What answers did their hopes and dreams hold? What paths had they carved out for me? It didn't help that I'd spent my whole life hearing everyone else's tales about my great-grandmother Kitty and my grandmother Ruth. Hearing how they'd abandoned their children for men. Or worse: they'd abandoned their children for themselves. What if I was destined to abandon my child too? And through those shards of misinformation and conjecture, I started to piece together a narrative of who I thought I would be. I told myself I should be ashamed of the women in my family. I believed their minds were messed up in one way or another. I believed they failed by putting their needs first. So I ran far away, seeking out foreign places and adventures, all to avoid the contagion I was certain I'd catch if I allowed my matrilineal line to leave its imprint on me. Maybe I could have the agency and ability to do things differently than my own mother and her mother and her mother before her I blamed the trajectories of my ancestors on trauma, bad luck, poor decision-making and dependence on men for money and power. I didn't want their lives to rub off on me. I convinced myself that what I inherited from the women in my family was a glitch in my genetic code. A mutation that would destine me to abandon my children, too. The only way to avoid what I came to think of as the curse was to not have offspring at all. That was my plan throughout my 20s and early 30s. And then, in my mid-30s, I began to wonder about the stories I'd been fed my whole life. What if the women in my family hadn't abandoned their children? What if they weren't bad moms, but good-enough moms or, at the very least, decent moms? If that was possible, then maybe I could be a good-enough mom, too. I no longer wanted to wander through the world feeling broken. I didn't want my future to have been written before I was even born. I wanted to understand whether DNA was really a blueprint for my life, or whether I could decide my own future. I wanted to know whether motherhood was really off-limits to me – or whether I could carve out a different path. Maybe I could have the agency and ability to do things differently than my own mother and her mother and her mother before her. Maybe I could create the life I wanted for myself and my child. What I wanted was a story I could live with – free of regret, free of expectation and free of everyone else's ideas of who and what I should be. I had plenty of reasons to opt out of motherhood, and yet there was something inside of me that kept pulling me toward wanting a child. N ow, five years after telling my therapist that I was 55% certain I wanted a baby, I lay in Rob's arms as he whispered: 'Remember what the doctor said?' I shook my head. I didn't know. 'You just need to rest,' he reminded me. But his words didn't sink in. My body heaved. Snot covered my face. I wondered if we could buy an ultrasound machine so I could see that our baby was swimming around peacefully in my amniotic fluid. Or maybe I could go to sleep and wake up in six months, when our baby was eventually born. Little did I know that our child would turn out just fine. In fact, she's better than fine. She loves to help her dad grow peppers in the community garden. And her favorite thing is to read me a book. But back then, all my thoughts felt crazy. Rob's answer was to curl his body around me from behind and whisper that everything was going to be okay. That's how we fell asleep: warm, and scared and pressed against each other. Extracted from The Mother Code: My Story of Love, Loss, and the Myths That Shape Us , published by Random House on 6 May.
