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The Grim Reverend Steven Rage

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The Grim Reverend's newest collection: The Place in Between      Download this Full Story
By The Grim Reverend Steven Rage
Tuesday, August 17, 2010

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an excerpt from the 3 story collection: "The Place in Between" this excerpt is from the 1st novella in this collection, "Blood and Bubblegum":

"Blood and Bubblegum"

Yr:09.ACE.13n.10 

Two days ago:

Juan went back to the same dark shoddy bar, again.
And, again, he went without Mary. She stayed
away to tend to Bubblegum, keeping her stoned
and happy. The comely coop-chick still thought they
both had a sex crush on her. They let that cluck-fuck
fantasy remain intact. We decided that it would be
prudent and to our advantage to keep from telling
her the whole truth. At least not until our hand was
called. None of us ever mentioned me.
Morbid is not everyone’s favorite late-night radio
talk show host. Of this I am quite aware.
“I want to shove it up her tiny stink-hole,” I say,
by way of example. “Please tell me I can.” I am not
the politest of company. I don’t really know of any
unholy shit monsters that are. I guess that it kind of
goes with the territory.
“Maybe,” Juan told me, “we’ll have to see how this
whole thing plays out.”
“Yes, we will,” I agree. It’s not easy being green.
“Let’s not talk about that shit right now, Morbid,”
Juan replied, and rightly so. “Game faces, bro.”
“Yeah,” I say with all the forced bravado I could
muster, “Let’s bag us a vampire!”
Juan and I needed to find the nocturne in a bad
way. Juan and Mary were in hock up to their eyeballs
keeping the hen high on Plata. This shit is crazy
expensive.
If we didn’t rustle us up a steady source
of income soon, the goon squad would find us.
That’s bad, real bad. They will send more than
enough knuckle draggers to see us that even I, the
unholy shit monster, won’t be able to save Juan and
Mary. Motherfuckers are as serious as a heart attack
when it comes to their wet, sticky cash money. And
without Juan, I would be lost. The nocturne must be
found.
This time we needed a face-to-face meeting. It’s
frustrating because we hadn’t been able to locate the
elusive blood drinker. We could hardly believe it. All
this time and work and we can’t even find the nocturne.
And once we do (heaven help us) the real
work will begin. No wonder Juan was so edgy.
Other than this crap-awful bar down here
amongst the dregs, we had no real clue of how to
find him. Nobody knew the vampire, or where he
cribbed or even how to contact him. It didn’t matter,
however. Juan wanted no-one but his Mary, him and
me in on this plan.
The Harbor may be seen as nothing more than
a dystopian ghetto shit hole, and it most certainly
is, but we knew small town rules still applied. Everybody
knew everybody’s business down here in
the great stinky half-frozen tunnels. Everyone knew
who was zooming who. It’s just like old Mayberry, but
with a much higher body count.
Except in Mayberry, Andy and Barney wouldn’t
let you get the skin flayed off your body while fucking
a dead dog for a 5K NewRupee auto-deduct.
“Fucking squares!”
We could tell no-one because we could trust noone.
One word of what we were planning and niggas
might kill us simply because they hadn’t thought
of approaching the vampire Plata dealer first. Folks
here in The Harbor can be vile, petty and vindictive.
We needed to proceed with ample care. Everything
seemed to be coming to a head.
Once again, Juan made his way through the
drunk and fucked-up bar crowd. He had been nervous
as all hell lately. He’d been drinking more than
he should and smoking super-strong hydroponic
weed constantly.
Finally, after almost two weeks of this nervewracking
shit, Mary had pleasantly surprised him
with a handful of muscle relaxing pills, which he
doled out to himself one at a time. The pills she gave
him were the real and true thing, too. This was surprising.
Pharmaceuticals were not on the list of over
abundant items left behind. One can eat canned tuna
and chili until your asshole bleeds, but not anything
of medicinal quality.
Mary smiled sweetly as she handed them over to
Juan. She’s a good girl, that Mary. She’s a little pennypinching
in the old fuck-sack for my taste, but still…
The pills helped Juan a great deal as he was forced
to troll the same sleazy, sticky, loser filled tavern,
night after fucking night, waiting for the nocturne.
He was worried the blood-drinker wouldn’t show up.
Juan and I were even more nervous that he might.
But he had to. The three of us have everything riding
on this scheme.
Where the fuck is he?
Juan did a quick, perfunctory head check of
the patrons. He didn’t see the nocturne anywhere
around. It was just like all the previous times. If I
didn’t know any better, I would think the fucking
vampire was avoiding us. If that’s true , at least he
knew we existed. That would be something, but we
couldn’t even assume that much at this point.
To make immediate matters even worse, Juan
had to pee.
“Are you kidding me?” I asked, incredulous. “You
know where we have to go to do that, don’t you?”
“Yes, God Damn it! I know. Fuck.”
I could feel his bladder filling uncomfortably. He
had to go. If we didn’t, Juan would have to find a
place to piss right here in the bar portion of the saloon.
This would cause us to be kicked out and never
allowed back.
With everything on the line, and with some growing
dismay, we pushed back, deep into the cave-like
bar. We were headed toward the rear hallways, stairs
and the toilets. This was where the realio-dealio took
place.
The courage it takes just to approach the flesh
curtains lent a moment of pause for even the hardest
of the hardcore. It usually took a pensive person
a lot of illicit drugs, a bucket of ethanol and a double-
dog dare to even part the veil. Looking in is bad
enough and we had to go inside. We had to part the
curtains, enter That, and then locate us a toilet. All
without getting ourselves detained, killed, or even
worse.
And what is worse than being killed, you ask?
Getting stuck down there and never being able to
negotiate your way back out, that’s what’s worse
than being killed. You’ll see what I mean in a minute.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath to calm his
nerves, Juan split the curtains of human skin. It was
real flesh replete with freckle, scar and mole stains.
You pass through and you find yourself piercing the
confines of That.
“Here we go!”
We entered the first hallway. Juan took the stairway
down, following the signs to the bathrooms.
Humans and Halflings alike were engaged in all
manners of drug consumption and sexual congress.
A young girl was tugging on folks, pleading with
them all for the return of her hymen. Juan just shook
his head. How the fuck should he know where her
freshness seal is? Shit.
“Dumb-ass dead bitch,” I commented. Like that
was something to worry herself about back here.
Damn, I’ve taken shits smarter than this. But I am
repeating myself.
Juan stepped down about six more feet before
he came to the first body. The male was long overripe,
judging by the smell. He was a lovely shade of
cyanotic blue. He was absolutely as dead as a door
nail. But that didn’t give the old woman with a bald,
spotted scalp the right to straddle his below the knee
leg amputation. We stopped to watch her do it. It was
abhorrent, but like a train wreck, we could not pull
ourselves away from the wretched sight.
The old woman periodically coughed up mucous
from the blow hole in her neck and onto her hand.
The old woman used it to further lubricate the dead
fuck’s stitched, blunted stump-cock. As Juan carefully
and quietly passed her by, he noticed she was vaguely
see-through.
“We got to go through Hell’s Own asshole, just
to take a piss?”
Ignoring my patter, “Hello?” Juan kept working
his way down into the dark red smoke, until he finally
reached the landing. There he saw a man with his
hands tied behind him. A taut, tight rope of aborted
fetuses pulled up the man’s wrists. The babies were
secured to each other by their own long, convoluted
umbilical cords. A sulfur and sugar smelling
pit-
demon was feeding the rope of abortions through
a dog skull pulley.
The man’s mouth was buried on a firebrand. The
acrid smoke curled from his burning mouth. The demon
stared hard at Juan whilst he pulled on the rope.
He dislocated the man’s shoulders and kept pulling.
The man never made a sound. Only his tears bore
witness to his true pain.
“Can I go to school here?” I ask. “It looks like they
get to play Level 10 reindeer pain games. Yeah…
Downtown is where the fun’s at, sugar-kitten.”
We finally reached our stated destination. Lucky
us.
The restroom was filthy and crowded thick with
men pissing. Trannies were sucking dick, their johns
holding cash above their bobbing head as a promise.
Drugs were being snorted, deals going down. Some
nigga was desperate enough to tie his shit off in this
horrid crapper in one of the door-less stalls, flicking
up a vein, trying to feel for a bump to target his
needle.
“Gross.”
Juan went into one of these stalls. A passed
out fuck, pockets having already been turned out,
was slumped over to the side. His head planted
firmly into the feces smeared wall. Juan considered
trying
to wake him or dragging him off the
seat. Instead, it was most expedient to simply pull
out his pecker and piss on the motherfucker. He
wouldn’t care.
Juan was just shaking it and zipping up when he
sensed someone. He looked up and right into the face
of the old man with the big mass of dreadlocks. It was
the same polished slumming dude that was trying to
holler at our Bubblegum. He smiled cruelly at Juan.
His jumpy nerves made him cringe.
“You sure you want this, dear fellow?” asked mister
fancy dreads.
“Want what?” Juan retorted, confused. The old
guy is human, not a vampire, not a demon. That
means dreadlocks teleported himself here. Other
than the Indian Army, Juan had never met anyone
who could afford teleporting. Juan figured if someone
teleports themselves into this shit hole, Juan had
better pay attention to what dreads was saying. At
least dreads didn’t have to go back up through all
that shit to get to the bar again. Juan and I would.
Oh, well.
“Are you sure you want to meet the blood drinker?”
he asked Juan.
“What’s it to you?” Juan wanted to know, getting
wide with the cunt out of a deep-seeded need to not
kowtow. It was ingrained and had gotten Juan into
trouble many times.
“Don’t get smart with me, young man,” he admonished.
“I am The Good Doctor. I am the king. I am
also the nocturne’s supplier. You need to be extraordinarily
sure of what you wish for.”
“Why’s that?” Juan asked, a bit more politely. He’d
heard of the king, but had never seen him in person.
I have to admit, he was pretty fucking impressive.
And I am an unholy shit monster! We don’t impress
that easily.
“Because it may just come true ,” The Good Doctor
stated. And then he winked out.
Before we could recover from that shock, a cold
hand dropped solidly on to Juan’s shoulder from
behind.
It was strong. The talons growing out of the
split fingertips dimpled Juan’s coat, punctured the
cloth, and pressed into his flesh. Juan was surprised
at how much it hurt. He sucked it up though and
stood tall.
“When you wish upon a star…” Softly, to myself,
I said this.
“You got balls hunting me,” the nocturne told him.
He squeezed a little more and made Juan hurt a lot.
“But do you have the heart?”
“Makes no never mellow mind who you are…”
Even softer.
“I’m not after you, we mean you no harm.”
“What do you want then?”
“We wanted to meet you,” Juan told him.
“You and the girl you were with?”
“That’s right. I was hoping to speak with you.”
“And you are?” the vampire asked with a bit more
pressure. It was getting bad, the pain, but Juan knew
a test when he felt one. Juan told him their names
and intentions. He did not mention the unholy shit
monster that lives in his ass. “Services?” he asked,
“What services?”
“Whatever you need, you know, help,” said Juan,
arm going numb, fingertips tingling unpleasantly.
“You two want to help me sell drugs?”
“Yes, exactly,” Juan replied.
“And what, exactly,” the nocturne mockingly replied,
“makes you think I won’t kill your uninvited ass
where you stand?”
“Because we would not dare to seek you out
empty handed, Sire,” Juan told him.
“Stop the ass-licking sire shit, I don’t like it,” the
nocturne warned, “And it will not help to keep you,
or your Mary alive. Or even that freak you keep holed
up inside you.”
“Hey!” Rude fucking vampire.
“Shush, Morbid,” Juan scolded. He said, “What
shall we call you then?”
“Nothing yet,” he said. “What do you have for
me?”
“We have an offering.”
“Offering? What kind of offering?”
“Blood,” Juan stated, “a continuous stream of it.”
The nocturne smiled then. “Yes,” he replied, “That
might do.”
“I can take you to Mary, where she is being kept
for you. And then we can bring her to where you
stay.”
“And this token of your esteem is in hopes that
you and Mary can work for me, with me? Is that
right?”
“Yes, exactly,” Juan agreed. “We can be of great
value and help. We can assist and protect you.”
“What do you hope to gain and I expect the truth
from you,” the nocturne advised with one more, tiny
squeeze, “Your life, where you stand, depends on it.”
Juan did not have to think, Mary and his motivations
had never changed. “We want in,” he said
simply,
“And you are the way.”
“The Truth shall set you free,” I added.
The vampire was silent as he removed his painfully
frigid grip from Juan’s shoulder, blood seeping
now from the talon punctures. Juan could feel him
moving close to whisper in his ear.
“Well now, seeing as the three of you now work
for me,” the vampire said, “I guess you should call
me Pilate.”
We’re in, thought Juan.
We are!
We were.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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