Steven Rage's Blog, page 3

The hum-dingy-est ghost step-dad of all time …

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G R I M ! ! “There were special group areas to engage in any sort of Greek or Roman decadence. Pornos were filmed on premises. Orgies were easy to be had; coke rails the length of your leg, animal fucking, sucking, sacrifices, Black Magick. There was blood letting and drinking, skin branding and flesh removing. Anything, man. Just fucking anything.”  “YOU MORBID WESTPHAL”

by

The Grim Reverend Steven Rage Come and visit the inmates at bizarrocentral.com

 
 
 

http://www.amazon.com/You-Morbid-Westphal-Redux-Illustrated/dp/1481919466/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_5

 
 
from Chapter 10:

Westphal tuned out Sammy’s latest tall tale and began his mental list. It didn’t take longer than two shakes, because he could see the sugarplums as they danced in his head. He decided to help himself to a nice sampling of just about everything Steele had in his arsenal.

Westphal pulled up his mail and started writing out his order to send to Steele. He wanted some percs, comas, a lot of bitch, a taste of boy (this was the extra, he’d never tried heroin before). He also wanted a half ounce of meth, some phens, T-3s, a couple dozen rolls and some more MDMA powder (Steele’s shit is so clean), a handful of zans and vans, and more morphine tablets if he’s got ‘em. And top it off with a fat sack of mean green. He was happy because this shit should last him a good long time.

This made Westphal securely and supremely happy. He had his rent and utilities paid, enough available on his gas card to scoot the popcan around The Harbor, fresh bone marrow for Chip and even a little left over for some food.

He figured he could stock up on drugs and then he wouldn’t have to go to the motherfucker’s big, old rambling house for a while. Westphal did this whenever he could, with the certainty of dread that all real dope fiends had of getting eventually popped by Johnny Law. That would seriously fuck up his employment options.

Steele always had someone nearby the computer to take these orders, so Westphal sipped some more coffee and mixed and chopped and railed some more jet fuel, waiting for one of Steele’s clones to get back.

The drug dealer never hesitated to make Westphal smile. Steele was a hustla of the first order. He ran a string of businesses like a ghetto corporation out of his own home. He had several entrances and exits, many separate as well as common rooms. Whatever a deviant wanted, Steele could get.

He had drugs, of course, but also much more. If you wanted to get your dick sucked on, or get your shit fisted, cool. If you needed an Unwanted to adopt, his whores did a double business of that. There was no need to glove up if you didn’t want to. Most of his females were in a constant knocked-up state. He kept a druggie midwife working constantly to delivery the Unwanteds.

He had a lab set up with technicians harvesting blood marrow around the clock to sell to the exotic pet stores. There were big, softly lit rooms with music leaking gently out of invisible speakers hidden in the walls if you just wanted a place to get high and chill.

There were special group areas to engage in any sort of Greek or Roman decadence. Pornos were filmed on premises. Orgies were easy to be had; coke rails the length of your leg, animal fucking, sucking, sacrifices, Black Magick. There was blood letting and drinking, skin branding and flesh removing. Anything, man. Just fucking anything. 

KINDLE version

 All the different entrances and exits assured as much privacy as you wanted. You could hide out in the basement if you were on the lam, or deeper to the sub-levels where one can dally with the demons and the damned. There were ghosts everywhere and the Magic floating through the place was thick as a sage smudging.

Steele himself was as big and as tough as the cage-fighter he used to be, but sweet and gentle and accommodating if you kept your attitude and rudeness at the door. Westphal had personally seen Steele weep with a young junkie who just miscarried her Wanted baby. And he had also witnessed him crush the trachea of this stupid piece of shit that disrespected the bug guy in his own home.

Steele liked Westphal a great deal. Not only was Westie an obviously steady customer and source of income, but he never hinted on needing credit. He paid his freight up front and, most of all, Westphal was respectful and polite.

Westphal got a reply from Steele’s place and it was the big dude himself, which was unusual. You could imagine how busy the young Gotti was.

“What’s up, Westie?” he asked over the e-mail, “You feel up to a visit here?”

“Absolutely,” Westphal wrote back, “when’s good?”

“The PayToday just cleared your five NewGs and I can put your order together in about –oh, say 2 hours,” he replied. “That cool wit you?”

“Perfect,” Westphal told him. His head was popping off and he was feeling like a million pesos of good, “I’ll swing by then.”

“Can you stay a while?”

He stopped. That was a weird request. Westphal usually stayed just long enough to be cordial, but Steele knew he liked to do his drugging at home. He knew Westphal didn’t indulge in any of his other offerings. Too weird. What should he do, how should he respond?

“Sure, I guess so,” he replied to Steele. “Why, man, what’s up….problem?”

“No, dude, no problem at all. It’s just that my sponsor is here and he specifically asked me for an intro.”

“Okay, sure…but why? Did I piss someone off I didn’t mean to?”

“No way, nothing like that,” he promised. “He just knows you are a good customer and a good guyand Shirk sometimes likes to check out my favorites.” 

Tired of ‘safe’ horror? Look no farther! ‘click’!

“Shirk, huh? Is he….connected?”

“LOL, nigga!,” Steele wrote back. “Yeah, he’s connected, but not to the mob, he’s from That.”

Oh fuck, he’s from That? Westphal never fucked with the Dark. Drugs were enough trouble. He was barely hanging on as it is. What the fuck would a demon want with him? But he knew he couldn’t say no. Once you pollute your soul to a certain point, you had to do some bidding. He’s heard of this like everyone else, but he always thought he could keep skating out of range of Them. Fuck.

After no response: “You still there, dude?” Steele asked.

“Yeah, man, of course, just paused to do a bump,” Westphal lied.

“Well get your self together,” he said. “This motherfucker is the real Holyfield and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Oh, shit, thought Westphal. Now I am in it.

“See you in 2, brother,” Steele told him and logged off.

Westphal just sat there, trying not to be scared……

 

Filed under: alternate history, Amazon, amazon kindle, Amazon.com, American Kindle, Australian Books, Bizarro, blog, blog radio, blog writer, blood, bloody needle, books, brutal bible tale, christianity, dark, depravity, events, events, paranormal, ghosts, Extreme Fiction, fetish, fetish ball, fiction, freaks on a leash, FREE!!!, ghosts, giveaways, goodreads, goth, gothic comment tag, Great Britain Kindle, hardcore christian, horror, images, kindle, KINDLE and E-Readers, masturbation, mature, mature audiences, medical suspense thriller, monster librarian, nc-17, occult, occult, occult fiction, paranormal, print, print is dead, radio, religion and spirtiuality, serial killers, sexy bleeding vampire pics, sexy mess, small press, smashwords, somebody bleeding, supernatural, suspense, the grim reverend steven rage, thriller, torture porn, Uncategorized, zombies Tagged: A Nightmare on Elm Street, amazon, amazon.com, bizarro, Black magic, Black Magick, blood, Bone marrow, books, Christoph Westphal, Counties, Decline of the Roman Empire, DeMarcus Cousins, demons, drugs, Eric Lander, evil nerd empire, experimental, fiction, Fuck, ghosts, GlaxoSmithKline, Greek language, Grim Reverend Steven Rage, Harbor, horror, hospital, killers, LeBron James, MDMA, medical, monsters, morbid, occult, Omri Casspi, Orgy, paranormal, Paul Westphal, Reverend, Sacramento Kings, Sammy, serial killer, Shirk, Shit, Steele, supernatural, Tyreke Evans, United States, vampires, Wanted (2008 film), Westphal, Whitehead Institute, YOU MORBID WESTPHAL

A small slice of PHARMACIDE

“HANNAH BERGH”

Two-point-Zero

Hannah wrapped her arms a little tighter around her charcoal gray blazer. She walked briskly from the ground level front door of her condo to the nearby elevator. The garage where she kept her nearly new Corvette was situated under ground. The security in her high-rent complex was very efficient, as well as discreet. The sports-car engine was already warming as Hannah disarmed the alarm. She opened the door and slid into the waiting luxury of the wine-colored soft leather bucket seats. The ‘Vette was the second best present she ever gave to herself. The top of the list she used as the finishing touch to her every day display of understated elegance. The eighteen karat gold-encased emerald pin Hannah wore on the lapels of her blazers. It held great significance for her. It served to remind her, daily, of where she came from and where she wanted to arrive.

That’s not Oklahoma City, living hand to mouth, thought Hannah. You can just forget all about that. Hannah Bergh put the ‘Bully-Boy’ into gear. She backed out of her space, drove up the ramp, leaving the confines of the garage for the nearby expanse of SR 51. The parkway was already filling with commuters, migrating to their downtown office buildings. Hannah merged quickly into the center lane. She settled in for a pleasant drive to her office in the sprawling complex of St. Anthony Medical Center.

Hannah’s employer, Hudson-Smythe Pharmaceuticals, sponsored a research center in the basement of the central Phoenix hospital. Hannah coordinated the research for the project. She and Dr. Jon Pender, the facility’s talented (although troubled) researcher, were responsible for the development of ViraStat. This viral-static agent was wildly successful. Hannah Bergh was making darn sure she’s receiving the lion’s share of the credit.

ViraStat can and will, if used by the patient on a daily basis, prohibit the deadly effects of Transmittable Carcinoma Syndrome (TCS). This daily drug can keep the victims of TCS alive and with excellent quality of life. ViraStat was growing more and more popular and important every day.

TCS had spread like a prairie wild fire ever since first being discovered. The Centers for Disease Control (CDC) was almost overwhelmed by the speed at which the virulent disease had spread. Fortunately, Hudson-Smythe had developed a weapon to add to its arsenal to combat TCS. ViraStat was delivered to the public at large and implemented to great fanfare. The drug was primed to make some folks very rich.

By far the scariest part of TCS was that it proliferated without any traditional boundaries. The latest information obtained from the CDC has shown that the virus is more than happy to lay waste to the immune systems of everyone exposed. Sports heroes, entertainers, members of the clergy, politicians fell just as fast to TCS as the homeless populations. With TCS expanding at such incredible proportions, the need for Pender and Hannah’s creation has increased exponentially since inception.

Hannah Bergh, the poor girl from the Sooner State, was the finally grabbing hold of the brass ring. And she knew, no matter what the cost, she could never let it go.

Hannah signaled and cautiously veered the ‘Vette into the right hand lane. She approached her exit, and as she looked into the rear-view mirror, she caught another quick glimpse of the gold and emerald lapel pin. And like it so often did, it made her remember home.

Two-point-One

Hannah Bergh was a girl of no more than twelve. She was walking home from school early on that day because of a false fire alarm. The poor girl from one of Oklahoma City’s tougher housing projects walked passed the window of Jantley’s Fine Jewelry store. She was on her way home. As she passed the exquisite piece of jewelry, Hannah thought that it was the finest ever made. She recalled the first time she saw the pin:

Her mother was walking with Hannah when she suddenly stopped. They were standing in front of Jantley’s display window.

“What are we stopping for, Momma?” Hannah had asked her.

“I wanted you to see something truly wonderful,” she told her.

“What’s that?”

“This pin,” Hannah’s mother replied. She placed her arm around her daughter’s skinny shoulders, “The one in the center, sittin’ on the black velvet cushion.”

“The green one,” said Hannah.

“Yeah, doll-baby,” she told her, “The emerald and gold one.”

“It’s sure is pretty,” Hannah said. She moved a bit nearer to the big glass window.

“No, Hannah,” her mother corrected with a noisy exhale. Hannah, too, had inched closer. “You see, honey, this here pin is more than just beautiful,” she continued, “It is perfect.”

“Then why don’t you try to get Terry to buy it for you, Momma?” Hannah offered. It made her mother laugh vehemently.

“That bastard step-father of yours could never lay his hands on that kind of money,” she explained, “Even if he did, he’d never spend any of it on something nice for me.”

Hannah nodded her understanding. She knew perfectly well what her mother had meant. Terry was an idiot at best. He was also a bully and drug-addict every other minute of the day. He would never do anything nice for Hannah’s mother. Most of the money Terry did manage to procure would go right into a needle and up his arm.

Young Hannah knew her real father would have bought the pin for her momma. But he’d got himself very dead in Viet Nam. Hannah’s father couldn’t help anyone.

“Why do you say the pin is perfect, Momma?”

“Because honey, when a lady has a pin this nice, nothing bad can happen to her,” she explained.

“Why’s that?” young Hannah wanted to know.

“Simple,” she said. Hannah’s mother knelt in front of her. She peered directly into her daughter’s eyes. She continued: “You have got to be rich to wear a pin like that. And when you are rich, Hannah; very, very rich, then there ain’t no one that can hurt you. Remember what I said.”

Hannah stared at her mother, trying to understand what she meant. She knew in her young heart and mind that it was of the utmost importance. Hannah’s mother rarely spoke to her daughter in that serious, helpful tone. It was extraordinary that the bedraggled worn-out woman gave her daughter any advice at all. She told Hannah this while instinctively touching lightly her latest set of Terry-induced bruises.

Ever since that day, Hannah always tried to stop and look at the pin. The small piece of jewelry seemed to hold such critical importance to her mother.

After Hannah finished admiring that perfect lapel pin for the gazillionth time, she crossed a couple of streets. She went through the huge vacant weed-choked lot that bordered her housing project. Her family’s apartment was on the third floor, situated in the center of a long hallway. Hannah approached her home cautiously, as always. She went on tip-toes to the door. With her ear touching the door, she listened intently. If there were any loud noises coming from inside, Hanna would take off to the park and wait it out. That’s what her mother had instructed her to do.

Hannah didn’t really expect to hear any ruckus coming from the other side of the apartment door. She was a couple hours earlier than usual. On most days, this was the time that Terry went out to get his medicine.

Hannah pressed her ear tight to the door. It surprised her because the door opened with the slight pressure. She stifled an impulse to call out for her mother. When she was sure that there was no shouting, or glass breaking, Hannah went quietly inside. She shut the door with a much practiced near silence.

Hannah’s mother had always coached her to be as quiet as a mouse. She had to be absolutely positive Terry was either gone, or passed out from his daily dose. The last thing mother wanted to happen was Terry turning his abuse toward Hannah. At least, that was what she always claimed.

“Hurry up,” Hannah heard her mother say from the back bedroom.

“Shut up, you bitch,” she heard a strange voice reply. The words were followed by a vicious sounding slap.

“Quiet,” said Terry, “The both of you. I can’t concentrate.”

Damn, Hannah thought, I should go. Momma said I should leave when I heard them fighting. Hannah still had her hand on the door knob, eavesdropping. She heard no more grown-up talk. But there’s a stranger here.

“I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” the stranger said.

Hannah released the door knob. She began stealing quietly toward the back room.

“Aw, c’mon, man,” Terry replied, “It can’t be all that bad.”

Hannah slid hushed passed their only bathroom. She was half the way to the bedroom where the voices came from.

“How would you know, you damn little piss-ant junkie-fuck!” roared the stranger.

Hannah froze. She might know who this is. The stranger might be Terry’s guy.

What is he doing here? He never comes over, he hates Terry. Oh, no. Please don’t let Terry say anything stupid.

“Hey, don’t get mad, man,” Terry replied fast as a scared toad hops, “I was just dickin’ with ya.”

How can a grown man be this dumb?

“Did you just this second grow some balls, Terry?”

“I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” claimed Terry.

Hannah ventured forward.

“Watch your mouth or I’ll cut you off, punk,” Terry’s guy threatened him, “Swear to Christ I will.”

Told you.

“Oh, God,” cried a truly frightened Terry, “Don’t do it, man. Please! You can have anything I got!”

Hannah switched her skulking to the other side of the hall, where her room was at. She really didn’t want to know what was going on in her parents’ bedroom.

“It looks like I’m already takin’ the only thing you gots left.”

“Okay, okay,” Terry said, “Don’t you think I know that? It’s all I got an’ you can have it any time.”

Where’s Momma?

“Any time, Terry? Really?” the guy asked sarcastically.

“Yeah, man,” Terry slowly replied. He sniffed and moaned low, with pleasure.

The springs on the bed creaked as Hannah neared the end of the hallway. Her room was just up ahead and to the left of her.

The corner of the back bedroom’s door jamb came into view. Hannah saw the bed. Terry was easing himself back onto the stained pillows.

“Any time, medicine man,” repeated Terry, “Any fucking time, baby.”

Hannah moved laterally and into the confines of her bedroom. As she did this, unfortunately, the rest of her mother and Terry’s room came into full view.

Momma…

“I hope you don’t expect me to do this ugly hag every time you need a fix, Terry,” the medicine man told him.

Hannah saw him pulling hard on her mother’s hair. He was raping her from the rear.

“No, man,” Terry mumbled. He was drooling on himself and didn’t seem to notice, or care. “I can get you somethin’ better.”

No. Hannah’s hands went to her mouth. No. She backed into her room and crouched there. No.

“That I doubt very much, Terry.”

“Oh, yeah, baby,” Terry promised in an almost inaudible mutter. Then he turned his head and let go of some brownish-green bile. It spilled from his lips and onto the mattress.

I’m not going to let him.

“What’re you talkin’ about?” the medicine man asked. He stopped momentarily, adjusted himself. He resumed his rape with an even greater ferocity. Hannah’s mother cried out in pain. Her cries were answered with a punch to the base of the skull. Continuing, he stated: “This jacked-up bitch is all you gots.”

No way. That fucker wouldn’t dare! Would he?

Hannah peaked through her splayed fingers. She tried desperately to keep her mounting terror in check. Because even at only twelve years of age, Hannah knew how that bastard Terry would respond.

Terry wiped his stained face and managed a weak grin. “How do ya like your girls? On the young side, am I right, my brother?”

“I ain’t your brother, junkie-fuck,” the medicine man scolded. Hannah could see his hips rotating in exaggerated circles. It would have been much more comical if her mother wasn’t on the receiving end.

I’m not going to let him touch me.

“You’ll be my brother when you see her,” Terry replied with a chuckle, “The girl is only twelve and as sweet as honey.”

“How do you know, you ever turn her out?”

“Nope, the wife and I were saving her for you, my man.”

Terry you dirty little lying piece of shit.

Hannah cringed. She expected her mother to have a fit upon hearing Terry’s narcotic repayment program. But Hannah’s mother didn’t say a word to either of them.

Momma?

“Untouched, huh,” the medicine man said, “She better be. For your sake, Terry, she’d better be tight as fuck.” His whole body contorted then. As he ejaculated he shouted: “Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!”

Terry fell into his usual after-medicine slumber. Hanna’s mother, who was trained to be passive during violence, finally noticed her young daughter’s witness. The pain and humiliation Hannah saw in her mother’s eyes nearly broke her heart.

Momma ain’t gonna say shit. Not even for me.

It nearly broke it, but not quite. Because Hannah’s mother squeezed her tired eyes shut to block Hannah from her sight. The tears fell as she lowered her head. Hannah’s mother let the medicine man finish by wiping his dick clean with her lank hair.

She’s not really gonna let them rape me, is she?

She didn’t utter a single word. Even after she saw her daughter staring in shock at the violence, Hannah’s mother didn’t say shit.

Hannah slid even further back into her room. She soundlessly entered her clothes closet. Once there, she hid only to protect herself. This was now Hannah’s primary concern and her full-time job. She must keep herself hidden and safe.

Hannah did this, while her mother did the very same thing.

Remember what I said.

Filed under: alternate history, Amazon, amazon kindle, Amazon.com, American Kindle, books, fiction, Great Britain Kindle, kindle, KINDLE and E-Readers, mature, mature audiences, medical suspense thriller, monster librarian, morbid books, print, suspense, thriller, urban noir Tagged: bully boy, central phoenix, charcoal gray, Hannah, Hannah Bergh, Jon Pender, leather bucket seats, Momma, new corvette, Oklahoma City, Pender, Rudolph Bergh, Shopping, transportation

“FuknPunch” has another story to tell…

Hey kids! It’s time once again for “FuknPunch”, the Unemployed Child Care Clown” far-out fiction sample! Sure to tickle your funny boner!

An ‘excerpt’, a ‘snippet’ (in no discernable order) from the forthcoming “PHARMACIDE” by The Grim Reverend Steven Rage. Dig:

“Three-point-Two:

Pender moved up to the counter and told her his name. Pender handed her his driver’s license for ID and this month’s coveted prescription from Dr. Fox. He had no clue as to who Dr. Fox was, or even if there really was a genuine Dr. Fox. All Jon Pender knew was that each month Hannah Bergh gave him a prescription for synthetic heroin, written by Dr. Fox, and each month he filled it. Lately, she’d also been giving him a variety of additional pills. He took them all. They subsidized his monthly usage enough to where he always had a nice drug collection at home.

Pender found he couldn’t look at the frightened tech, or anyone else for that matter.

Damn it. I should have never gone to that interview.    

“PHARMACIDE” is a work-in-progress.

Three-point-Three:

Dr. Jon Pender’s home all through his medical school and most of his clinical training was a tiny, spotless studio guest cottage. The small cottage sat behind a two-story 1930s era home in the fashionably historic Encanto district.

Pender’s home was thickly and thoroughly shaded year round by three stately oak trees. Nearly a dozen smaller Chilean mesquite and Chinese elm trees were also scattered around the nice property, adding additional layers of shade. It was peaceful and quiet all the time and Pender just loved it.

The DesMartins, an elderly couple that owned the property, stayed in the main house when in town. They wintered here in PHX, summered in their other home up north in Minnesota, and traveled in between. The couple had no children and therefore, no young grand kids running around, bugging the hell out of Pender. Half of the year the whole place was his. The DesMartins felt much better having the nice young doctor living on grounds and watching the place for them. It was the perfect place to live.

The cottage was only a few scant miles from both the medical school and St. Anthony. Most important, the DesMartins showed exceeding kindness by making sure the rent was low enough for Pender to afford. He had to live off the nine hundred Notes a month stipend he received as part of his Civil Service contract.

Pender walked through the front door of his quaint, but very snug domicile. He hung his coat on the rack by the light switch. He flipped it on and the room was sprinkled with the yellow light of two table lamps. The two combined were just enough to shed light on almost the entire cottage.

Pender went to the immaculate kitchenette. He left not so much as a single dirty dish lying around. He retrieved a diet soda from the refrigerator. The spotless tile of the kitchenette and the scrubbed pine of the living quarters perfectly complimented the floor to ceiling book shelf. It was also clean, devoid completely of dust and scattered papers. The shelf held many books, but they were all quite medical or scientific in nature. Placed firmly right up to the edge of the shelf there was an old roll-top style desk. It was also spotless.

The cottage could not boast a television, or stereo. It had one clock radio. The fold out couch-bed was currently encased in the room’s only comfortable piece of sitting furniture. Pender never entertained guests, so the arrangement was well suited for his needs.

Pender went back into the living area and placed his gym bag on the floor. He sat for a moment on the couch and briefly closed his eyes. The pain from his knee was getting progressively worse.

Pender could not afford to take the time off from his residency program to go through surgery and rehab for his knee. He would have to join another class and wait for an opening, which could be anywhere. No, he’d gut it out with the pain killers and keeping active.

Pender just wished to God the Tylenol with codeine would kick in. Then maybe he could think about something, anything, else.

I need to take a second one, he thought. Pender gently placed his left heel on the scratched oval pine coffee table. He leaned forward and with a grimace began massaging his knee.

Pender extended his leg and stretched it as far as he could. The noise his knee made was crushing empty peanut shells. Whenever Pender humped the stairs at St. Anthony his knee would double-crack with every upward step. It was embarrassing when he wasn’t alone.

He returned his leg to the table and massaged it anew. It was pissing in the wind, though. Nothing he did seemed to help. Only hiding the throbbing beneath the mask of pain pills gave to Pender any semblance of relief.

Pender was concerned with his growing use of such strong analgesics, but only as it pertained to his career. He could never write his own prescriptions. That would spell trouble with a capital BUTT that rhymed with FUCKED. No physician wanted that kind of disciplinary scrutiny.

His personal physician was making overtures of cutting down and eventually offing his supply all together. He tried not to panic. In response to this growing threat, Pender began squirreling away as many pills as he could. But he could see the bottom of the bottle and it was making him nervous.

Definitely, he decided. I’ll take one more, just to make sure the pain doesn’t get in the way of my interview.

Pender stood. He trudged to the bathroom at the rear of the cottage. He opened the mirrored medicine cabinet. Pender shook out another T3, thought about it, and shook out another. He downed the two pills with a paper cup of tap water. Pender sighed as he ran the shower. He stripped off his clothes, and with his knee still cracking and popping and hurting, he stepped under the tepid stream of water.

Pender arrived at the parking lot of the research wing of St. Anthony for his interview with time to spare…..” end excerpt.

FOR PAPERBACK PHARMACIDE:  http://www.amazon.com/Pharmacide-Steven-Scott-Nelson-RRT/dp/1463797443/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1352620308&sr=1-1&keywords=PHARMACIDE

AND FOR KINDLE:  http://www.amazon.com/PHARMACIDE-ebook/dp/B005FYZS44/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1352620308&sr=1-1

Filed under: Bizarro, books, dark, events, paranormal, ghosts, Extreme Fiction, fiction, FREE!!!, horror, KINDLE and E-Readers, medical suspense thriller, serial killers, suspense, thriller, Uncategorized Tagged: blood, books, British Columbia, Business, Canada, Cape Fear River, drugs, Emergency management, Fox, God, Hate crime, Health, hospital, killers, KINDLE, medical, Minnesota, noir, Online Writing, Pender, Pender County North Carolina, Pender Island, Port Moody, rage, serial killer, Shopping, Tylenol, United States

Wordsmith To The Damned

Review




Review
 



Steven Rage has written an enthralling horror tale!

—-Harriet Klausner – (#1 REVIEWER) See all my reviews

Not soon forgotten

With graphic scenes of violence, sex and torture Rage’s unique cadence and elaborate descriptions vividly animates every aspect of his writing. Read this book. You’ll not forget. —-Mary Menzel “Reviewer – AllTheseBooks.com

nobody’s more brilliantly repulsive than rage

there’s an intelligence and his gift as a storyteller is being finely honed. rage is still gruesome, sickening, twisted, profane, disgusting, morbid, blasphemous. —-D. Gorman “Crystalline Structure Moon”

Hardcore Horror & Bizarro Collide

‘TPIB’ is gross, disgusting, funny, horrific, and disturbing. Rage writes with his conscience thrown out the window. —-Nick Cato “nickyak” (Staten Island, NY United States)

It takes a sick, drug-addled, putrified brain to come up this demented.

If you enjoyed the Infernal trilogy by Edward Lee, then you will probably get off on these tales of another true hell.

—-nuff b. ess



Product Description
Edit



Three cuts of bizarre hardcore horror from the macabre mind of the grim Reverend Rage. Three sordid tales of demons, revenge, botched suicide, organic narcotics, torture, halflings, freaks, vampires and a post apocalyptic society coming apart at its seams. Three trips to the dark side that’ll leave you reeling… yet unable to look away.



From the Author
Edit






Also by The Grim Reverend Steven Rage:
 
“The Fall of a Blood Drinking Drug Dealer”
“Rage Primer”

“BELLY: A Brutal Bible Tale”

“For All The Marbles”

“The Place In Between”

“You Morbid Westphal”

“PILATE: A Brutal Bible Tale”
 
AND LOOK FOR “PHARMACIDE” coming soon!!
 

By 

nuff b. ess

“As a true connoisseur of the horror genre, I must admit I was verily disgusted and appalled by this piece of “Morbid” and I am certain that this was the author’s intent. It takes a sincerely sick, drug-addled, putrified brain to come up with a world-view this demented. The “Reverend” must be very proud. If you enjoyed the Infernal trilogy by Edward Lee, then you will probably get off on these tales of another true hell where all rules no longer apply and the most profane things occur. I wish Reverend Rage a massive following so that one day my autographed copy might be worth something on Ebay.”

Visit Rage anytime at stevenrage.wordpress.com




From the Inside Flap
Edit



Freaks just love the Reverend…

“It’s gritty, and realistically crazy. It’s gross in just the

right amounts. The story is so eloquently presented that

you’re straight in it for the whole nail-biting ride. I’d say

it’s masterful. Dark, beautiful, bizarro, and insightful. The

Reverend does brilliantly. I’m an instant fan of Steven

Rage. I can’t wait to read more.”

Kevin Shamel, author of Rotten Little Animals.

“Like early Tom Piccirilli mixed with Edward Lee. Get on

the Rage train while you can because I have a feeling

that he’ll be getting bigger with each new book”.

Jordan Krall, author of Fistful of Feet and Squid

Pulp Blues.

“You Morbid Westphal is not a book for the faint of heart.

But if you’re up for some of the hard stuff, you’ll dig this”.

Garrett Cook, author of the Murderland series,

Jimmy Plush and Archelon Ranch.

“He weaves a world that is painted in black and white

hues, where anything can happen (and often does), and

is brutally visceral. You Morbid Westphal does for hospitals

what Jaws did for beach getaways! Steven Rage is a

masterful storyteller”.

Eric Mays, author of Naked Metamorphosis.



From the Back Cover
Edit





The Place in Between: When Del is sent pictures of his wife’s latest affair, he reasons a .45 caliber bullet will answer his problems. To Del’s dismay, that’s only the beginning of his time spent wedged in the place in between. Luci’s lover tortures Del relentlessly. Del wants to recover just enough to seek revenge on them both. Sure enough a demon shows up with her silky-sweet promises. Then the ambiance twists dark and cruel beyond anything any one of them could’ve imagined.
 
 
Bad Notion Traveling Potion: The second day of the fifth waxing moon, in the 24th year, ACE. The frozen earth of The Harbor is in the grips of a new Little Ice Age. The human populace is down to just one-third. They are forced to exist in long, dank tunnels and cramped domiciles underground with The Good Doctor and his creations of Halflings and other freaks and geeks. TGD’s latest organic narcotic discovery goes LIVE and becomes self-aware. The bad notion traveling potion makes meat puppet users do its unholy bidding. Then the monster decides to turn on TGD, the Creator. Not the best idea, this. But it sure is going to be fun to watch.
Blood and Bubblegum: It’s colder than frozen shit down here in the dangerous tunnels of The Harbor in the post-cataclysmic world (ACE). Juan and I find ourselves here, in this horrible place because of The Good Doctor. His organic narcotics trade is booming. Juan, Mary and I want in. We have to find TGD and the nocturne, see if they will let us. We are down. We are hungry. And we are bringing Blood and Bubblegum to sweeten the pot. All of our dreams will come true. The only uncertainty is Mary and Juan living long enough to reap the rewards.





About the Author
Edit



Reverend Steven Rage maintains that the hospital his

alter-ego works night-shifts for is haunted. However,

so many years of working in the dark with the sick

and dying has skewed his reality in such a perverse

way that even the brightness of day has become

frightening to him. He probably thinks that’s haunted.

The Reverend further asserts that his writing of

such bizarre, bloody and extreme fiction is conducive

to his and everyone else’s well-being. Everyone

should encourage him. And there is no proof Rage

sleeps upside down in a sealed closet. Absolutely

no proof at all.








Steven Rage has written an enthralling horror tale!

—-Harriet Klausner – (#1 REVIEWER) See all my reviews

Not soon forgotten

With graphic scenes of violence, sex and torture Rage’s unique cadence and elaborate descriptions vividly animates every aspect of his writing. Read this book. You’ll not forget. —-Mary Menzel “Reviewer – AllTheseBooks.com

nobody’s more brilliantly repulsive than rage

there’s an intelligence and his gift as a storyteller is being finely honed. rage is still gruesome, sickening, twisted, profane, disgusting, morbid, blasphemous. —-D. Gorman “Crystalline Structure Moon”

Hardcore Horror & Bizarro Collide

‘TPIB’ is gross, disgusting, funny, horrific, and disturbing. Rage writes with his conscience thrown out the window. —-Nick Cato “nickyak” (Staten Island, NY United States)

It takes a sick, drug-addled, putrified brain to come up this demented.

If you enjoyed the Infernal trilogy by Edward Lee, then you will probably get off on these tales of another true hell.

—-nuff b. ess



Product Description
Edit



Three cuts of bizarre hardcore horror from the macabre mind of the grim Reverend Rage. Three sordid tales of demons, revenge, botched suicide, organic narcotics, torture, halflings, freaks, vampires and a post apocalyptic society coming apart at its seams. Three trips to the dark side that’ll leave you reeling… yet unable to look away.



From the Author
Edit






Also by The Grim Reverend Steven Rage:
 
“The Fall of a Blood Drinking Drug Dealer”
“Rage Primer”

“BELLY: A Brutal Bible Tale”

“For All The Marbles”

“The Place In Between”

“You Morbid Westphal”

“PILATE: A Brutal Bible Tale”
 
AND LOOK FOR “PHARMACIDE” coming soon!!
 

By 

nuff b. ess

“As a true connoisseur of the horror genre, I must admit I was verily disgusted and appalled by this piece of “Morbid” and I am certain that this was the author’s intent. It takes a sincerely sick, drug-addled, putrified brain to come up with a world-view this demented. The “Reverend” must be very proud. If you enjoyed the Infernal trilogy by Edward Lee, then you will probably get off on these tales of another true hell where all rules no longer apply and the most profane things occur. I wish Reverend Rage a massive following so that one day my autographed copy might be worth something on Ebay.”

Visit Rage anytime at stevenrage.wordpress.com




From the Inside Flap
Edit



Freaks just love the Reverend…

“It’s gritty, and realistically crazy. It’s gross in just the

right amounts. The story is so eloquently presented that

you’re straight in it for the whole nail-biting ride. I’d say

it’s masterful. Dark, beautiful, bizarro, and insightful. The

Reverend does brilliantly. I’m an instant fan of Steven

Rage. I can’t wait to read more.”

Kevin Shamel, author of Rotten Little Animals.

“Like early Tom Piccirilli mixed with Edward Lee. Get on

the Rage train while you can because I have a feeling

that he’ll be getting bigger with each new book”.

Jordan Krall, author of Fistful of Feet and Squid

Pulp Blues.

“You Morbid Westphal is not a book for the faint of heart.

But if you’re up for some of the hard stuff, you’ll dig this”.

Garrett Cook, author of the Murderland series,

Jimmy Plush and Archelon Ranch.

“He weaves a world that is painted in black and white

hues, where anything can happen (and often does), and

is brutally visceral. You Morbid Westphal does for hospitals

what Jaws did for beach getaways! Steven Rage is a

masterful storyteller”.

Eric Mays, author of Naked Metamorphosis.



From the Back Cover
Edit





The Place in Between: When Del is sent pictures of his wife’s latest affair, he reasons a .45 caliber bullet will answer his problems. To Del’s dismay, that’s only the beginning of his time spent wedged in the place in between. Luci’s lover tortures Del relentlessly. Del wants to recover just enough to seek revenge on them both. Sure enough a demon shows up with her silky-sweet promises. Then the ambiance twists dark and cruel beyond anything any one of them could’ve imagined.
 
 
Bad Notion Traveling Potion: The second day of the fifth waxing moon, in the 24th year, ACE. The frozen earth of The Harbor is in the grips of a new Little Ice Age. The human populace is down to just one-third. They are forced to exist in long, dank tunnels and cramped domiciles underground with The Good Doctor and his creations of Halflings and other freaks and geeks. TGD’s latest organic narcotic discovery goes LIVE and becomes self-aware. The bad notion traveling potion makes meat puppet users do its unholy bidding. Then the monster decides to turn on TGD, the Creator. Not the best idea, this. But it sure is going to be fun to watch.
Blood and Bubblegum: It’s colder than frozen shit down here in the dangerous tunnels of The Harbor in the post-cataclysmic world (ACE). Juan and I find ourselves here, in this horrible place because of The Good Doctor. His organic narcotics trade is booming. Juan, Mary and I want in. We have to find TGD and the nocturne, see if they will let us. We are down. We are hungry. And we are bringing Blood and Bubblegum to sweeten the pot. All of our dreams will come true. The only uncertainty is Mary and Juan living long enough to reap the rewards.





About the Author
Edit



Reverend Steven Rage maintains that the hospital his

alter-ego works night-shifts for is haunted. However,

so many years of working in the dark with the sick

and dying has skewed his reality in such a perverse

way that even the brightness of day has become

frightening to him. He probably thinks that’s haunted.

The Reverend further asserts that his writing of

such bizarre, bloody and extreme fiction is conducive

to his and everyone else’s well-being. Everyone

should encourage him. And there is no proof Rage

sleeps upside down in a sealed closet. Absolutely

no proof at all.

Review
 



Steven Rage has written an enthralling horror tale!

—-Harriet Klausner – (#1 REVIEWER) See all my reviews

Not soon forgotten

With graphic scenes of violence, sex and torture Rage’s unique cadence and elaborate descriptions vividly animates every aspect of his writing. Read this book. You’ll not forget. —-Mary Menzel “Reviewer – AllTheseBooks.com

nobody’s more brilliantly repulsive than rage

there’s an intelligence and his gift as a storyteller is being finely honed. rage is still gruesome, sickening, twisted, profane, disgusting, morbid, blasphemous. —-D. Gorman “Crystalline Structure Moon”

Hardcore Horror & Bizarro Collide

‘TPIB’ is gross, disgusting, funny, horrific, and disturbing. Rage writes with his conscience thrown out the window. —-Nick Cato “nickyak” (Staten Island, NY United States)

It takes a sick, drug-addled, putrified brain to come up this demented.

If you enjoyed the Infernal trilogy by Edward Lee, then you will probably get off on these tales of another true hell.

—-nuff b. ess



Product Description
 



Three cuts of bizarre hardcore horror from the macabre mind of the grim Reverend Rage. Three sordid tales of demons, revenge, botched suicide, organic narcotics, torture, halflings, freaks, vampires and a post apocalyptic society coming apart at its seams. Three trips to the dark side that’ll leave you reeling… yet unable to look away.



From the Author
 






Also by The Grim Reverend Steven Rage:
 
“The Fall of a Blood Drinking Drug Dealer”
“Rage Primer”

“BELLY: A Brutal Bible Tale”

“For All The Marbles”

“The Place In Between”

“You Morbid Westphal”

“PILATE: A Brutal Bible Tale”
 
AND LOOK FOR “PHARMACIDE” coming soon!!
 

By 

nuff b. ess

“As a true connoisseur of the horror genre, I must admit I was verily disgusted and appalled by this piece of “Morbid” and I am certain that this was the author’s intent. It takes a sincerely sick, drug-addled, putrified brain to come up with a world-view this demented. The “Reverend” must be very proud. If you enjoyed the Infernal trilogy by Edward Lee, then you will probably get off on these tales of another true hell where all rules no longer apply and the most profane things occur. I wish Reverend Rage a massive following so that one day my autographed copy might be worth something on Ebay.”

Visit Rage anytime at stevenrage.wordpress.com




From the Inside Flap
 



Freaks just love the Reverend…

“It’s gritty, and realistically crazy. It’s gross in just the

right amounts. The story is so eloquently presented that

you’re straight in it for the whole nail-biting ride. I’d say

it’s masterful. Dark, beautiful, bizarro, and insightful. The

Reverend does brilliantly. I’m an instant fan of Steven

Rage. I can’t wait to read more.”

Kevin Shamel, author of Rotten Little Animals.

“Like early Tom Piccirilli mixed with Edward Lee. Get on

the Rage train while you can because I have a feeling

that he’ll be getting bigger with each new book”.

Jordan Krall, author of Fistful of Feet and Squid

Pulp Blues.

“You Morbid Westphal is not a book for the faint of heart.

But if you’re up for some of the hard stuff, you’ll dig this”.

Garrett Cook, author of the Murderland series,

Jimmy Plush and Archelon Ranch.

“He weaves a world that is painted in black and white

hues, where anything can happen (and often does), and

is brutally visceral. You Morbid Westphal does for hospitals

what Jaws did for beach getaways! Steven Rage is a

masterful storyteller”.

Eric Mays, author of Naked Metamorphosis.



 
 





The Place in Between: When Del is sent pictures of his wife’s latest affair, he reasons a .45 caliber bullet will answer his problems. To Del’s dismay, that’s only the beginning of his time spent wedged in the place in between. Luci’s lover tortures Del relentlessly. Del wants to recover just enough to seek revenge on them both. Sure enough a demon shows up with her silky-sweet promises. Then the ambiance twists dark and cruel beyond anything any one of them could’ve imagined.
 
 
Bad Notion Traveling Potion: The second day of the fifth waxing moon, in the 24th year, ACE. The frozen earth of The Harbor is in the grips of a new Little Ice Age. The human populace is down to just one-third. They are forced to exist in long, dank tunnels and cramped domiciles underground with The Good Doctor and his creations of Halflings and other freaks and geeks. TGD’s latest organic narcotic discovery goes LIVE and becomes self-aware. The bad notion traveling potion makes meat puppet users do its unholy bidding. Then the monster decides to turn on TGD, the Creator. Not the best idea, this. But it sure is going to be fun to watch.
Blood and Bubblegum: It’s colder than frozen shit down here in the dangerous tunnels of The Harbor in the post-cataclysmic world (ACE). Juan and I find ourselves here, in this horrible place because of The Good Doctor. His organic narcotics trade is booming. Juan, Mary and I want in. We have to find TGD and the nocturne, see if they will let us. We are down. We are hungry. And we are bringing Blood and Bubblegum to sweeten the pot. All of our dreams will come true. The only uncertainty is Mary and Juan living long enough to reap the rewards.





About the Author
 



Reverend Steven Rage maintains that the hospital his

alter-ego works night-shifts for is haunted. However,

so many years of working in the dark with the sick

and dying has skewed his reality in such a perverse

way that even the brightness of day has become

frightening to him. He probably thinks that’s haunted.

The Reverend further asserts that his writing of

such bizarre, bloody and extreme fiction is conducive

to his and everyone else’s well-being. Everyone

should encourage him. And there is no proof Rage

sleeps upside down in a sealed closet. Absolutely

no proof at all.





Filed under: alternate history, Amazon, amazon kindle, Amazon.com, American Kindle, Australian Books, Bizarro, blood, bloody needle, books, dark, depravity, Extreme Fiction, fiction, ghosts, horror, kindle, KINDLE and E-Readers, morbid books, nc-17, occult, occult fiction, paranormal, sexy mess, small press, steven scott nelson, street lit., street literature, suspense, the grim reverend steven rage, thriller, urban, urban noir, zombies Tagged: amazon, amazon.com, horror, hospital, killers, KINDLE, medical, occult, paranormal

KINDLE OCCULT

Kindle Edition!

 

FIVE

The demon walked slowly up and down the Unit.

He touched each patient and peeked over the shoulders

of the nurses as they charted their thoughts

and findings. Each time the demon stopped near one

of the nurses, or any of the other staff, they would

feel even colder than usual. If he stayed long enough,

the staff member would actually exhale a cold plume

of frigid air. They would get an almost overwhelming

urge to either fuck or punch the first person

they saw. The demon was a very bad influence.   

Kindle Edition!

  1350, anno Domini

The smell was the worst.

It assaulted like a living, breathing thing. The smell hung on clothing and hair. If you stepped out of the hospital, down to the shores of Mighty Thames, the cloud would stay with you. Not even the cold and bitter wind washed it away.

The vampire didn’t care about the stench. The dying came to the London hospital in droves. He cared for them as best he could. He was a physician honor bound to treat the victims of this vicious plague. And then he would eat them.

The physician’s rotund. He was of normal girth before the scourge came. The floodgates opened. Black Plague brought an endless stream of blood-filled vessels. Very few survived. The Plague was deadly like that.

The vampire bled as many as he could. Sometimes twenty a day died in this manner, all but dried husks. They were cremated in great funeral pyres. Flames licked the sky and the heavens turned a blind eye to the suffering below.

The physician plump, flushed pink, growing more so by the day. The more blood he drank, the more he wanted. After a time, he could no longer fit into his clothes. He had to have another suit made. He grew out of that one too. And still they came.

He finished her off with one last gulp. The physician dropped her to the rags-covered pallet. Her cooling body settled with ankles crossed, arms slung out either side. He looked at her a moment. She reminded him of – something.

The vampire settled back on the stool, studied his hands. They’re burning now. They were bright pink, almost red. The fingers were as plump over-stuffed sausages, hard and rigid. The hands felt on fire, fingers coarse to move. Each subsequent attempt became more difficult. He sweated all the time. The bloody sweat stained his latest suit of clothes, already ripping at the seams.

He stood slowly up, legs cramping. His knees were sketchy from the improbable weight. Crimson sweat popped out on his forehead. It made him look like he just swatted away a swarm of biting insects.

His eyes began to tear. The tears slow at first, then fast. The great drops poured forth from bulging eyes. His swollen face cascaded salt-bloody tears. He slapped tears away and both his ears spurt. Ejaculates of blood shot out ruptured eardrums.

The vampire/physician lay still in the ever-spreading pool of his own blood. His patients’ blood. His victims’ blood.

A small crowd gathered to gawk and they were disgusted by the scene. But what they saw was not the worst.

It was the smell. That was the worst.

 

Kindle Edition!

 Chapter Five

Carpe Diem, nigga:

Tacitus had his Herod’s lovely neck in both his hands and he was squeezing the life out. He was a wheezy oil rig pumping away on Salome’s plump spread thighs. Her moans quick now turned to garbled chokes.

The two of them were copulating in Salome’s bedchamber. The new Herod shuddered and then she began to fight. She tried to twist away from the tight grip Tacitus had on her neck. Her attacker responded to this by pulling out of her. He placed all his weight on her. His hard knees were on her slender feminine arms. There was nowhere for her to go. She flattened out on the bed and he squeezed all the more. Salome managed to slip an arm free. She reached up and grabbed a handful of his hair. Tacitus grunted with the pain, but kept squeezing until she went limp beneath him.

He released her neck and rolled off her. Tacitus stood beside the bed of his Herod. He was naked, breathing hard and dizzy. He caught his breath and the dizziness dissipating with the slowing of his vital signs. He looked down to her, the one he had craved more than his mother’s milk. Salome was still alive, but she moved not.

Tacitus dried off his shit. He dropped the come towel on the throw rug covered cement floor. Giant foot-shaped indentations peeked out from under carpet. There was no one left to explain their origin. Salome had told Tacitus that the Devil did it, but he thought it was bullshit. It was probably just some drug-addled memory from when she was her Uncle Herod’s Plata-addicted play thing.

Kindle Edition!

 

 III

Mr. Big Winner:

I’m the lucky one.

My knees popped and cracked as I stood victorious. I stood too quickly, too excited. I forgot to hold my breath. I took in a big one to let loose my WHOOP. The sedative in the foggy mist made me swoon as soon as it touched my wet lungs. I could barely rebel out my victory yell. Hands grabbed hold of me from all directions. They belonged to the Halflings that made up most of Chess Master’s goon squad. Hands are a bit too generalized. Nevertheless, I witness a cacophony of swirling flurry of flesh, feathers, fur, claws and scales. In a furious rush a protective shield is forced roughly over my face. One of the more expensive dental implants in my mouth has been loosened in the exchange. I tried my level best not to choke on it as they try to hustle my old ass out of the gaming hall.

The goon squad surrounded me on all sides. The swarm of players de-crying their fate got shakily up from their places before the BINGO screens. Dozens of them began hurling themselves at us. The goons hit the oldies with neural disruptors, making them vomit and shit themselves. The biggest goons used their thick and strong iguana tails to snap at and toss bodily the other geezers out of our way. The weakened geriatric bones of these hapless players shattered on contact. It was soggy and gruesome to hear. Their screams were deafening. If I’d still had a heart, it would have been wrenched right out of me.

Kindle Edition!

 

 III

“DR. JONATHAN PENDER”

Three-point-Zero

Pender stood in line at the SaveCo pharmacy near his home and waited his turn. It was near noon and there were still several people ahead of him. He was beginning to feel trapped and his ragged nerves were protesting. It was well past his time. Pender was afraid the shakes that were ramping up would become severe enough to be noticed. He was embarrassed by his circumstances and was constantly trying to hide it from people.

I‟ve got to get a handle on this, Pender thought. The line really isn‟t that long.

Pender glanced over the top of the ten people in front of him to the customer service counter beyond. It might as well be one hundred miles away. He could feel a big pussy-fat panic building. Pender still had his emergency Quaalude left. It rested down at the bottom of his right front trouser pocket. He thought that right this very minute would be a darn good time to use it. Pender thrust his hand down deep into his pocket, retrieving both a candy mint and the pill. The both of them he popped in his mouth. He chewed them together rather loudly and with great relish. Just the thought of how the pill will soon relax him made Pender visibly content.

Pender glanced around at the customers milling about. He wondered how many of the respectable-looking people had a drug habit as nasty as his.

I hope a lot of them, he thought. The line for prescription refills had shortened by one person. I‟d hate to be the only one. A decade of higher education and advance training costing nearly one hundred thousand Notes and worth infinitely more, Pender mused wryly. All so I can become a god damned junkie. I have become the butt of my own stupid joke.

 

A beastly happy Herod is presented with the severed heads of Pontius

Pilate and Immanuel Christ. But he doesn.t see Michael as he stalks toward him

with a purposeful grimace and a terrible sound. He grips the hilt of his fiery

sword and pulls it free, still moving. Herod looks up and sees a pissed off

archangel bulling through his china shop. Herod.s smile fades into confusion as

Michael raises his sword. The archangel slices a downward arc at him. Herod is

still trying to gauge the level of danger as his torso is split from right neck to left

waist. He separates top from bottom, slides apart and drops dead to the floor with

two separate thuds.

The blood and filth-stained cops stand dumbfounded. Pleading silent, they

stare fearfully at Michael. He sheaths his Retribution, the flame dying as he does

so. Michael notices the men. They are quaking now as children that are being

taunted by bullies. The angel lets loose the hilt of his sword and points to both

pieces of Herod, bleeding all over the Compound floor.

“Repeat Offender,” he tells them.

And then Michael winks out, just as She instructed. Leaving the cops

unmolested, forgiven and unharmed.

For God still loves this world.

Inexplicably, She does.

When One is weary of Lame Shit …

Filed under: alternate history, Amazon, amazon kindle, Amazon.com, American Kindle, Australian Books, Bizarro, blog, blog radio, blog writer, books, brutal bible tale, dark, events, events, paranormal, ghosts, Extreme Fiction, fiction, FREE!!!, ghosts, Great Britain Kindle, hardcore christian, horror, images, kindle, KINDLE and E-Readers, mature, mature audiences, medical suspense thriller, nc-17, occult, occult, occult fiction, paranormal, print, print is dead, radio, serial killers, small press, smashwords, supernatural, suspense, thriller, torture porn, Uncategorized Tagged: A Nightmare on Elm Street, Adam, amazon, Amazon Kindle, amazon.com, Arts, bizarro, blog, blog horror fiction, blood, books, Bubblegum, Business, chicago, Christ, cult, Demon, Demonolatry, demons, drugs, Earth, El Cristo, Esoteric and Occult, evil nerd empire, experimental, Freddy Krueger, ghosts, God, Health, horror, hospital, Illegal drug trade, Jesus, Judas, Judas Iscariot, killers, KINDLE, London, Medicine, Motion Picture Association of America film rating system, Online Writing, rage, Religion and Spirituality, Salome, Satan, Satanism, serial killer, supernatural, suspense, Tacitus, The Harbor, thriller, True Blood, United States, Vampire, vampires

Fuck The Police! Print is DEAD!! Free Sample of “The Place in Between’!!! Why Not?

Go on and check it out, you’ve never seen the likes.

http://www.legumeman.com/samples%20and%20freebies/The%20Place%20In%20Between%20-%20Reverend%20Steven%20Rage%20Sample.pdf 

FREE Sample of “The Place in Between”. Holy Shitballs!!

The Place in Between by Steven Rage Sep 19, 2010 Nick Cato rated it  4 stars

The three stories presented here are tied to an apocalyptic underground community known as The Harbor (two take place post, while the title tale goes down before all hell breaks loose). In ‘Blood and Bubblegum,’ we’re introduced to some seriously strange characters who are involved in an ever-growing organic narcotics trade, including protagonist Juan and a fecal-demon that lives in his rectum. This is by far the weirdest entry here, and features a fresh look at vampirism.  ‘The Place In Between,’ shows that a revenge story can be done in a fresh manner: Del’s wife Luci is having an affair with her drug supplier, Sancho. Sancho and Luci eventually manage to get custody of the invalid Del, and Sancho uses this as payback time from their navy days (apparently Del had done something to ruin Sancho’s career). The story becomes an extreme torture tale, one that made me wince a few times…but Del manages to turn the tables via a Faust-ish deal with a demon. Rage also gives another fresh spin here on ghosts, making this a perfect blend of hardcore horror and bizarro goodness. In the final piece, ‘Bad Notion, Traveling Potion,’ we return to The Harbor and learn more about The Good Doctor (responsible for creating drugs and mutants) and his created servant, the scene-stealing hybrid man/chimp, Tugmunkee. This one was a bit of a chore to follow, but in the end Rage brings it all together. While some people in the bizarro community frown upon stories centered around drug use, this one works as the “tripping” scenes are just a side-note to the real weirdness. THE PLACE IN BETWEEN is gross, disgusting, funny, horrific, and disturbing, yet at the same time it’s quite entertaining. Rage writes with his conscience thrown out the window (that is, if he had one to begin with), yet unlike some more extreme stuff I’ve read, he actually knows how to WRITE a story around the grue. I’m keeping my eye on this guy as he truly lives up to his last name.

Inevitable …

‘PHARMACIDE’  coming soon …

Filed under: alternate history, Amazon, amazon kindle, Amazon.com, American Kindle, Australian Books, Bizarro, blog, blog radio, blog writer, blood, bloody needle, books, brutal bible tale, christianity, dark, depravity, events, events, paranormal, ghosts, Extreme Fiction, fetish, fetish ball, fiction, freaks on a leash, FREE!!!, fuck the police, ghosts, giveaways, goodreads, goth, gothic comment tag, Great Britain Kindle, hardcore christian, hip-hop, horror, images, kindle, KINDLE and E-Readers, masturbation, mature, mature audiences, medical suspense thriller, monster librarian, morbid books, nc-17, occult, occult, occult fiction, paranormal, print, print is dead, radio, rap music, religion and spirtiuality, satire, serial killers, sexy bleeding vampire pics, sexy mess, small press, smashwords, somebody bleeding, street lit., street literature, supernatural, suspense, the grim reverend steven rage, thriller, torture porn, Uncategorized, urban, urban noir, zombies Tagged: A Nightmare on Elm Street, amazon, amazon.com, Art, Arts, bizarro, blood, books, Bubblegum, Christ, cult, demons, DianeKruger, drugs, evil nerd empire, evil nerd empire press, experimental, Faust, Fecal impaction, Feces, fiction, Freddy Krueger, ghosts, horror, hospital, Jackie Earle Haley, killers, KINDLE, kindle dx, legumeman, legumeMan books, Little Ice Age, medical, Online Writing, outskirts press, Place in Between, rage, Rectum, Reverend, Sancho, Satan, serial killer, Short story, supernatural, suspense, The Place, thriller, Vampire, vampires

FREE ‘PILATE: A Brutal Bible Tale’

Come and get yours right now!

‘click’ here for FREE PILATE!! Dig it!!

PILATE: A Brutal Bible Tale,

is the story of Pilate, a drug lord vampire in this re-telling of Christ‘s final days set in modern times in a Midwest American ghetto. When given another chance to save the Earth’s new female Christ, will the re-incarnated Pilate choose to protect Her, or wash his hands in this life as in his first. Be warned: The Harbor is wicked. The violence is graphic and brutal. The terror is palpable. Pilate is not your parents’ bible story.
 


Review

Sick, Disgusting, Vile…and Genius,

He may be one of the sickest, most twisted writers writing today, but there’s a mad brilliance to his work. Reading his texts is like growing wiser …

–Eric Mays “Bizarro Author of “Naked Metam…

Sick Sick sick my kind of book!

Filled with sex and violence that’ll keep you turning the pages. With a vampire feasting on an embryo and many other dreadful acts you have to check out.

—-Kipp Poe Speicher “Kipp Poe Speicher” (Canton, Ohio)

Step Aside, Passion Of The Christ!

Rage does not down play the evils of today, and he re-enforces the fact that there is no good without evil (and vice-versa) in this thrilling tale. —-A. A. A. (Illinois, U.S.A.)

Brutally Good

Compound street violence and mega-violence of the most extreme horror variety and you get a story that any horror fan would eat up. I highly recommend it. —-W. D. Hanson “AKA Ichorous” (Clarksburg, MD USA)

vivid, explicit, inventive and engrossing…with fangs on it!

Rage blatantly gawks at the darker side of our modern world and draws biblical parallels, using vampires. He mixes respectable dark poetic prose. —-D. Gorman “Crystalline Structure Moon”

 

From the Author

Also by The Grim Reverend Steven Rage:
 
“The Fall of a Blood Drinking Drug Dealer”

“Rage Primer”

“BELLY: A Brutal Bible Tale”

“For All The Marbles”

“The Place In Between”

“You Morbid Westphal”

“PILATE: A Brutal Bible Tale”
 
AND LOOK FOR “PHARMACIDE” coming soon!!
 

With graphic scenes of violence, illicit drug use, non-consensual extreme sex and torture Rage spits out his view of a twisted world of that is deeply woven with the intricacies of a dark, drug-infested place ruled by evil forces. Rage explores the depths of sin, the way it stains our lives, and graphically illustrates the things we fear most. He forces us to look at true sin, true villainy,

and truly offensive images of alternative realities.

Visit Rage anytime at morbidbooks.wordpress.com
 
“ Bravery has its rewards, and Steven Rage’s “Pilate: A Brutal Bible Tale” is worth getting your hands dirty for! ” J. Aguilera  |  10 reviewers made a similar statement

“ So I was pleasantly surprised when I had the chance to read this book. ” J. Krall  |  8 reviewers made a similar statement


“ There are vampires, drug dealers, rank language that will shock you and make you stop. ” ellen  |  4 reviewers made a similar statement


 

After PILATE, if you feel UP to it, dig: ‘You Morbid Westphal’… one of a kind!!

 

 

Filed under: alternate history, Amazon, amazon kindle, Amazon.com, American Kindle, Bizarro, books, brutal bible tale, christianity, dark, depravity, Extreme Fiction, fetish, fetish ball, fetish prom, fiction, freaks on a leash, FREE!!!, giveaways, hardcore christian, horror, kindle, KINDLE and E-Readers, mature, nc-17, occult, occult, occult fiction, paranormal, sexy bleeding vampire pics, street literature, supernatural, suspense, thriller, torture porn, urban, urban noir Tagged: Brutal Bible Tale, Christ, Passion Of The Christ, Pilate, PILATE: A Brutal Bible Tale, rage, steven rage, United States

Who’d Win in a Death-Match: Shirk the Drug-snuffling Demon or The Bloody Chick at the bottom of this page …

    www.wordspace.stevenrage.com

 Chapter Thirteen

DOWN GOES WESTPHAL

Be Seeing You

Westphal awoke in his bed. Sammy was there, looking on with concern.

“I was dreaming of kittens,” he told the ghost. “There were dozens of them and they were eating me.”

“I don’t know about no cats,” Sammy told him, indicating all the bandaged wounds on his thighs, belly and chest, “But somethin’ sure as shit was biting da fuck outta you. What was it?”

“I got in over my head, don’t worry about it,” Westphal replied, sitting himself up in bed. “I went over to Steele’s and got dosed.”

He looked down at all the bandaged bites. They hurt like crazy, but they looked clean. Sammy did a nice job of first-aid.

“What time is it, anyway?” Westphal asked.

“It’s early afternoon, Westie,” Sammy replied.

“Early afternoon, then why the fuck you wake me up, Dad?”

“Because when they dropped you off, it was yesterday, Son,” he explained. “I woke you up cuz I know how you feel about yer job.”

What?

“I’ve been sleeping for a whole day?”

“Yeah, kid,” Sammy told him, “A whole day.”

“Shit, man, I gotta go to fuckin’ work?”

“Yeah, if you still want it.”

Of course he still wants his gig at Harborside District. They would all be lost without the money.

“Did you see a package when they dropped me off?” he asked, and then: “And my car?”

“They’re both here, Westie,” Sammy replied. “The car’s in yer spot and da package I put under da sink where yous keeps yer medicine.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Westphal replied with great relief.

He had to get ready for work and needed the extra extras. He asked for the coffee. While Sammy went to put the pot on, Westie gingerly stood up from the bed and made his way over to the bathroom.

He kneeled with a painful grunt and found the bundled package under the sink. God bless, Sammy!

Westphal opened the bubble wrap lined manila envelope and saw the goodies inside. All the powders were labled and the pills as well. And on the top of all the drugs he ordered, Westphal saw a syringe with a note wrapped around it.

He unwrapped the package and read the note: “Take me with you. Save me for later. You’ll need it! Shirk.”

Shirk. Now he was beginning to remember the film and the demon and Shirk. But he was on his feet, with his crazy memories of getting sucked by a beautiful demon. He also had a big, even generous buffet of powerful and dangerous drugs. Coffee was brewing and he still had his job to go to.

So Westphal grabbed some percs and popped them for the pain. Knowing they would make him sleepy, he went to his desk and snorted up some pre-work enthusiasm.

Then he showered, having Sammy re-do his bandages.

When he walked out to the popcan, he thought the bullshit was behind him.

Westphal’s boss, Mr. Whistlebottom, was waiting for him when he walked through the entrance to Harborside District Hospital. Oh, shit.

“What’s up?” asked Westphal as soon as he saw him.

“Let’s go to my office,” he said and Westphal followed him as they wound their way around and down to Mr. Whistlebottom’s office, next to their department in the basement.

We’re always underground, huh Westie?

Once they were in and seated, Westphal let his boss get started.

“You won’t be taking care of Mr. Mandiddle anymore.”

“Why’s that?” Westphal asked, hoping not to show his exultation.

C’mon, Westie, you know why.

“The patient is deceased.”

Westphal felt a punch to his gut, remembering the filthy scrubs he had Sammy burn. He began to wonder why he really did that, instead of washing them.

“Did you need to go over my notes, or?” he let it hang. Mr. Whistlebottom looked at him a moment.

“No,” he replied, “We already did, but you weren’t even here, were you?”

“No,” Westphal said a tad to quickly, “I mean; when did the patient expire?”

Expire. Just like milk gone bad.

“Day before yesterday,” he was told, “but it wasn’t due to his illnesses.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Mr. Mandiddle did not die of natural causes. He was murdered in a horrific way,” Mr. Whistlebottom stated flatly.

“Murdered?” Whestphal replied, the fear beginning to balloon in him. “Murdered, how?”

The boss picked up a piece of official looking paper. It looked like a coroner’s report. Mr. Whistlebottom read from it. “The patient was strangled to death by purposeful and forceful placement of a foreign object, occluding the trachea, leading to anoxic death.”

“Somebody strangled Mr. Mandiddle?” Westphal asked in a squeak. He nervously shifted his position and felt a panic coming on. “Who did it?”

“The police don’t know yet,” he said, staring at Westphal, watching him begin to shake a little. “Are you alright there, Westphal?”

“Yeah, sure, of course,” he told him. “Umm, uh what was he strangled with?”

“Well now, that’s the really strange part of the story,” he said, “It was with his own diseased rectum.”

“What?” asked Westphal, “Are you playing with me?”

“Not for a minute would I joke about something like that,” he replied, “don’t make that mistake again.”

“Yeah, sure, I’m not joking either, Mr. Whistlebottom,” Westphal tried to explain, “It’s just that I guess I don’t understand how that could happen. I mean I knew he had the necrotizing bug in his rectum, but how could he have been strangled by it?”

“The authorities claimed they found a pair of those long, curved forceps they use for tube placement on the floor, under his bed.”

“Okay.”

“Yes, so they initially determined that someone rather strong used the forceps to literally grab onto and forcibly removed his rectum and then, still using the forceps, forcibly stuffed it down Mr. Mandiddle’s throat.”

He shouldn’t have been mean to you.

“Well, uhm, uh – that would certainly do it,” was all Westphal could think to say. He was already thinking about how he could ask if there were any prints on the forceps without ass-squeak here getting suspicious.

“So, that’s why you won’t be taking care of that gem, anymore,” his boss replied, showing just a hint of humanity. But then: “The other longer-term care patient we would normally assign has specifically requested to not be cared for by you.”

“What? Specifically me? Who is it and what did I do to shit in their oatmeal?”

“First, you are not to use that language with me, ever.”

“Sorry.”

“Yes, you are,” he agreed, getting far too steamed up for just that comment, “Have you taken care of a,” glancing down at another piece of paper he didn’t really need to see, “Mrs. Fussbudget?”

She’s a beauty.

Westphal stared at him a moment, their eyes meeting. Westphal was getting dangerously near to panicking, but sucked it up.

He said: “No, I’ve never taken care of her.”

“Ever been in her room?”

“No.”

“Not even as part of an Urgent Response Team?”

Why would I lie, why would I lie?

“No, sir,” Westphal replied, eyes starting to twitch uncomfortably, “Never taken care of her in any situation. I have never been in her room, and frankly, before now I doubt if I had even heard her name.”

“Well, that’s what I thought,” he said, putting that piece of paper down and picking up another one. “But the family is quite insistent after she picked out your picture as the one who assaulted her.”

“What happened to her?”

“The police and in-house consul made it clear that I was not to say, just that there is now an ongoing investigation.” He looked closely at Westphal. “They also suggested that you be monitored closely.”

Oh, fat-ass, did you just make the list!

“What the fuck does that mean?” Westphal asked, incredulously.

“What did I just tell you about that kind of language?”

“Just tell me what the hell is going on here, Mr. Whistlebottom.” Westphal demanded, thoroughly red-faced and getting loud. “I suggest you come clean.”

Mr. Whistlebottom was dumbfounded and his own faced darkened. It was with a considerable dose of effort that he kept his cool, Westphal could tell. He almost felt sorry for the paper-pushing fat fuck.

“You are hereby placed on suspension, dependant on the outcome of the police as well as our own in-house investigation.”

“Starting when?”

“Immediately,” Mr. Whistlebottom replied and stood. “You can go home now. You will be paid 2 hours for coming in. Thank you.”

Westphal waited a moment for more, but that was all there was. He was suspended, without pay, and for what? Just because some wig-wearing old battle-axe that’s behind on her eyeglass prescription picked him out of a group of photos? Are they fucking serious? Well, fuck them, then, he thought, and the horse they all rode in on. I am out of here.

“I guess I’ll just leave then,” Westphal replied and high-tailed it to the office door.

“The hospital will call you to schedule time with the police,” he shouted after Westphal.

“Fine,” he said and opened the office door, where he was met by a large dude in civilian clothes.

“Are you Westphal?” he asked sweetly.

“Yes,” Westphal replied, and even before he could inquire as to what the motherfucker wanted, the dude punched him in the gut and then landed a good one on Westphal’s cheekbone.

Normally, that would have been the end of the fight. Westphal was more of a junkie than a fighter, but he was pissed all the way off.

He surprised even himself, and jumped on the dude and began wailing away on him. He had the dude pinned down and was trying to beat him into the floor when he was pulled off by security. The dude got up, bleeding and all, and got in a solid kick to the chest which spelled the end to the confrontation and Westphal’s employment at Harborside District Hospital.

You ain’t-uh workin’ here no mo’.

Clean-up’s gonna be a chore …

Filed under: alternate history, Amazon, amazon kindle, Amazon.com, American Kindle, Australian Books, Bizarro, blog, blog radio, blog writer, books, brutal bible tale, dark, events, events, paranormal, ghosts, Extreme Fiction, fiction, FREE!!!, ghosts, Great Britain Kindle, hardcore christian, horror, images, kindle, KINDLE and E-Readers, mature, mature audiences, medical suspense thriller, monster librarian, morbid books, nc-17, occult, occult, occult fiction, paranormal, print, print is dead, radio, religion and spirtiuality, serial killers, sexy bleeding vampire pics, sexy mess, small press, smashwords, somebody bleeding, street literature, supernatural, suspense, the grim reverend steven rage, thriller, torture porn, Uncategorized, urban noir Tagged: A Nightmare on Elm Street, amazon, amazon.com, Arts, bizarro, blood, books, Bubblegum, Business, Christ, Christoph Westphal, cult, DeMarcus Cousins, demons, drugs, El Cristo, evil nerd empire, experimental, fiction, Freddy Krueger, Fuck, ghosts, God, Health, horror, hospital, killers, medical, morbid, occult, Online Writing, paranormal, Paul Westphal, PILATE: A Brutal Bible Tale, Reverend, Sacramento Kings, Sammy, Shirk, Shit, Strangling, supernatural, suspense, thriller, Tyreke Evans, vampires, Westphal, Whitehead Institute

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PILATE: A Brutal Bible Tale by Steven Rage (Jan 5, 2008)

 
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You Morbid Westphal by Steven Rage (Oct 12, 2009)

 
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The Place In Between by Steven Rage (Aug 2, 2010)

 
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For All The Marbles by Steven Rage (Dec 30, 2010)

 
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Belly: A Brutal Bible Tale by Steven Rage (Dec 30, 2010)




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The Fall of a Blood Drinking Drug Dealer by Steven Rage (Jan 20, 2011)




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rage primer: Dark Shit from the Most Depraved Writer in Print. Recognize. by Steven Rage (Jan 19, 2011)




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THE FALL (a brutal bible tale) by Reverend Steven Rage (Jan 3, 2011)




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RAGE PRIMER by Reverend Steven Rage (Jan 18, 2011)

 
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For All The Marbles by The Grim Reverend Rage (Dec 30, 2010)




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BELLY (A Brutal Bible Tale) by Reverend Steven Rage (Nov 24, 2010)

 
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WELCOME to My BLOG. The Grim Reverend Posts his Darkest Imaginings…

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WTF You looking at? Just messing with you… WELCOME to My BLOG. The Grim Reverend Posts his Darkest Imaginings….

When You Are Shit-Weary of SAFE Fiction … ‘clicky-clicky’

Step Aside, Passion Of The Christ!, March 30, 2010

By A. A. A. (Illinois, U.S.A.) – See all my reviews

Amazon Verified Purchase(What’s this?)

This review is from: PILATE: A Brutal Bible Tale (Kindle Edition)

“This is a highly imaginative and entertaining story, and it would most certainly make a fascinating, earth shattering film!!! I think that if Pilate: A Brutal Bible Tale was made into a movie (or movies, preferably), we would see Mel Gibson crying, humbled, and worshiping at the feet of the almighty Reverend Steven Rage! Any film makers out there would easily stand to make a fortune working with Reverend Rage and putting his visions on film! This brilliant and inventive book is about good, evil, redemption, punishment, salvation, and the second coming of Christ (with disciples, Herod, and of course Pilate) set in modern times. Reverend Steven Rage’s gripping portrayal of good and evil forces the reader to see both sides with accurate and equal clarity. Unlike most stories based on Christianity, Pilate: A Brutal Bible Tale urges the reader to witness the evils and horrors in our world uncensored. The good Reverend Rage does not down play the evils of today, and he re-enforces the fact that there is no good without evil (and vice-versa) in this thrilling tale. Reading this book is maximum enjoyment from the very first page right on through to the last, and it will definitely make you hungry for more of Reverend Rage’s written gold! Pilate: A Brutal Bible Tale is so enthralling from beginning to end, that it’s difficult for me to say what I liked best about it, because there is not one single thing that I disliked about it! I think that what really grabbed me was Reverend Rage’s description of the Christ and the environment that She was born and raised in. Kudos to Reverend Rage for placing Her exactly where She would be needed the most! Another thing that tickled my fancy about the Christ in this story was that She did not condemn marijuana as a dangerous drug. She agreed with her disciple who said that marijuana is truly a gift from heaven. She, instead, focuses all of Her efforts into curing and saving the poor souls who are killing themselves with their awful and sinful plata addictions. (Plata is yet another creative Reverend Steven Rage invention based upon his actual medical knowledge of how the real dangerous drugs out there today will kill people.) Speaking of Reverend Rage’s medical knowledge, I recommend that the readers of my review who are unfamiliar with this author, his writing style, and especially his real life background should search “Reverend Steven Rage” or “Steven Rage” here on amazon.com or even google him. Read his reviews, read his interviews, read his own product descriptions, and again, definitely take the time to learn about his real life background. I, for one, am absolutely amazed that this is Reverend Rage’s first book because it’s just that good! It’s utterly amazing that he put this book out pretty much all on his own AFTER working long, hard hours at his job to pay the bills and support his family. Also, it’s amazing that there’s no major errors in this whole book! Everything is he writes is medically accurate, by the way. There are very few minor errors like missing and’s and the’s in this book. (Which did not slow me down or confuse me, incidentally.) I ask any review readers who are put off by a few absent words (Which, again, in my opinion are not vital to the story and not at all difficult to maneuver around.), to imagine how hard it must surely be to publish a book all by yourself while holding down a demanding job to provide for your family. Please respect this genius, hard working author’s DIY (do it yourself) status at the time this book was published. Reverend Rage did not have the literary support that authors like Charlaine Harris, Laurell K. Hamilton, and many other best selling authors have, though I believe it’s only a matter of time before he has the backing to equal those writers. In fact, I’ve read books by some of the afore mentioned best selling authors that had plenty of errors in their books, and I’ve noticed that no one said “boo” about the grammatical errors in their book reviews for these best sellers. I am confident that people will soon stand up and take note of Reverend Rage’s innovations, and he will gain the reverence that he deserves! This book, as it stands, is more than worth the humble price that the good Reverend Rage is asking! I hope that you will do your homework on Reverend Steven Rage, and that you will read his all of his books. I know that if you do these things, you will find that he is more than worthy of our support and your research time!”

 

See what inspires such devotion your own damn self!! ‘CLICK’ this shit!!

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