This is a short preview of a new novella I just finished. My paid subscribers are being gifted a free promotional copy (link behind the dreaded paywall).
Chapter 1
Patty Lee Johnson planted a kiss on Greg Earl Smith’s neck while he drove, causing him to drift his white GMC panel van into the oncoming lane.
“God fuckin’ dammit, Patty! You shouldn’t do that shit when I’m behind the wheel!”
Patty cackled like a witch as they narrowly missed a head-on with a passing tractor trailer, its blaring horn expressing the driver’s disapproval.
“I can’t help it, you’re just so irresistible,” Patty cooed. Her voice dripping with lust.
Greg pulled back into his lane, flashed a grin and said, “Well, ain’t I the lucky bastard.”
“Oh honey, you’re the best thing since sliced wrists,” Patty cracked, cranking up the volume on the radio. The van filled with the deafening sound of Black Metal, and the two love birds were soon banging their heads along to the music.
At twenty-nine, Patty was eight years older than Greg, her buxom figure a stark contrast to his wiry frame. Their romance? Born of a double-cross. Greg burned her ex-husband, Big Frank, on a drug deal. Shot him in the back with a .38 Smith & Wesson.
Greg, with his jet-black hair, tribal tattoos, and beady black eyes, was Patty’s dark knight. Their love was born from a deal gone bad. Proving once again that betrayal is the sincerest form of flattery.
Patty glanced over at Greg, now in a blissful state after inhaling a massive hit off a can of Reddi-Wip. She ran her fingers through her bleach-blonde hair and placed a hand on Greg’s crotch, giving him a quick double-squeeze. “Baby, have you ever killed anyone you didn’t like?” Patty asked with a smirk.
“I love everybody, babe,” Greg quipped, his voice a mix of pure zen and zero fucks given.
“What, you on some hippie peace trip now?”
“Far from it, Pattycakes. Far from it.”
As the van veered off the main highway toward Castroville, a tiny blip on radar near Monterey, a thick fog began to lift, revealing the outline of the town like it was the set of a B-movie horror flick.
Here, the most thrilling event is the annual California Artichoke & Wine Festival, but today, this tiny farm town was unwittingly hosting a different kind of spectacle.
At one time, Pentecostal tent revivals sprang up in the artichoke fields, and Holy Ghost fever was as common as the common cold. Desperate sinners found themselves surrounded in a carnival of fear as fire-and-brimstone preachers unleashed scathing sermons filled with visions of eternal damnation. With trembling souls, many sought refuge in God, much to the delight of local churches and their treasurers.
Yet, in the end, the Devil triumphed, seducing God’s Apostles into lives of sin and debauchery. They fell into hard-drinking, womanizing, and every form of vice, their greedy hands skimming tithes meant for the ministry. Their downfall tainted not just organized religion, but corrupted the core of the one true faith.
And now, the stage was set for a final, devastating blow to God’s town of Castroville. This once-perfect Christian community, like a ripe fruit, hangs in the balance, ready to be plucked by Satan’s unseen hands.
“It’s too fuckin’ funny,” Patty mused, her voice a delicious cocktail of amusement and malice, “the kids in this town, they play our music, but they don’t get it. They’re dancing with the Devil in their headphones, and they just think it’s neat and cool.”
Greg, breaking out a fresh can of Reddi-Wip, chuckled, his laugh raspy and broken. “Yeah, they’re like moths to a flame, aren’t they? They don’t see the big burn coming. Rock has the power, baby! It’s not just another form of music; it’s a summoning!”
Patty nodded, her eyes scanning the scenery but her mind elsewhere. “Exactly. They’re opening doors they can’t close. And here we are, just giving them a little... push... over the edge.” Her smile was thin and predatory.
Greg took another hit off his fresh can, the hiss sounding like a snake in the garden. “And when they fall, they fuckin’ crater. But hey, at least we’ve got front-row seats, right? Marilyn knew what was coming. She played the game, got her crown, and look where it took her.”
Patty’s gaze hardened at the mention of Marilyn Monroe. “Oh yes, yes... the Artichoke Queen of 1948. Our next girl will be just like her, but a queen in her own right. She’ll owe it all to the dark power of Rock ‘n Roll, though. Not some lame vegetable festival.”
Greg nudged Patty and pointed to a cassette tape on the floor, “Put that tape in,” he said, “I forgot I had it.”
“What is it, your latest boy band mixtape?”
“Never mind, just play it.”
Patty slid the cassette into the Blaupunkt tape deck, and as heavy metal guitar riffs pierced her ears, she yelled, “Hell yeah! This band is amazing! Who the fuck are they?!”
“Christ on a Crutch!” Greg shouted back, a heavy hint of amusement in his voice.
“Best band name ever!” she screamed, her laughter cutting through the music like a hot machete through room-temperature butter.
“That’s not the best part!” Greg insisted. “Listen to the lyrics! This is a Christian Rock band!”
Patty howled in delight, “Even better!” Her laughter turned into a high-pitched giggling fit. Greg loved every second of it. Her near-orgasmic reaction to the Bible-thumpin’ Rock was priceless.
Patty proclaimed, “Christians are so God-damned stupid! They’re never going to win this war!”
Greg nodded in agreement, his laughter now competing with Patty’s. “You know it, baby! They’re telling their gullible young people that Rock ‘n Roll is okay as long as you’re singing about Jesus! It’s one of Satan’s greatest triumphs!”
Patty raised her hand, her fingers forming the Devil Horn sign. “Hail Satan!” she declared, her voice dripping with venom.
Greg mirrored her gesture, throwing up the sign and feeling more alive than ever, feeding off of Patty’s mutual hunger for darkness.
Patty reached over and turned the music down. Her voice held a wicked anticipation. “Before long, good kids will be smoking, and drinking, and slam-dancing.”
“And doing drugs, and using curse words, and having sex outside of marriage,” Greg added, feeling a sudden surge of pride, knowing their evil plan was already starting to take shape.
Patty’s laughter morphed into a lusty growl. “And taking the Lord’s name in vain!”
Greg’s response came with a proud grin. “Ha! That’s the plan, ain’t it? You sick motherfuckin’ bitch!”
“Wow! Do you kiss your mom’s cunt with that mouth?” Patty’s laughter started up again, becoming almost a wild, uncontrollable scream.
“This whole thing is really turning me on, baby!” Greg said, his bloodlust growing stronger.
Patty’s reaction was pure, unadulterated pleasure as well, knowing they could do whatever they wanted without consequence.
The two Devil worshippers pawed at each other and shared a long, wet, French kiss. Their twisted game of death and destruction had only just begun. The dark void at the heart of human nature was what made their world fascinating–even if it was also a little fucking terrifying, even to them.
Chapter 2
Amber’s room was a shrine to teenage rebellion, the walls a collage of glossy idolatry. From the smoldering gaze of the latest Teen Beat heartthrobs to the rugged charm of older Hollywood hunks, they all watched her today, unblinking, as the day’s drama unfolded.
With a fervor akin to a Marxist revolutionary, young Amber Lynn Reynolds, all of 15, stuffed her backpack with the essentials: a mixtape labeled ‘Freedom,’ her diary filled with angsty poetry, and enough snacks to survive a week—or at least until her next meal. Her backpack strained with every added item, threatening to burst from the force of her defiance.
Amber’s eyes, usually bright with the naive sparkle of youth, now swam in the salty sea of teenage tears. Her parents, just minutes before, had launched into yet another boring sermon about the evils of Rock music. “If only they had a single cool bone in their bodies,” she grumbled out loud, the words tasting like last year’s Halloween candy.
Amber sat at her desk, once the site of Barbie tea parties, now the command center for her great escape. Her pen scratched furiously across a scrap of paper as she authored her declaration of independence:
Mom, Dad,
I’m out of here. I can’t breathe in this house of yours. Your rules are strangling me to death. I’m off to find where the wild things are. Don’t send out the dogs. Don’t pray for me. I’ll be fine. With or without Jesus.
Your daughter, Amber
The note was short, not sweet, but it was honest. With a deep breath, she placed it next to her record player, now a silent relic of an uncivil war just lost.
The window was her gateway to a new life. As she eased it open, the morning mist greeted her, whispering a promise of adventures unimaginable.
Amber threw one leg over the sill, then the other, and without an ounce of fear, she dropped into the foggy embrace of freedom, leaving behind the only life she had ever known, for one she hoped would satisfy the longing in her soul for fun and for Rock ‘n Roll.
The End of this 8-page preview
In many ways, I think this book version is even better than the movie. But isn’t that usually the case? If you're into dark humor and biting satire, and you're not easily offended, you just might like it… it has more Easter eggs than the Easter Bunny's private stash!
I want to say thanks to my paid subscribers! THANK YOU! Your support is a great encouragement and helps motivate me to keep writing. I’m not getting rich, but the gesture counts to me more than anything. SERIOUSLY.