Bits ‘n’ Pieces, my first collection of horror shorts, drabbles, and dark poetry, is currently on a Kindle Countdown Deal through 11:59 p.m. (Pacific) on August 4, 2020 (along with the three other titles from my imprint, Plumfukt Press ( links at bottom)).

These collected tales are not easy to stomach unless you’re a fan of extreme horror (and in that case, I may not even be extreme enough for many). However, most of the stories are relevant to current times.

One of those stories is “Greta’s Grandchildren,” which tackles the topics of climate change, neglected holidays, pedophilia, and apocalypse survival, with some heavy yet subtle conspiracy theory references (with evil, perverse men in power to boot!) sprinkled in. And here you’ll find the first two scenes from the story to whet your dark appetite.

Background And Disclaimer

“Greta’s Grandchildren” contains offensive and derogatory language and highly uncomfortable situations, as depicted in the excerpt below. But before you chastise me for daring to use such language and explicit descriptions/scenarios, here’s some quick background info:

“Greta’s Grandchildren” is about civilization in the US after severe climate change wreaked havoc on the planet. The survivors have penned themselves up in self-sustaining biodomes with the hope of healing the earth they reside on, so they can regrow the flora and survive outside their plastic cages again, ushering in a new, hopeful era for humanity.

At least, that’s what the leaders say. Of course, their intent is more malicious than that . . .

The worldview in this story is explained as such: “Prior to [the events of the story], there had been no restrictions on adult-teen sex other than it had to be consensual—it was a new world where population mattered, and the old world didn’t hold sway on such things.”

Please keep that in mind. This is fiction even if bits and pieces mirror reality. And all sex scenes are consensual, with the youngest character depicted in any graphic manner being a male, aged 17 and 51 weeks. (I know that’s still technically underage in some places, but I wrote from my point of view on that one, as I was having sex at that age like many males do. It’s drawing from experience, the woman is twice his age, and 17 is the maximum legal age of consent in the majority of the US in the real world, today. Thus, it does not depict pedophilia, nor does it condone it.)

I can comfortably say this story does not glorify any aforementioned horrific and disdainful behavior (quite the contrary – such behavior receives justice in this one). But you’ll have to read to the end to see if you agree.

An Excerpt: “Greta’s Grandchildren”

Tuesday, April 21, 2065 AD
11 p.m.

Oakley pulled out and lay there atop Tempest, panting. Sweat streamed in rivulets down his forehead, forming a large droplet on the tip of his nose that threatened to shake loose with each exaggerated inhalation and exhalation.

“Why the fuck’d you stop?”

“I can’t . . . fucking . . . breathe,” he gasped. His lungs burned like they had the last time he’d gone outside, almost five years prior: not like they were being depraved of air due to physical exertion, but because the air itself was robbed of the vital element.

Tempest smirked. “Young bucks. You spend all your energy in the first few thrusts because you’re so damn excited.”

He found a decent rhythm to his breathing but the burning sensation lingered. “To be fair, this is my first time.”

“Oh shit. I’m taking your damn V-card.” She chuckled, and her saggy, stretchmark-laden tits jiggled atop her muffin-top belly, which was likewise riddled with faint lightning-bolt scars. She shoved at his chest, biting at her lower lip. “Come on, get off. Lemme show you what a woman can do.”

He complied, flopping onto his side. The soil he himself had tilled that morning in preparation for planting corn glued to his sweaty skin as he rolled onto his back, lungs still on fire. It seemed stuffier than usual in the garden, far more than it had been earlier that day. But he supposed it was the excitement flushing him—it wasn’t every day a seventeen-year-old had the opportunity to lose his virginity to a thirty-five-year-old woman.

Especially in this world, where there were slim pickings.

Tempest stepped to hover over him, reaching one hand between her legs to spread her drooping labia apart. Without warning, she squatted, slamming her ass onto his thighs, her thighs onto his stomach, her pussy onto his rod. He gasped, the air newly sucked from his chest, as pleasure and pain simultaneously rippled through him.

She rode up and down a handful of times before succumbing to a similar panting fit he’d endured, her face also bathed in perspiration. “Jesus . . . You weren’t kidding. It’s hard to breathe in here,” she finally choked out. “Here, I’ve got a trick that’ll speed this up. Put your finger here.” She pulled his hand to her clit. “Rub it, like this. Yeah, that’s right.”

He followed her guiding fingers, then felt a powerful suction on his dick. “Holy—” His body went rigid head to toe, the next word on the tip of his tongue forgotten. Then she relaxed her vaginal chokehold and he regained control. He clenched his eyes shut, relishing the ecstasy shivering through him.

“Just like that, yeah. Don’t stop.”

His fingers mechanically worked away as she’d instructed, as she vacuumed at his cock: squeeze, relax, squeeze, squeeze, relax. He felt a tightness in his ballsack, a rush of butterflies in his lower gut and groin. Wow, this is just like when I jerk off, but more intense!

Her next words sounded like coyote yips: “Oh. Yeah. That’s. It.” She pressed down on his shoulders and shook her wild mane of brunette locks, her face twisted into a seductive, wicked grin. “Cum in me, baby.”

The soil seemed to stir beneath him, recoiling in tandem. “What? Hell no! You heard what Lupin said last week.”

“Oh, fuck Lupin and his silly new rule. ‘The oxygen levels are falling, so we can’t fuck anyone anymore because we can’t afford another living creature robbing us of our blah-fucking-blah.’” She drew in closer. “I fuck Garland every day and we’re fine—I can’t get pregnant.” She licked the tip of his nose, milked his cock with her pussy. “Cum inside me.”

His toes curled. Christ, think what Lupin would do if he found out, let alone Garland. The leader was a legit stone-cold cruel blackbelt, and Garland was prone to fits of anger as well. Especially if he found out I was fucking his longtime girlfriend . . .

His nutsack felt as though it’d been dipped in freezing water.

No matter what she said, he couldn’t go inside her. He had to . . . What had Carl Calloway called it six years ago, when Oakley had first and last seen porn? Oh yeah: pull out, pull out, pull out, he chanted in his mind, too afraid of the consequences of getting someone twice his age pregnant, especially inside their tightly regulated biodome.

Electricity fired through him and his testes sucked inside as he exploded. His mouth gaped, his lungs deflated, every muscle taut. His penis plopped out of her gaping maw and slapped against his upper thigh.

Shit. Shit shit fuck, he thought as his penis shriveled inside a cocoon of fluids, sticking fast to his leg. Fuck!

She groaned and slid off him, lying on her side. She ran a fingernail over his chest as they lay there bathed in sweat, panting as though they were getting a fix from air alone. “So, what do you think? Better than doin’ yourself?”

He nodded, eyes rolled back, floating—as if ants carried them across the prepared garden plot. This is better than that marijuana Carl got us a few years back, too.

“I’m glad I caught you jerking off, or this would’ve never happened.”

“Yeah, well, like we agreed: no one knows about any of this.”

“Well, duh.” Tempest giggled. “I wouldn’t tell Garland, that’s for sure. I love him and all, but I can’t see myself sucking and fucking the same dick forever, you know?” She sighed. “You weren’t half bad. Wanna do it again tomorrow? And the next night?”

Oakley’s eyelids popped open. Did he? Fuck it, I’m only a week away from being eighteen. And I’m bigger than both Lupin and Garland. Plus he’d been hardened by the circumstances of their lives: from nurturing and planting to watering and harvesting year-round since he could remember; cleaning out the Johnny (when they could still get outside to clear the shit from the plastic dome, anyway); the long scavenging journeys they’d underwent before the outside world became too dangerous to step foot in. He wasn’t soft like the others, the ones who would have been Greta’s siblings, who played videogames as children and whined and had needed safe spaces, social media, and constant approval. He could take them if he had to.

“Yes,” he said. “But next time—”

The tomato plants ten feet from their heads rustled.

“Shit,” she hissed, nails digging into his flesh.

“Go,” he whispered in return, propped now on his elbows, gaze fixed in the general vicinity from where he guessed the noise had come. The plants were mature—they were to be harvested in the coming days—but still too short to hide an adult. It had to be one of the kids. It better not be Azami. Christ, I’d never live that down!

Tempest tittered as though they’d been caught making out behind the swingset on the playground. He craned his neck for a glance at her thick ass as she climbed to her feet on wobbly pins. She scooped her clothes up, blew him a kiss, said “We’ll talk later,” and tiptoe-jogged across the dirt, onto the pathway, lost to the foliage and tree trunks lining it.

Oakley returned his attention to the plants. Red baseball-sized globes and thick, dark leaves glared back at him. All was still.

It was nothing. Just us getting caught up in the moment.

He chuckled under his breath and sat up.

Something rustled behind him.

He spun onto hands and knees, ready to shift to his feet and sprint away, lunge—whatever the situation required.

Shadows shifted beneath the foremost tomato plants, like tiny mice feet prancing along the surface.

He squinted and shook his head. They didn’t have any animals, and no rodents had survived the climate change fallout to their knowledge. Little fuckers, he thought. It was one of the youngest, the last birthed before they’d sealed themselves inside forever: Fauna, Iris, maybe even Florian. They shouldn’t be out this late—Lupin will have our asses. Well, I’ll show them!

He army-crawled forward, ready to spring up and scare whoever was lurking, watching, waiting to snitch on him and Tempest.

When he was about to pounce like a stalking lioness, the soil shifted violently beneath him. A soft groan whooshed inside his ear before a geyser of earth erupted beneath his stomach and showered him in grime. He cried out as dirt sprayed into his mouth, his eyes, up his nose. His world spun and he found himself unable to stand, the ground like quicksand as he tried to push himself up.

Razors sliced at his calves, the backs of his arms and neck. He opened his mouth in pain and a solid fist of dirt rammed in between his teeth.

As he choked, blinded and helpless, things soft as a child’s hands grabbed his ass cheeks and spread them apart.

* * *

Wednesday, April 22
4:22 a.m.

Oleander—the resident scientist, coroner, and pretty much every other professional occupation under the sun—stood, his knees popping. His bushy white eyebrows knitted together above his nose. “Even though it looks like it was violent, there’s no sign of a struggle,” he said gesturing at the pristine level plot surrounding Oakley’s body. “No ligature marks, no major bruising. Just some minor cuts and scratches, aside from . . .” He cleared his throat. “His death appears to have been self-induced, sir.”

“I fuckin’ told you the rules were getting too strict, man,” Garland said, pacing behind Stone and Lupin. “This is what you get when you tell people they can’t fuck. Especially horny teens.”

He’s not wrong, Stone thought, averting his gaze from the cadaver’s raw, bloodied mess of an asshole to the mangled cornstalk resting beside him. Globs of feces and gore glistened on the stem. The scents of death and fertilizer tickled the back of his throat. Moisture beaded across Stone’s upper lip and a wave of heat crept up his torso. He’d seen some shit before global warming had wreaked its havoc, but nothing quite so visceral.

Lupin spun and glared at Garland with his beady steel-colored eyes. “Greta would approve of my decision, I am certain. She knew our carnal desires should never outweigh our servitude to—”

“Greta wouldn’t give a fuck who fucks who, or who wants to shove something up their ass to get off,” Garland said, halting, fists clenched at his sides. “Oakley was as devout as any of us. She would’ve recognized that in him.”

“Doubtful.” Lupin turned back to the corpse, a deep frown crinkling his middle-aged features. “Only one tomato plant and one stalk of corn were damaged?”

“Jesus—one of us is fucking dead. Dead! And all you can think about is whether the crops survived?”

“That’s enough, Garland!” Lupin whirled on the scrawny twenty-eight-year-old, nostrils flaring. “Without our sustenance, none of us will live. Do not forget that we must take care of Her or she will not take care of us—we cannot let history repeat itself. So yes, ensuring the damage to our food was minimal is of utmost importance. And let’s not pretend he didn’t break the rules, or that he actually mattered. He was a damn good labor mule and nothing more, plain and simple.”

“Azami would disagree, I’m sure,” Stone said in a hushed tone, his stomach churning.

“She might.” Lupin’s smile was akin to that of a sleazy car dealer knowingly selling lemons. “But that’s why you’ll take care of her, like you always do, before we address them as a whole.”

“That was her blood brother, Lupin.”

Lupin tutted with false sincerity. “We are all family here, Stone—all Greta’s grandchildren. Blood no longer matters; only our servitude to Her. That is why we toil; that is why we changed our names in devotion, why we exist now. You know that. Besides, she won’t understand what’s going on. This shouldn’t affect her much.”

Stone clenched his teeth together. She would indeed be affected, but it’d be difficult to gauge how—she was mostly nonverbal.

“Just work your magic like you always do and make sure the little retard is calm before this afternoon’s meeting.”

Stone maintained a façade of coolness on the exterior though embers of rage glowed deep within. She’s not a retard.His fingers twitched as he envisioned them wrapping about Lupin’s neck. She’s special.

“You’re an ignorant dick,” Garland said. He stormed off, kicking up dust as he went.

Lupin smirked and addressed Oleander. “I think we have our first volunteer to be excommunicated. Perhaps he could wander to the Calloways’, check and see if anyone has survived the past handful of years?”

The scientist and the leader had a hearty chuckle as Stone stood at attention, ears burning, every muscle ready to unleash hell. He unclenched his fists, his palms soaking in sweat. It felt as though the temperature had risen ten degrees in the past few seconds, and the air had thickened, like he’d mounted Kilimanjaro without once stopping to rest.

“Well?” Lupin peered at Stone as if beholding a speck of dirt on fine china. “Don’t you have someone to wake and console?” He turned back to Oleander. “You smell that, right? We don’t have a . . . leak or something, do we?”

Without waiting to hear the sniveling scientist’s response, Stone wandered off to break the news to Azami, the cement of dread in his gut slowing his pace.

Read More . . .

Want more? Here’s the link to the ebook, on sale for 99 cents now through 11:59 p.m. (Pacific) on August 4, 2020. Enjoy.

Bits ‘n’ Pieces: A Collection of Horror Shorts, Drabbles, and Dark Poetry

Still haven’t joined the war? The Human-Undead War Trilogy is also up for grabs for a penny shy of a buck each. Hop into the trenches and discover badass vampires anew.

The Human-Undead War I: Dark Intentions
The Human-Undead War II: Patriarch
The Human-Undead War III: A Kingdom’s Fall

And last but not least, if you do purchase and read any of my work, please consider leaving an honest review (bad, good, or great) on Amazon and/or Goodreads. Your feedback fuels me.

Later, sickos!

JO