The ecstasy of agony, p.1
The Ecstasy of Agony, page 1
Praise for Wrath James White
“Wrath James White is the premiere author of hardcore horror. Period.”
Edward Lee, author of The Big Head
"Some of the ballsiest, most visceral fiction being written by anyone today."
Thomas Tessier, author of Wicked Things
"Wrath James White has more to say than many of his contemporaries, and says it more eloquently. “
Poppy Z. Brite, author of Lost Souls and Exquisite Corpse
* * *
“If Wrath doesn’t make you cringe, then you must be riding in the wrong end of a hearse.”
Jack Ketchum, author of The Girl Next Door and Red
The Ecstasy of Agony
Wrath James White
* * *
Copyright © 2023 by Wrath James White
Cover by Matthew Revert
matthewrevert.com
CLASH Books
Troy, NY
clashbooks.com
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
To Mom
Contents
Introduction by Edward Lee
1. Beast Mode
2. 99 Cent
3. Krokodil Fights
4. First Person Shooter
5. Seven Years
6. The Ecstasy of Agony
7. Big Game Hunter
8. Unsolicited
9. Blood-Soaked Savior
10. Blue & Red
11. Punk Rock Revenge Porn
12. The Bliss Point
13. Horse
14. The Devil in The River
15. Screams in Bobby’s Eyes
16. Eating With Momma
17. Big Brother
First Appearances
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Wrath James White
Also by CLASH Books
Contents
Introduction by Edward Lee
1. Beast Mode
2. 99 Cent
3. Krokodil Fights
4. First Person Shooter
5. Seven Years
6. The Ecstasy of Agony
7. Big Game Hunter
8. Unsolicited
9. Blood-Soaked Savior
10. Blue & Red
11. Punk Rock Revenge Porn
12. The Bliss Point
13. Horse
14. The Devil in The River
15. Screams in Bobby’s Eyes
16. Eating With Momma
17. Big Brother
First Appearances
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Wrath James White
Also by CLASH Books
Introduction by Edward Lee
In the realms of extreme horror fiction, there are writers, and then there’s Wrath James White. Wrath plies the trade of hardcore horror with the expertise of an artisan; it’s a hard business, and extreme horror begs criticism far more than other sub-genres. Indeed, every hardcore horror writer seems to have critical crosshairs on their backs. The chief complaint always seems to be a lack of discipline. “Oh, it’s easy just to slop pornographic violence on the page!” Well, yes it is. One time a detractor said to me “Extreme horror is just a bunch of insecure guys circle-jerking each other, trying to gross each other out.” Well, fuck you. Certainly there are bad examples in this field and, yes, some practitioners do demonstrate a showcase for haphazard writing and inane circumstances. Show me a genre that doesn’t have its clunkers. However, Wrath James White, for as long as I’ve known him, has delivered some of the most sound and provocative extreme horror I’ve ever seen. What younger writers don’t seem to understand is this: the secret to good extreme horror isn’t the level of extremity in the fiction but the prosecraft. Using just the right words and arranging them with deliberation. That’s what makes the fiction tick. That’s what makes those outrageous over the top scenes so effective. You can have all the maggot-ejaculating zombies you want, but if it’s not written well, it doesn’t work. It’s fuckin’ boring and stupid. Wrath, on the other hand, is a technician with words, and the mechanics of his prose are the ingredients of his success. He’s not just trying to gross us out, he’s trying to make us think about what we really might do if faced with the scenarios that the characters find themselves neck-deep in.
This ass-kicking collection includes what has to be the most ghastly, the hardest core, and the most wrong prose poem ever written. Its images of close-up and personal body horror are rammed spiriferously (yes, that’s a real word!) into the reader’s brain where they will germinate without relent, turning your mind’s eye into a kaleidoscope of 21st Century Hell. The concept is thus: addicts of the flesh-eating designer drug Krokodile are corralled into an arena and forced to fight to the death.
While they’re literally rotting.
Amid the poem’s frenetic energy and machine-gun bursts of appalling images, many readers might be inclined to ask: Isn’t the world horrible enough? Do we really need a poem like this?
The astute answer, of course, is yes. We need all that and more so that we never forget that it’s not all Facebook and Starbucks and Marvel heroes out there. It may seem like it. America has never been more selfish, narcissistic, and oblivious as it is today. That’s why we need writers like Wrath, to remind us of our oblivion, to remind us that our society is a malicious meat-grinder that can’t wait to haul our dumb asses into its choppers. We need poems like “Krokodile Fights” to remind us that shit like that–and worse–is really going on out there in the back alleys and unseen basements of this wincing, inexcusable, abominable and royally fucked up world we live in.
Oh, dear. That’s not a very upbeat beginning, is it?
Oh, well.
Let me add that this collection divvies up, in between the stories, more horror poetry that all goes for the jugular. It’s HARDCORE art for HARDCORE readers. I’ve never encountered horror poetry quite as powerful as this. And only Wrath is skilled enough to pull it off and makes us see what he’s driving at.
Now let me touch on some of the stories. “Seven Years” you might think of as Wrath’s gritty urban answer to Conrad’s “The Secret Sharer.” Wrath is known for out-right brilliant concepts (The Resurrectionist and His Pain, for example) and this story is a case in point. Every seven years, our bodies’ cells replace themselves with new ones. Well...what happened to the old ones? Damn, why couldn’t I have thought of that?
If ever there was such a thing as a zombie apocalypse, I’m pretty sure it would be grimly similar to “Beast Mode,” where common everyday interactions don’t change very much even when everyone outside wants to yank out your colon. Nihilism has never been this much fun!
“First Person Shooter” starts out with a couple of assholes stealing kids’ Halloween candy and turns into a morality play that ends in, of all places, a video arcade. The plot device of someone getting physically pulled into a video game (a’la Tron, for instance) usually doesn’t work for me. I just can’t quite suspend my disbelief. But Wrath’s take on this device is another matter altogether. There’s something about his stylistic voice and his visual writing M.O. that makes this scenario chillingly, uncannily real–it’s a smorgasbord of hardcore ghetto splatter. Our two protagonists (well, maybe that’s not quite the right word) are slowly metamorphosed into a video game that makes Grand Theft Auto look like Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. No one is safe in this game–trust me–not even pregnant women. Wrath’s prowess with words not only convincingly puts the characters into the video game, but it puts YOU there too. Wear a raincoat! I’m kind of ashamed of myself for being so giddy while reading this.
Quality time between father and son goes WAY wrong in “Big Game Hunter.” If you want to talk about a dysfunctional family, ask Stanley about his dad, his Uncle Mickey, and the tube of Astro-glide. This delightful little piece answers the universal question: what makes a sexual serial killer? Well, here it is, folks! Fuck...
In “Unsolicited” we’re treated to a threesome Wrath-James-White style. Holy shit, the things men do to impress women! And when Wrath wrote “Bliss Point,” I’m certain that Billy Graham began lurching out of his grave. He might still be lurching, on his way to Wrath’s house.
And there’s plenty more. This work is all spot-on, dead-solid-perfect hardcore horror. It ain’t easy writing an introduction for an author who NEEDS no introduction. Now more than ever, the face of our society is explicit, deranged, and abominable, and fiction that’s the most relevant must always reflect some of that reality. Like this fiction. Wrath delivers that reality by the bucketload and dumps it on our heads. He’s not gonna let us miss the big picture, because he’s got some things to say. Important issues like child abuse, racism, political insanity, etc., all percolate between the lines here. This isn’t Extreme Horror For Dummies–this material MEANS something, and we need to let Wrath fill us in.
Wrath James White has been doing this gig for at least twenty years, and I’m certain he’ll be doin g it for many more. In all that time, he hasn’t missed a beat. Nowadays, there are a whole lot of horror writers out there, but the quality of this collection just goes to show you why Wrath stands at the very top of the heap.
* * *
Edward Lee
Seminole, Florida
July 14, 2022
Chapter One
Beast Mode
Week 1. Day 1.
* * *
Went to the gym on the third floor. It took me a while to find it. In the four years I’ve lived in this building, the only time I’d ever set foot in the fitness center before today was the day the saleswoman walked me around to impress me with the condo’s many wonderful amenities. There were six treadmills, six elliptical machines, three rowing machines, a pulley machine, a couple adjustable benches, a dumbbell rack with dumbbells ranging from 5lbs all the way up to 110lbs. It was pretty intimidating. Probably why I’d never used it before.
* * *
I pulled out my new bible, BEAST MODE! 6 Week Body Transformation Workout. This wasn’t your normal bodybuilding book. This was supposed to build functional, practical strength, and endurance. It was based on the workouts of Olympic gymnasts, sprinters, boxers, and wrestlers, written by a guy named Adonis Namor, who was a strength and conditioning coach for a couple of famous Mixed Martial Artists.
I turned to the first chapter, titled “Week 1,” and read down the list of exercises. I groaned in genuine emotional pain when I spotted “Burpees” and “Mountain Climbers” on the list. Burpees reminded me of a sadistic gym teacher I had in junior high school who used to make us run a mile every day in the middle of the schoolyard, in the Las Vegas heat. I hated that bitch. Another likely reason I’ve avoided the gym for most of my life. Of course, there’s also my visceral hatred of jocks, stemming from being a certified nerd throughout high school and college. Anyway, here’s the complete list of exercises.
* * *
Warm-up with a 15-minute jog on the treadmill followed by:
* * *
15 burpees
15 mountain climbers
15 push-ups
15 bench dips
15 pull-ups
30 squats (with light dumbbells or own body weight)
15 crunches
Side plank (30 seconds each side.)
* * *
Repeat 2 to 3 times.
* * *
I made it through once, then promptly vomited in the nearest trash can. But I forced myself to do one more set. Then I threw up again. This time I didn’t make it to the trash can. Almost regurgitated a third time cleaning up the vomit from the gym floor. That’s when I decided I needed to keep a journal of all of this. Have I mentioned that I am a smoker (was a smoker), a drinker, and that I am 30 pounds overweight? Big belly, big ass, skinny arms, man boobs. This is going to be hard. I haven’t even begun the diet yet.
* * *
Low Carb, high fat, moderate protein. It’s called the Primal Diet. I found it on an internet search of “best diets to get ripped quick.” I liked the sound of it. There was irony to it. What it meant was that I could eat meat, dairy, and lots of vegetables. Only low-sugar fruits. No grains. No legumes. No sugar. No alcohol.
* * *
It said I should only eat fresh fruits and vegetables. Nothing processed. That was going to be hard under the circumstances. Luckily, I had lots of frozen vegetables that my ex-girlfriend had left in the freezer. Those would work.
* * *
Tonight’s dinner: Broccoli and cheese and two burger patties. No bun.
* * *
Day 2.
* * *
Woke up this morning at 8 a.m. with a loud groan and a few popular words of profanity. My entire body was sore. I took as hot a shower as I could stand. The steaming water felt good on my aching muscles. Afterward, I threw on some boxer shorts and popped in a yoga DVD. After thirty minutes of poses and stretches, I actually did feel better. Maybe my ex-girlfriend wasn’t such a kook after all. For breakfast, I made a two-egg omelet with onions, mushrooms, bell peppers, and aged cheddar, along with three pieces of beef bacon and a tall glass of milk. I read for a while. Wrote in my journal. Went out onto the balcony and looked out at the city, but I found it too depressing. Las Vegas was just one big festering pit of wasted dreams, wasted lives. Someone should have dropped a bomb on it long ago and put us all out of our misery. Fuck this town. I don’t know why I stayed here for so long.
I decided to hit the gym early today. Made it through two sets of exercises without throwing up this time. For lunch, I had a can of sardines in olive oil and a salad. For dinner, I had a 16oz ribeye steak, two hard-boiled eggs, and half a bag of frozen green beans. I need to slow down on how much I’m eating. Don’t want to run out of food. Working out just makes me ravenous.
* * *
Day 3.
Ran into the redhead from across the hall in the gym this morning. She looks amazing, but she talks too much. I don’t watch the news because I don’t want to hear about all the bad shit going on in the world. There’s never anything positive on TV. The last thing I wanted was to have to hear a blow-by-blow of the latest atrocities when I’m trying to get my workout in. At least I got to stare at her tits. She has great tits. She was only wearing a sports bra when she ran on the treadmill beside me, and her D-cups were flopping all over the place. I was staring so hard I almost fell off the treadmill. Made it through three sets this time. I felt like the redhead was impressed, though she didn’t really let on. I think she may have seen me staring at her tits. Now I feel like a jerk. I wonder if I should apologize.
Found some pork chops in the back of the freezer. They were shriveled and gray, completely freezer burned. No telling how long they’d been there. My ex-girlfriend was anti-pork. I had to have bought them before she and I started dating. That has to make them at least two years old. Probably older. But, beggars can’t be choosy. Had them with the rest of the green beans. They were delicious. Well, kinda.
* * *
Day 4.
* * *
My body is so sore I want to scream. Did three sets again today. I want to say it’s getting easier, that I’m getting stronger. But, I think it’s all mental. I’m just getting used to the pain. This time I ran with the treadmill on an incline and I used ten-pound dumbbells when I did my squats. The redhead was there again. Her eyes were bloodshot. She’d obviously been crying. I asked her if she was okay, and she smiled and gave me a hug. Then she spent twenty minutes telling me about all the horrible shit going on in the world, and her life in particular. I listened even though I didn’t really want to hear it.
I had a hard time falling asleep last night, despite being bored and exhausted. I kept having nightmares about being eaten alive. I could almost feel teeth ripping into my abdomen and tearing out my intestines. I woke up screaming. I did jumping jacks and burpees until I finally collapsed from exhaustion.
