Polish Extreme Read online

  POLISH EXTREME

  Edited by

  Edward Lee

  and

  Karolina Kaczkowska

  Necro Publications

  2019

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  POLISH EXTREME © 2019

  Edward Lee

  Tomasz Czarny

  Karolina “Mangusta” Kaczkowska

  Lukasz Radecki

  Tomasz Siwiec

  Cover art © 2019 by Roberto Segate

  This edition 2019 © Necro Publications

  ISBN: 978-1-944703-78-3

  LCCN: 2019947273

  Book design & typesetting:

  David G. Barnett

  Assistant editors:

  Christine Morgan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, or his agent, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a critical article or review to be printed in a magazine or newspaper, or electronically transmitted on radio or television.

  All persons in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance that may seem to exist to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction.

  Ebook formatting & cover design:

  David G. Barnett

  Fat Cat Graphic Design

  fatcatgraphicdesign.com

  Necro Publications

  5139 Maxon Terrace

  Sanford, FL 32771

  necropublications.com

  — | — | —

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Special thanks to Christine Morgan for line-editing the whole project.

  And special thanks for translating the stories.

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  Introduction

  Can of Coke

  Mother’s Milk

  Vomit Your Soul

  Pussy Plant

  An American Tourist in Poland

  About the Authors

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  INTRODUCTION

  To be hardcore, or not to be hardcore: that is the question. And here’s another question: What attracts readers to extreme fiction? Immorality or diversity? A corruption of civilized standards or an interest in progression? The lure of the forbidden or the attraction of the next big thing? Surely, these are interesting queries and legitimate ones. And it’s a divisive surmise, and that which is divisive, or polarizing, or schismatic is regularly thought to be a bad thing. Critics have been bad-mouthing horror fiction since the invention of the printing press. They say horror fiction is junk, pulp fodder for the ignorant, an insult to art and real literature. Some even suggest that it’s an aberration of decency! Well, to all of this, I say HOGWASH. Such stuffy naysayers need trans-rectal eviscerations, or a good ole sledgehammer lobotomy. Horror is simply its own genre, and if it were junk, if it were fodder, people wouldn’t read it, and it would drift out of existence. Instead, the reverse has happened. Horror’s popularity has never been bigger, and it keeps growing and growing. And with that growth comes evolvement, a branching out from the core, so to speak. Growth is good, naturally, and accommodating that growth we now have many sub-genres in this big pizza pie called Horror Fiction. Loud horror, quiet horror, middle-grade horror, psychological horror, LBGT horror, housewife horror (read “Bigfoot’s Big Dick,” if you don’t believe me. Stuff like that sells like hotcakes!), there’s even paranormal-romance horror! But amid all those pie-wedges, there’s also EXTREME horror, and it’s becoming very popular. Now, I’m not going to bad-mouth the mainstream, but for me personally, nothing can be duller in this day and age than the mainstream. Ah, and nothing can be more opposite to mainstream horror than EXTREME horror. Yeah, the stuff that busts open the envelope, the stuff that makes lightweights throw up, the kind of horror that DARES you to keep reading and promises to leave an image or two lodged so irrevocably in your head that you’ll remember them for the rest of your life. (The “counter-sink” scene in Michael Slade’s Ghoul is one such image for me, and so is the “daemon swineherd” dream in HPL’s “Rats in the Walls.” That story’s about as extreme as you could get in 1923!) My point? Er, what was my point? Let get myself another beer, first. Ah, here we go! My point is extreme horror clubs, coteries, and websites are popping up all over the world. Poland, Germany, Italy, Czech Republic, even as far east as Russia, and publishers in those once sullen countries are starting to pay attention. Good! A publishing Boomtown is on the way, and what it means is more diversity and more choice for readers. In 2012, I had the pleasure of being flown to Wroclaw, Poland, to be a guest at a horror/fantasy convention. (I could write about Wroclaw all day long—it’s my favorite city on earth—but then this introduction might end up longer than this book)! Anyway, during my trips to Wroclaw I quickly fell in with many hardcore horror enthusiasts who, like me, were tired of the same old thing. And wouldn’t you know it? Some of these folks were horror writers, and by their efforts, a bulge was beginning to form in the Polish horror market, a bulge surging out to accommodate extreme horror, whereas in the past it’s only been the mainstream authors. In fact, within the last year or two the very first dedicated extreme-horror publisher in Poland (Wydawnictwo Dom Horroru—say that real fast three times!) has started releasing hardcore titles, and they’re going like gangbusters.

  Hence, the reason for this book. Consider it a sampler of extreme horror from a far-off land—some wickedly delicious delights. It collects four tales by four of the best hardcore horror writers in the country, the cream of the Polish crop. It’s rough stuff, folks; it’ll do more than muss your hair, and I can promise you one hell of a shocking and morbid ride. Oh, and there’s also a novella by me included here, my first use of Poland as a setting for my brand of horror. I’m not Polish, but since I love the country so much, and since this book was my idea, I’m including myself too! What the hell, right?

  So here it is, my friends: a healthy dose of the good ole Gross Out, Polish Style, and I’m hoping it’s just the beginning of a whole bunch of sloppy, gory, low-down nasty horror fun to come!

  Edward Lee

  April 4, 2019

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  Can of Coke

  by Tomasz Czarny

  The heat was insufferable, the summer turning out to be stifling-hot this year.

  Even with the air conditioner switched to its maximal cooling mode, Meg could only think about holidays. She waited for her time of relaxation, when she would not have to cut any meat at all.

  Sometimes, she served the clients, but today she was in the back of the shop, chopping and packing the meat, cutting it with cleavers, to put it on trays and wrap it in foil. Then on went the matching sticker, and the meat went straight to the refrigerator.

  At least being back here allowed her to not have to look at Sloan Thad, the owner of “Country Delicacies.”

  Her boss was a gross man, forty-five, monstrously overweight and he never bothered himself with daily personal hygiene. He drooled over Meg every time he found himself in a room with her. Several times, she’d caught him in the act when he peeped at her secretly or stared at her ass. She presumed that in his house he was thinking about her when he masturbated. Or, eve
n worse, he jerked off with her Facebook pictures opened on his computer screen.

  One day, after hours, he’d started to mumble something to her. She could not hear exactly what he said, but she was sure that there were some sexual allusions in it. She told him to get lost.

  Her boss had seemed strangely nervous the few last days, and she could feel his irritation. Maybe he is unable to wank properly, she thought to herself, and smiled.

  Meg was twenty-one and goth. She used to wear fishnets, miniskirts and heavy make-up. The boys considered her wildly attractive. She had nicely groomed auburn hair, a healthy complexion, and a great, slender figure. Also, big breasts, but she was not proud of that; most men gazed at them all the time. Well, but she knew that if a girl liked tight t-shirts, she should expect that kind of reaction.

  Sloan had never commented on her looks, thought they probably made her seem even hotter to him. Once, while burrowing through the pile of papers in his office to find some documents, she’d stumbled upon a few DVDs of the worst, grossest kind of porn she could imagine. Pure deviancy, BDSM, hardcore flagellation, humiliation and much more wrong stuff. She knew this, because she’d “borrowed” one. She was sure that Sloan had wanted her to find them.

  When Meg had played the movie on her PC that night, she could not believe the things she saw. An amateurish movie depicted a young girl dressed in shiny red latex, lying on a couch and sticking out her ass. She was taking a dump as a man in a mask ate her warm excrement while masturbating. Then he started to beat the crap out of her, then vomited on her crotch and left.

  Meg had never seen anything sicker than this shit. She paused, with no intention to watch it to the end, shocked, convinced that her boss was one sick, depraved psycho

  Sloan was a scamp, always unshaved, always wearing the same stinking t-shirt, and always horny. He’d been single for some time; his wife having decided to divorce him when she discovered that he fucked every whore in town. He probably had no stamina left for her. Or maybe she liked it vanilla, with the lights off? Who would even like to marry such a dirtbag anyway?

  He also drank heavily. Several times, Meg found him lying in his office, plastered. Usually with his pants down. When he’d first employed her, he told that she had to get used to some things or he would fire her. She’d agreed, not caring as long as he would not touch her. Though she knew that, one day, he would not restrain himself. The question was: when?

  Surprisingly, the business thrived. Sloan was disgusting, but he cared about his job. He always selected the best meat available to sell it at a good price. People, even in such a rathole as Gatesville, loved the raw and smoked meats endorsed with Thad’s name. Even Meg’s own mother bought them, and she was really picky.

  More than once, Meg, while standing behind the counter, had witnessed Sloan rushing out of the back at the bell’s sound and turning into a professional salesman.

  “Good day to you, beautiful lady, how can I serve you?” He’d then start to talk his bullshit. “Today we have delicious prosciutto and Italian salami, too. Cheap and in nice, thin slices. Maybe one slice for a taste, yes?”

  And it worked. All those old ladies bought it. Really. That jerk had talent. Meg liked to watch those thirty-something housewives the most. When he served those hens, his last sentence was usually downright hilarious. He’d whisper something dirty, making them laugh, and the women used to leave the shop smiling. Talented asshole, that was all. From the back of the shop, it was easy to see him drool over those ladies. Pathetic.

  And the most surprising thing was that some of them even were even interested in him. Once, Meg witnessed a rather peculiar conversation between Sloan and one of the clients. After few words, he took the lady to the back, closed the doors, and, judging from the sounds, he fucked her mercilessly.

  Before she’d left, the woman took Meg aside for a moment. Meg had smelled liquor and maybe even weed on the woman’s breath.

  “I don’t know if he fucks you, dear, but he has a really large cock. You should try, if you haven’t. And the anal…wonderful. I’ve allowed many guys to stick their dicks into my holes, but only this piece of meat can make me cum. God, he ejaculates like a fountain! I swallowed it all. You must try, he’s a real stud. He licked my crack like a pro, that pig. Well, he asked me to jerk him off with my feet, but hell… give him a try.”

  Yes, Sloan Thad was up to no good.

  Meg decided to take a break. She went to his office, where the water cooler stood. Sloan was going through some papers, but when he saw her, he smiled lasciviously, like always.

  “How it’s going, baby? You’re cutting meat?” he said.

  “Yep…” She took a cup and she pushed the button. The water from the dispenser tasted awful.

  “I would let you slice me up for a can of Coke, boss,” she said.

  Meg usually brought something to drink to work, but that morning she’d forgotten about it. She could have bought something in the shop next door, but Sloan would not allow her to go out during working hours.

  “Oh, I’m really sorry, but you haven’t earned a right to take a break yet, sweetie. I’m going out in a moment; I’ll buy a six-pack on my way back. But you’re not supposed to get bored while I’m gone, understood?”

  “Yeah, right, boss.”

  “Be nice to the clients, baby, remember.”

  “I’m always nice.”

  “Reminding you will make no harm, yes?”

  After he left, Meg went to the back of the shop to portion out some more meat. She switched the hi-fi on, listening to the new Danzig CD. She started to shake her hips to the rhythm and felt a little better. She wanted to turn it to full volume, but she remembered that she needed to hear the bell ringing if someone came by.

  It sucks, she thought, but at least the pervert is gone. The day seemed really long and far from over. She had two hours left to the end of the shift.

  ««—»»

  Sloan returned after a while. She only saw him as he rushed by the butcher’s room and locked himself in the office immediately. He did not emerge for an awfully long time. Meg started to wonder if her boss had dropped by the shop and bought something to drink. She decided to check, and to ask him if she could leave a little early today.

  She opened the doors.

  “Holy shit, baby, you cannot knock first?” he screamed, raising his head from several lines of white powder on the table. Caught red-handed—with his nose all white—he looked at her with a stupid expression on his face.

  Meg did not know what to do. She was petrified.

  “What are you doing, you will stand like that all day long?” Sloan asked, waving the hundred-dollar bill he held in his hand. “Get inside and close the doors.”

  She entered the office.

  “Now you’ll have to snort some too, right?” He laughed out loud.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “And I do think so. You’ll do some lines with me; I will handle the clients if necessary. We’re closing in few minutes anyway. Don’t be afraid, I won’t tell anyone. You’ve done coke before?”

  “Yeah, but not too often.”

  Sloan used his credit card to separate one line for Meg. She started to feel uneasy, a mess in her head. She would prefer not to do it, but Sloan would fire her if she did not comply. He’d be afraid that she could inform the authorities about his favorite pastime.

  “Go on, Meg, have some. This is the best stuff, not that shit you can get in this hellhole. You’ll get high, baby, very high.”

  Meg kneeled and took a bill from Sloan. She snorted the line of coke and tossed her head. Oh my God, she thought, this shit is horrible. She felt like her nose could explode any second. Sloan started to applaud.

  “Good girl,” he said, “great. You know what? I have an idea. I think I will close the business a little sooner today. We will sit down here, chat like old friends. I have weed too.”

  Meg did not like the idea one bit. She placed herself on the old couch. She felt the coca
ine kicking in. Sloan left the office for a minute, probably to close the shop and to take a whizz. When he returned, he sat down next to Meg and took a joint out of his apron’s pocket.

  “And now a smoke,” he said with a smile on his face.

  “No, boss.”

  “I won’t accept no as an answer, baby. I closed the shop, it’s Saturday evening, we’re alone, me and you. Chill out, sweetie.”

  He lit the joint, inhaled some smoke and handed it to Meg.

  “No, I don’t want to, really.”

  “Go on. You will get high, we’ll talk, we’ll share a laugh. You’ll see. It’ll be awesome.”

  Meg gave in to his pressure. She took the joint and inhaled slowly, delicately. She coughed.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s what I’m talking about.”

  Meg felt like she was about to doze off. She did not know if it was the cocaine or the weed, probably both. Sloan approached the old phonograph and put on some vinyl record. Meg recognized The Doors after few seconds. She rested her head on the couch, allowing herself to flow away with the music. She closed her eyes. She felt good and warm, enough to forget about the world around.

  ««—»»

  She did not know for how long she was unconscious. She felt someone touching her face and it broke her high. She raised her heavy eyelids, to see Sloan jerking off above her.

  He tried to put his penis in her mouth.

  “Welcome to reality. And now you’ll blow me,” he said, his voice seeming to come from someplace far away.

  “No…” Meg moaned.

  Sloan did not bother with her protests. He held her head and tried to insert his cock between her lips. He hit her cheeks with his penis several times.