Night of Novellas: Six Novellas of Terror

By Roberto Scarlato

A collection of novellas sure to keep you up at night.

Village Americana

While taking a class trip to South America, sixteen friends are ambushed, captured and taken to a nearby village run by a mad man. It becomes clear that this is no ordinary village. It is a village of slaves, psychological warfare, and pure terror. With nothing but her wits and the voice of her dead uncle to guide her, Brooke Kylee must find a way to escape the horror while still maintaining the one thing she has left: her sanity.

The Book That Doesn't Exist

Found inside the hidden compartment of a Studebaker, Henry Ward has just stumbled across a very interesting manuscript. Consumed by the daily grind of life, he hopes to find some inspiration. But what he finds instead will lead him into pure madness.

Thief of The Gods: An Area 51 Confession

A diary of a prominent scientist has been found, and it harnesses dark revelations to our future.

Fall Where They May

It was supposed to be just another quiet evening. But some things just cannot be laid to rest. Retired detective Michael Jakes is taking a much-needed vacation in a hotel he always wanted to visit. But when a body turns up and startles the guests, he wants no part of it. That is until a woman sits next to him and lures him in.

The Digital Novelist

Cal Cronin wanted more. Writing for more than twenty years, he's ready to hit it big. But when a new writer comes to the market in 2011, during the biggest ebook boom, Cal is not one to be eclipsed so easily. He wants to know who this mysterious writer is and how he is able to capture the human condition. Along with his lackey, Cronin will discover that the most terrifying thing about creativity is the loss of self that comes with it.

The Loop

Just when you thought it was safe to take the train...

It was supposed to be an uneventful trip. A three-day visit to Chicago to attend a funeral. But Eugene Pharrell has just stumbled into a maddeningly treacherous journey back home. One that has pitfalls, phantoms, lost worlds and, possibly, no way out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roberto Scarlato
• Release date: Aug 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386424970

Roberto Scarlato

Roberto Scarlato is an author, blogger and audiobook narrator. He writes speculative fiction, mystery, suspense, thriller, romance, horror and crime. Scarlato grew up in a small suburb of Chicago, where his love of a good story was cultivated by shows like “Alfred Hitchcock Presents” and “The Twilight Zone.” A bibliomaniac from the moment he learned to read, he began weaving together his own tales at an early age.  In November 2014, Scarlato quit his day job. He now writes and narrates full time. He married his high school sweetheart in 2010 and they have a daughter.

Book preview

For my Cousin Terry,

Here’s something you can sink your teeth into

Introduction

Well, here we are again folks.

No matter how many times I keep coming back to the page, I’m always amazed at the reactions; good or bad.

On three separate occasions, a reader has told me that they had missed their stop while reading my work on a train. First, sorry that you missed your stops. Second, sometimes the fiction world is hard to leave. I know that it is for me.

For some reason, I have a knack for conjuring up stories that are weird, out there, or otherwise different. And these stories are of a specific format.

The Novella.

I’ve always liked the Novella over the short story. While a short story is usually a quick one-off scene or two, a novella is like a short film.

I’ve always wanted to direct short films but never had the time or the money.

Or the actors, come to think of it.

But the imagination holds limitless possibilities.

The Budget is infinite.

The scripts are numerous.

And the actors always show up on time and well prepared.

Because of this, I’d like to invite you into a theatre, of sorts.

The theatre of the mind.

In this theatre, there will be six stories. They differ in tone as well as location. While one story will take you to the hopeless jungles of South America, another will take you to the suburban horrors of the 1950’s.

After each story I’ll give you some of the behind the scenes; what I was thinking of when I wrote the story, how I came to write it and why it just wouldn’t let go.

These stories are for the people looking for something that can be read on a train ride, or the bus, or a plane, or even on a long drive when you’ve got nothing to do in the backseat. (Except for smooching, or course)

So come on in, where every seat is the best one in the house.

We welcome you to the Night Of Novellas.

Village Americana

1.

Zach, the man who had led them to the hut, cracked the butt of his rifle on the Korean kid’s jaw, provoking a cry of panic from three of the others. This made him cock his gun and aim it at them. They fell silent, faces kissing the dirt, praying to mother earth for forgiveness.

"I said be still," Zach hissed.

The sixteen teenagers were separated by an arm’s length.  They sat in rows of four. The hard dirt floor was not kind to their knees. Three girls quietly swallowed their gut-wrenching sobs. Another girl, Brooke, remained calm, waiting patiently for the madness to end.

These teenagers had no way of knowing of the darkness that lurked beyond the rich, green foliage. They were unaware of the vile and hideous creature that lay in wait for them at the heart of the jungle.

The hut was big and covered in camouflaged material. Ragged streams of purple cloth lined the wooden support planks. In front of the first row of teenagers was a giant wicker chair, whose cane strips had become unwoven over time.  However, despite its aged and thorny appearance it somehow seemed darkly majestic-even regal.  But what kind of king would reign from this throne?  To its right, a wobbly wooden table held a few browning paperbacks, a blackboard tablet with chalk and a phonograph, which had been playing when they were first rushed into the hut. The song that scratched and popped through the speaker now was Richard Wagner’s Rise of The Valkyries.

From behind a dingy curtain, everyone heard the sound of a cot groaning as a weight was lifted from it.

A man with the build of a mountain stepped out, moving Zach aside with a pat on his arm. He was over six feet tall and looked to be made of pure muscle. His shoulders were thick as the beams that held up the hut.  His greying stubble was almost long enough to be recognized as a full beard. He wore military fatigues like the rest of his goons, but that is where the similarities ended. Where they were jumpy and trigger-happy, this man seemed to be the poster child for the calm that precedes the storm.

His name was Craig Hooks.

He walked over to the record player and lifted the needle, the record still spinning steadily.  He let it spin, regarding the thing with a grin. As he sat down on his thorny throne, he pulled out a pair of reading glasses.

His voice was a deep baritone. Morning class.

This greeting was met with silence as the teens hesitantly looked up from the dirt floor. Brooke noticed a line of medals adorning his breast pocket. One of them was a purple heart. She knew that one. Her uncle had been awarded that one. He left it to her when he died.

Hooks grinned. He gestured to Zach. Zach nodded, firing a warning shot into the dirt, just inches away from a kid named Johnny. He yelped, flooding his pants with urine.

"You will address the Lieutenant!" Zach shouted.

Brooke was the first one to do it.

G-good m-morning, Lieutenant, she stammered.

Hooks rubbed his chin, enjoying her trembling voice.

Together! Zach barked.

It was then that Hooks tossed his two fingers up and down to three beats, like a metronome. On the third beat, they all responded, G-good m-morning, Lieutenant.

He raised his arms out wide, like a conductor, pleased as punch with his piece.

Thank you, class. What a fine group of students.  He pulled out a well-weathered paperback from his pocket. It held dozens of multicolored bookmarks. Brooke could just make out the cover. In etched, golden lettering, she read the title: Animal Farm.

She hated that book. 

A delectable aroma of thick juices and tender meat permeated the air inside the hut.  On their way in, several of the teens had noticed the barbeque grills outside.  Hooks smelled it, too.

Sit tight, class. Lunch won’t begin for another hour. We have a very important lesson to get through, he said with a glint in his eye.

Brooke emitted a soft moan that no one seemed to hear.  This was the only release she would allow herself. After that, she would have to stay calm and keep her wits about her. She was planning her escape.

––––––––

2.

I’m sure most of you have come pre-packaged into this world with a silver spoon, blissfully unaware of how good you have it. I very much doubt that any of you have had to fight for survival the way the rest of the world has.

As he spoke, he wielded his book like an evangelist wields a Bible, the girls and boys his congregation. But in this hot tent there was no free will granted them, nor was there any hope of redemption.

This book, Hooks sighed. This book has been my life for quite some time. Now it will become yours.

The teens remained silent, but shaking.

Lo, I had a dream. One in which no humans could oppress or control us: a paradise, a new America.

Hooks rose, taking off his glasses and stowing them in his pocket. He paced the length of the first row, looking into the panicked eyes of the teens.

He stopped in front of a boy that Brooke had sat next to in Biology. He was thirty pounds overweight but carried himself well. He braced his palms behind his head like everyone else, and he was sweating profusely.

You, son.

M-m-me?, the boy squeaked.

Yes, son. You. What’s your name?

P-p-Patrick.

Welcome to the class P-p-Patrick. Hooks waved the book at him, You can put your arms down.

Thank you, sir, he lowered them.

Sir, huh? Respect for your elders.  I like that.  Hooks stepped closer.  Patrick, do you know what Animalism means?

Patrick blinked a few times, the sweat stinging his eyes. He was at the end of the row, the furthest away from the opening in the hut and the heat was getting to him. He took a deep breath.

It’s um...it’s hard to...oh God...please... Patrick stammered.

Hooks frowned. That’s hardly the answer I was looking for, son. I’m gonna give you one last chance. One. Explain, to these eager ears what Animalism is.

Patrick rubbed at his face and shook his head. I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know.

It means, Hooks interjected, that humans are mere animals with no spiritual nature. And if we are void of spirit, we are free to do whatever we please. We are the ones who will take control. We make the rules. And you have just broken one of mine.

He then reached behind his back, drew a polished metal pistol and shot Patrick through the left eye. His body jerked backward with the impact and he fell on his side, his blood steadily seeping into the ground. Some of it was also on Sherry, who was kneeling directly behind him. She screamed for a second until Hooks cocked the gun again and aimed it at her. Brooke bit her lip until it bled to keep from screaming, herself.

My number one rule:  survival of the fittest, not survival of the fattest. Fitness is mandatory for this class. If you are not fit, you are dismissed. Simple as that.  He jerked his head toward the corpse and within an instant, Zach shouldered his rifle, grabbed Patrick by the ankles and dragged him out of the hut.

Any questions?

––––––––

3.

Meanwhile, in another part of the jungle, a caravan of Jeeps rocked their way over uneven terrain.  A young man sitting in the back of one in particular tightly grasped a Folgers’ coffee can, fearing that he might lose it over the next bump.

Paulie! The leader yelled from the front seat. Why you carry that thing around with you all the time?

Paulie was one of fourteen Red Cross volunteers traveling together, bringing food, supplies and books to a few remote villages within this South American region. He was scrawny, with sandy brown hair and glasses.  For the past week, he had taken his spot in the back of the Jeep, always carrying a large Folgers can. 

It’s my father, sir, he replied.

Is that right? said Jameson, their leader. Why on earth would you carry his ashes around?

Paulie leaned forward and shouted over the noise of the caravan, He wished he’d had time to travel with me. I’m not one to disappoint.

What’s that?

I SAID I’M NOT ONE TO DISAPPOINT, SIR!

Well see to it that you don’t, son! You wouldn’t believe how many diseases there are in some of these places.

Paulie wasn’t sure if Jameson had heard him or not, but he didn’t care. He just kept his grip on the coffee can. He hardly believed in the afterlife. However, if his father was floating about in some ethereal plane, Paulie hoped that he was proud of him. Proud that his son was participating in something beneficial to others, one village at a time.

––––––––

4.

Three teens, boys and one girl, took this opportunity to vomit. They couldn’t hold it any more.

Hooks was not fazed in the slightest.

He took out a rag and started to polish his pistol, admiring it, blowing a few blood specks off of it. When he turned his attention back to his class -still on their knees, hanging on his every word - he locked eyes with one of the girls in the middle row.

Pink short-sleeve shirt, nice tits, thick hair. Very nice, he thought.

He barked for Zachary to bring the papers. Zach, diligent and steadfast, disappeared for no more than a minute and returned with two handfuls of papers, ID’s and passports. Hooks needed to find out the name of that girl.

She’s just too smoking hot to ignore.

Zach plopped the papers on the table.

The Lieutenant slumped back in his chair and combed through the stack. Let’s see, he said, lazily. Class of 1988, class of 88, 87, 88, 86...

He looked up, once again, locking eyes with the girl. She held a firm upper lip and there was fire in her eyes. He knew right away she would be a tough nut to crack.

Looks like all of you are friends, here on a class trip.

Hooks plucked one ID out of the mix and stood. He holstered his gun and walked forward. His hostages leaned away from him, some softly whimpering. To him, they amounted to no more than blades of grass in a field, which he would crush under his boots. But, lo and behold, he had found a daisy among the weeds.

When the girl saw him coming directly toward her, she held her stony gaze.

He stopped, the toes of his boots an inch away from her knees. He regarded his prey with fascination.

And what is your name? He breathed.

Don’t you know how to read? she spat.

The whole group gasped.

Brooke could hear someone breathing nervously behind her. That must’ve been Carla. They hadn’t spoken much before this trip, but on the bus ride to the campsite they sat close enough to get to know each other: trading stories of plays they had been in, honors they obtained, embarrassing moments they’d had with boys.  The simplicity of a previous lifetime. It was on this ride through the South American jungle that they were ambushed.

The silence was discomforting, especially as Hooks seemed to be memorizing every inch of her body.

5.

Where do you hail from? Hooks asked.

He scratched his nuts right in front of her.

She did not flinch.

Chicago.

"Chicagooooo, He beamed. I’ve been there, you know. Love their pizza. Can’t find anything worth eating that’s better than Chicago-style pizza. How I miss it."

Brooke said nothing.

That spook still in office?

What?

That guy. Is that guy still in office?

In 1983, Chicago elected her first black Mayor. Great, Brooke thought, of course, he’s racist, too.

"I asked you a question."

Yes, She hissed.

You’re awful sharp with that tongue there, y’know that?

Just then, one of the others began sounding off, uncontrollably. Oh my God, he said, This is it. Oh my God... He rambled on and on, his words mostly incoherent. Hooks rolled his eyes in annoyance, turned to him, gun drawn. The shot rang out loud, spraying a fine red mist against the cloth of the tent.

When he turned back to Brooke, he noticed that she wasn’t frightened in the slightest.  She was angry. He loved that fire in her. He wanted to keep her.  He returned to the front of the class.

I will take that outburst to mean you’ve all had enough for now.  We will continue this later. You are dismissed.

The teens stole glances at each other, but didn’t move.

I said now, mongrels! He boomed.

They jumped, scurrying out of the tent and into the hands of more men with guns, who led them to the barbeques.Brooke was almost outside when Hooks spoke again.

Not you, he cooed. She paused just long enough to look back.  Zachary took his place between her and the opening, casting a dark shadow over the room.  Hooks was...smiling?  You haven’t learned well enough yet, he continued.  I think you need some private lessons.  He nodded to Zachary.

––––––––

6.

She was led into the back of the hut, behind the curtain from whence Hooks first appeared.  Zach pushed her in, harder than necessary. She hit the dirt hard and bit her lip. She wiped her mouth, spat some blood and turned back to glare at him. The gun was aimed right at her head.

Stay, he barked, backing out of the room.  She surveyed her surroundings.

There was a writing desk. It was rickety and wooden, just like the makeshift dresser to the right of it, on top of which rested a small electric lantern. The cot looked well-used: sunken in, with a dull-colored blanket and a straw-stuffed sack for a pillow.

Zachary returned before Brook could get up from the floor.  He still had the assault rifle, always with a dead bead on her. But this time, something hung from the tip. A white sheet.

He wants you to put it on, Zachary said between chews of his tobacco. See if it’ll fit ya.

Brooke realized that it was a nightgown. A white, silk nightgown.

Brooke shook her head slowly.

Zach just nodded.

"You go...and tell that pig—"

Zach cocked his gun.

"Missy, you are going to wear this gown. Boss has final say so. If you don’t, well...I know you don’t want it pinned to ya. So, it’s your choice."

He moved the gun closer until the gown was in Brooke’s face. She snatched it out of the air before it could touch her nose.

A little privacy...

Are you kidding? He spat into the dirt.

She grunted in disbelief, turning away. She would do it quick, just slip on the dress, and then maneuver out of her clothes (but not my underwear!). She wouldn’t give the filthy solider, if he even was a soldier, the satisfaction of seeing her naked.

I’ll need the shoes, as well. Zach said.

While she dressed, she thought of her uncle. How she missed him. But, more prominent in her mind, was her uncle’s Purple Heart...and what it meant to her - a symbol of both his balanced wisdom and brave soul.

Hooks had neither quality.

––––––––

7.

Get back, Paulie shouted. Settle down.

A small smile spread across his face.

You know what I got, don’t you?

The small hands raised and the eager faces beamed with delight.

Yeah! the group of twenty kids said.

Here you go. Quickly, Paulie reached into his pouch and pulled from it a mass of chocolate bars wrapped in tin foil.

The kids went crazy for them.

Whoa! Settle down! You’ll all get one.

The kids scrambled and dove and snatched and shoved until they all had a delicious morsel.They scurried off, fighting and giggling over who had gotten the biggest piece.

Jameson came up from the med hut as the kids barreled past him, fingers sticky with sweets. He laughed as he watched Paulie recover from the attack.

They love you, Jameson remarked as he met Paulie in the clearing.

Nah.  They love gifts. Little animals, huh?

They’re alright. Anyway, their water’s filtered. We stocked them up on some good medical supplies, too. Looks like we’re gonna hunker down here for the night before we move on to the next village. By the way, Jameson said quietly, I moved your father to a safe place.

Thanks.

No problem. So, why you carry him around, again?

We never did many things together. He was always busy with his firm or off on hunting trips. Figured he can’t ignore me now.

Jameson nodded and patted Paulie’s shoulder.  Well, make the most of it.

8.

After Zach took her clothes, Brooke was left alone in the hut.  She stared at the lantern as she gathered her thoughts.

What’s keeping me here? Brooke asked herself. I could just slip under the curtain.

No, child, the voice of her uncle reprimanded. You need a plan if you want to escape. They would hunt you down and find you if you slipped out now. They know these parts of the jungle better than you do. You need to wait for nightfall. You need a plan.

So, she waited for nightfall.

As it grew darker, she could tell that little would be able to withstand the inky blackness at the heart of this jungle. She had been watching everything through a peephole she had made with her nail in a worn spot in the tent facing the clearing. Lying on her stomach, she peered out, memorizing the layout, hoping to find a weakness. She saw some of the men light two bamboo torches at the entrance of each hut. The huts were arranged in a U shape and the ground was uneven, mostly dirt and sand.

The men were still cooking meat, offering them to the prisoners. They looked sweaty and exhausted. Had they been put through their paces? It must be dinner time (her own stomach made a noise attesting to that fact).  One Henry Steward, from Psychology class, happily threw his plate on the ground.

A soldier marched up to him. What’s your deal, boy?

Henry said nothing.

You either eat now or you starve.  And I promise, tomorrow’s activities will have you begging for mercy.

Henry smiled wide, completely unafraid.

I’d rather starve.

Good for you, Henry, Brooke thought. Good for you.

With a quick hand the solider cocked his gun and squeezed the trigger.  A single red dot appeared in the middle of Henry’s forehead.

Brooke shuddered when she saw what happened next.  The soldier who shot him backed away a few feet. Even with his soul gone and his head shattered, Henry’s corpse was still smiling.

The soldier cleared his throat.  This is how we reward defiance, he exclaimed to the remaining prisoners, who did not look up from their plates.  The other soldiers left the body where he had fallen.

Brooke watched as her friends were pushed into a separate hut after they’d finished eating.  Maybe that’s where they’d be keeping them tonight.

She heard heavy footsteps and knew that Hooks was coming. She gathered some dirt and spat on it, working it into the tiny hole to seal it up. She got to her feet and dusted the nightgown. The dirt would not come off.

Hooks was carrying a box when he entered. Upon setting eyes on Brooke, he asked, Why are you dirty?

She said nothing.

Did you hear me?

You’ve left me in here for hours. What’d you expect? A blushing bride in white?

He nodded, giving her a grin and a wink.

The box was large enough to house a foldout table, two dinner plates, plastic spoons and a thick red bottle. All this he set up within minutes. He pulled two rusty foldout chairs from behind the dresser and set them on either side of the table, never taking his eyes off of her. As a final touch, he placed a silver candlestick in the middle of the table and lit it with a match.

What’s in the bottle? she asked.

"Port. I’ll pour