The Darkest Side of Midnight

By John Marchetti

You've been waiting …

 

Finally, after 20 years, master of horror, John Marchetti, brings you an anthology of three short stories that are guaranteed to keep you screaming with nightmares long after you put this book down.

 

First, you will encounter a grandfatherly drug dealer on a street corner of a busy city that has a moral lesson for all. He looks like Santa Clause…what harm could it be to buy a little 'go fas' from him?

 

Second, Harvey the Christmas tree killer, resurrected and re-written from a previous novel The Faults of One as a standalone short, puts a new fear into the how you will view your holiday and your husband in this chilling story of duplicity exposing the hidden dangers of prey versus predator in the world of marriage and secrets. How well do you know your other half? Better keep one eye open.

 

Finally, Bill Smith just wants to take his family on vacation to a paradise for some rest and relaxation. Buyer beware.

 

As a bonus join all the characters for a conversation in the whackiest therapy session you will ever encounter to answer all of your unresloved questions. 

 

You will love this book because it will tickle your deepest and Darkest Side of Midnight.

• Language: English
• Publisher: November Rain Publishing
• Release date: Feb 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201769611

John Marchetti

John Marchetti lives in the Philadelphia suburbs with his daughter and two dogs. He has published numerous short stories and written content/copy for multiple sources online and in print.  He is the founder of CAAPSorg, a non-profit organization that fights abuse and corruption and provides support services to human trafficking victims. 

Book preview

The Ravine

H ey man, can I get two for ten?

Huh? The old man asked.

Two for ten! You is a dealer? The junky asked.

The old man’s wrinkled face shattered into a smile that revealed perfectly even white teeth. Right ... well, I’m a dealer of sorts ... I guess.

Look man, you wanna play games, I’m steppin’. All I want is some go fas’ to get my groove. The junky turned to walk away knowing that he could get whatever he wanted from any number of dealers on this New York City Street.

The old man quickly reached out and gripped the skinny junky with his bony fingers. The junky was clearly surprised as revealed by the open mouth expression of his face. The guy had quite a strong grip for a decrepit old geezer. The junky said, Look, man ... don’t make me bust you in your head!

Now, now ... there won’t be any need of a head bussin’ here. I got what you need. Go fast ... that’s crack, right?

Man, how do you know what I need if you don’t even know what I’m talkin’ bout?

I know what you are talking about, son. I’ve been more places than there is time...

Yeah, well ... you look it anyway ...

Now, now. There ain’t no need for hostilities. I told you I got yer go fast. Jus’ step in’er my office here and we’ll discuss it. The old man indicated toward the dim alley that was pouring out onto the busy street with his free hand.

The junky eyed the man suspiciously. He could feel the icy cold grip of his addiction squeezing his brain. The most powerful craving known was the craving of a crack addict for a blast on that glass pipe. The blast that would lead to that ten-minute high ... that urge to go fast ... extremely fast.

The old man was staring at him expectantly with a pleasant grin of even white teeth set into his calm face. There was nothing special about this old man. He had nondescript features ... white hair, and dull gray eyes that were surrounded by graying wrinkled flesh revealing that his age was up there. Dead smack in the middle of his face was the lump of a soft doughy nose giving the old man a kind of grandfatherly resemblance.

Deciding it would be alright (shit ... if the old guy tried anything, he would just squash him like a grape -—even though he only weighed a buck himself; he could still mix it up some) the junky said, Okay, I’ll come wit’cha ... just don’t try nothin. Especially nothin’ homo like. I ain’t one of those kinds of addicts. I’d hate to have to do something bad to ya. I could you know ... ‘specially if you were one of them homos. I like my go fas’, but I don’t be suckin’ no dick for it now! As he walked into the alley he muttered, Shit... old guy’s dick probably so wrinkled he couldn’t find it if he wanted to.

The old man didn’t appear to pay any attention.

Once inside the alley, the junky noticed that it was darker than it had looked from the street. He could barely see the old guy’s face. He knew he was still there though ... he could hear the wheeze as the guy breathed. He probably hadn’t noticed the sound on the street because of the traffic noise. He said to the old man, I want two for ten; and when you give it to me, I’m gonna step into the light to check the merchandise so you don’t play no funny shit with the product.

Tell me, Son, did you ever hear of the ravine?

The ra – what? Look man, I don’t wanna hear no old fogey stories about things I can’t even pronounce. I got things to do, and I’ll get um done much faster once I get my go fast!

Oh, calm your britches, feller. I see you’re some cosmonaut that wants to blast off in’ner space, but this may save your life.

The junky turned from the old man disgusted. He didn’t need another do-gooder trying to save him from his evils, least of all from some creepy guy in a dark alley of the city. He said, Just forget it ... I’ll go elsewhere, man. You weird.

Wait ... slow your horses, Son. I’ll make you a deal. You listen to my little story, and I’ll give ya them two caps for free ... right after the story.

The junky stopped and turned back, For free?

Yes, sir. I will.

Free drugs for a junky is just too much to bear. Feigning thought for a second, knowing no junky in his right mind would pass up a deal like this but not wanting to appear too desperate, he finally said, Alright, I’ll listen. But, if you attach any strings on the end, I’m gonna beat the wrinkles out of your old ass. And you better make it quick ... I ain’t got all day.

I told you, no need for hostilities. No strings after I tell my story... if you still want yer uh ... go fast, then I will give ya the best ya ever did have.

Well quit jawin’ and start talk’in, then. Like I said, I ain’t got all day.

Okay, okay ... don’t rush me now. Where was I ... oh, yes ... that’s right. The old man cleared his throat and began ...

"IT ALL STARTED BEFORE that fella Christopher Columbus came here and ruined things for the Indians. Well, I know he didn’t go to New Mexico, or even the United States, but he started it all so might as well blame him. Okay, out in New Mexico there was this Indian tribe. I forget its name... Wapitee, Hoppitee, Watusi, or Rigamarole. One of them hard to say names. But, anyway, they liked to live the fast life. Oh, you name it ... gambling, prostitution, boozing, kidnapping other tribe’s women, daily scalping’s, and plenty of torture to keep everyone happy.

Well, naturally this tribe was led by a chief. A well-hung stud I suppose on account that he had fourteen children. Everyone knows that no woman wants to be pregnant that long unless she is really enjoying herself on the ol’ hobby horse. You know they didn’t even have condoms back then ...

The junky just nodded his head and listened.

"Well, this chief had a real honey of a daughter. Yes, Sir ... she was a real looker. Every warrior in the tribe wanted to bang the nuts off of her, but she couldn’t take just anybody because she was a princess. It all had something to do with honor, I guess. She had to remain pure for the best in the tribe. The warriors would have some kind of competition to the death to vie for her hand. Only the fittest survived...usually.

In this particular tribe there was this one really wimpy Indian that everybody called Squatto. See, the thing is, Squatto was really sharp upstairs. The old man tapped a thick finger on his temple. "He always took on every challenge he came across, and he always succeeded in everything he did. He even liked the peyote a little much for most Indian’s tastes so when he challenged the toughest warrior of the tribe it was no surprise that everyone laughed thinking that he was high!

"But he wasn’t. Now, his competitor was no joke, mind you. He was as big as he was mean and there were a lot of stories about him. One in particular was that he had fallen into a pool of piranha and when the fish attacked, he grabbed the biggest one and bit the head right off of it. After that all the other piranhas had left him alone. In fact, it was even said that he bathed regularly in the piranha pools from that day on. His name was Angry Bull. I can’t pronounce the Indian name for it, but it was said that he liked the peyote even more than Squatto, and his name matched his attitude and physicality, if you get what I mean.  

"The chief set the standards for the upcoming marriage contest, and it was set to start with the usual ferocious hunt. Then there would be some physical challenges and games. There was only one stipulation to this contest...The chief had decided that since Angry Bull was so much bigger than Squatto then they would not have to fight each other in the end, as the final death bout. This was the first time in tribal history that both men had a chance to live after a wedding competition and we never did find out if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Well, Angry Bull and Squatto went out on the hunt. When they returned, Angry Bull only had a pitiful hyena to present to the Chief, whereas Squatto had returned with the hide of an albino buffalo, the grandest of all treasures. Squatto was so puny that all of the other Indians were amazed at how he could have possibly done this, for all they knew he could have made some bleach and bleached the hide of one that he had found already dead in the prairie. Even still, nobody questioned Squatto’s integrity when he claimed the animal as his kill even though it so big and he was so small that he could not possibly bring the whole animal back.  He said he skinned it right on the field and they took him at his word. Partying and hoopla were the theme of this tribe, but so was integrity.

"The one thing that had impressed the Chief most was that he knew that this hide must have belonged to the animal that was the spirit guide to the Chief’s archrival...some Chief from another tribe with an unpronounceable name. There was only one animal like this in all of the lands. The slaughter of this animal meant that the other Chief lacked guidance and power and could easily be defeated in war. Certainly, any man that could defeat a spirit guide would bring great power to his family and thus must marry his daughter. Seeing that Squatto was so puny, this gave the Chief much concern as to whether he would be capable of passing the rest of the tests, so he made the rest of the tests easy. The fix was in at the highest levels. Apparently, the integrity didn’t start at the top. The marriage conquest was made of many tests. In one of the tests, the two competitors had to cross a hot bed of coals. Angry Bull stepped out on the coals and only made it halfway across before jumping off. Now getting all the way across really wasn’t the issue; it