Midnight Horror Show by Ben Lathrop

Release date: September 25, 2020

Subgenre: Horror

About Midnight Horror Show:

 

It’s end of October 1985 and the crumbling river town of Dubois, Iowa is shocked by the gruesome murder of one of the pillars of the community. Detective David Carlson has no motive, no evidence, and only one lead: the macabre local legend of “Boris Orlof,” a late night horror movie host who burned to death during a stage performance at the drive-in on Halloween night twenty years ago and the teenage loner obsessed with keeping his memory alive.

The body count is rising and the darkness that hangs over the town grows by the hour. Time is running out as Carlson desperately chases shadows into a nightmare world of living horrors.

On Halloween the drive-in re-opens at midnight for a show no one will ever forget.

Proudly brought to you by Crystal Lake Publishing—Tales from The Darkest Depths.

 

Excerpt:

 

Tuesday, October 22, 1985

A searing white flash of sound burned my dream away. In an instant, nothing remained but shadows and dread and shame. I’d swatted at my clock radio out of instinct, but the noise didn’t stop. As my brain struggled to catch up, I crawled over to the edge of the bed and read 4:21 a.m. in radium painted numbers. The dark of my room felt darker than it should, and there was a smell in the air I didn’t like. I picked up the telephone receiver from the edge of the nightstand.

“Dave,” a familiar voice on the other end said gently. “We need you at 19 Halverson as soon as you can.”

I looked at the clock again, and rubbed at the gunk that had settled in the corners of my eyes. “Okay, Chief.”

“Leave your radio off… It’s a bad one, Dave.”

The line went dead and I hung up the receiver. I stumbled over to the shower in the dark and dunked my head under running water for a minute and then ran a comb through my hair and dug around for a clean looking shirt and pair of pants. I eased my shoulder rig on, holstered my .38, and then finished getting dressed before I headed out.

I carried my shoes with me down the stairs and put them on when I made it to the porch. My landlady lived on the ground floor of the house and I didn’t want to wake her if I could help it. I slid into my car, an unmarked ’78 Caprice, and reached for the radio to call in before I remembered the chief's instructions.

With a little coaxing, the Caprice started and I eased it into the street. The car had been new when I was assigned as the head of the Investigative Unit, a storied and illustrious law enforcement team that, to date, had been a one man operation since the chief created it that same year. Wisps of fog snaked off the pavement as I made my way towards Black Hawk Road. The sun wouldn’t be up for a couple of hours.

The Amoco station sign flickered to life as I drove past, casting long shadows across the parking lot of the Sirloin Stockade. The streets were deserted; shift change at the IFI meat processing plant wouldn’t be for another two hours. Around then, you’d see a few more cars headed to the plant, but not as many driving away. After a night of turning livestock into groceries, most of those guys stopped off at the Rail Spike Tap for an hour or two before heading home. Place is a dump, but it’s cheap and right by the plant. My first week in town, I went in there early to serve a bench warrant to the owner. First thing I saw was one fella face down on the floor and another guy, covered in blood up to his armpits, standing over him. I drew my weapon immediately and told him to put his hands on his head. He could barely do it without falling over. The rest of the bar’s early morning patrons had a good laugh, and that’s when I noticed none of them had bothered to wash up after clocking out either. “Welcome to Dubois,” they said.

 

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About Ben Lathrop: 

 Ben Lathrop has written and taught on the history of cinema with a focus on the horror genre and cult audience behavior. He is a native Iowan, former television horror host and present librarian. He lives with his family in Cincinnati, Ohio.