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    Come The Night
    Come The Night
    Come The Night
    Ebook100 pages1 hour

    Come The Night

    By Ian Watson

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    About this ebook

    From the author of Midnight Spookshow - 8 weird stories inspired by exploitation cinema.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherIan Watson
    Release dateOct 18, 2016
    ISBN9781370876822
    Come The Night
    Author

    Ian Watson

    Ian Watson is the author of the #1 bestseller Midnight Movie Madness, a 400+ page guide to such bizarre, campy and endearing classics as Reefer Madness, Attack of the 50ft Woman and Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead.

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      Book preview

      Come The Night - Ian Watson

      Come The Night

      By

      Ian Watson

      Copyright 2016 Ian Watson

      Published At Smashwords

      ***

      License Notes

      This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook 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 you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      ***

      By The Same Author

      MIDNIGHT SPOOKSHOW

      WATCHING PORN WITH LEATHERFACE

      BLOOD SEX & SCOOBY SNACKS

      MIDNIGHT MOVIE MADNESS

      SICK IN THE HEAD

      ***

      Part 1

      FATHERS’ DAY

      On Fathers’ Day, Craig Friedman flew Boston-Houston and took a cab into Dallas. The cabbie was quiet for most of the journey, sizing him up in the rear-view mirror. Wondering if Craig was who he thought he was.

      Craig avoided eye contact, secretly enjoying the attention. He didn’t say anything until they neared Dallas, then he started making chitchat, asking if there was anywhere good to eat. It was the excuse the cabbie had been waiting for.

      You’re Richard Friedman’s boy, ain’t you? the guy said. Look just like him.

      What’s it to you?

      Been wondering, the cabbie said, and shrugged. You here for Fathers’ Day?

      That’s right.

      Is it a, ah, social visit?

      Strictly business.

      Good for you. The cabbie looked satisfied. Lot of people be glad to hear that.

      I know, Craig said.

      He paid and walked to the diner the cabbie told him about, which had emptied by the time he arrived. There was just one waitress, cleaning tables. Darla. The cabbie said she knew all there was to know about Richard Friedman.

      Craig introduced himself, which was all the incentive she needed to let rip. He listened as she tore into his old man, even though the details were familiar. They’d been shocking at first, but repetition had dulled the effect.

      You can’t be his boy, Darla said. You’re too decent. When’d you last see him?

      Craig shrugged. Maybe eight years, maybe more.

      Remember much?

      Enough.

      Well, he’s had plenty fun in the meantime. He likes to carouse, your daddy. Likes to sow his oats. Except he’s also careless, you know? Doesn’t let other people’s problems bother him, even if he’s the one caused them. She thought a while, and said: Somebody musta taken you away early enough.

      My mother, Craig said.

      She sounds like a good woman.

      She was. A few months back, she passed.

      Sorry to hear that. Your daddy attend the funeral?

      Craig said nothing.

      She met his gaze, and said, You know, it’s Fathers’ Day. Got something special planned?

      Yes, Craig said.

      She smiled. Have a good one, you hear?

      It was mid-afternoon when Craig left the diner and walked to the Holiday Inn. In a perfect world, his father would’ve given him up by now, maybe started drinking already.

      He rapped on the door of cabin 108 five times, his signature knock, and as the girl let him in, he saw how she’d changed after living with a bully. There were bags under her eyes. She seemed submissive, dour.

      Were you followed?

      Craig shook his head.

      She shrugged. Her name was Sally, she wasn’t yet twenty, but already Richard Friedman had sucked the life right out of her.

      Craig said, He hit you again?

      She sighed.

      Does he suspect anything?

      I don’t think so. He’s been waiting for you all day, she said. He’s rented a little place in Austin, but everything’s in my name. I don’t think he’s even left it during daylight. You know, you’re all he’s spoken about this past month.

      Good, Craig said. How long to get there?

      It took two hours.

      Craig stared at an eight-bed, three-bath Meditteranean-style house with pale-yellow walls, a Porsche in the drive. A little place, he thought. He was speculating where the money had come from when Sally spoke up, shattering his reverie.

      He’s likely dead drunk by now, she said. He usually starts before five p.m.

      Craig checked his watch, then looked at the house. No lights were on, no TV. He opened the glove compartment.

      As he reached inside, Sally said, This wasn’t always legal on Fathers’ Day, was it?

      Craig didn’t respond.

      He left the car and began walking towards the house, cocking back the hammer on his father’s present as he did so.

      Part 2

      LEATHERFACE’S REQUIEM

      The sessions were supposed to be about confronting your demons, defeating them and moving onward, toward the light at the end of the tunnel or whatever, but as he watched his friends humiliate themselves for the umpteenth time, Leatherface had never wanted a drink more badly in his life.

      Setting his decaffeinated coffee aside, he laced his fingers across his chest and

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