Midnight Special by Phoef Sutton

Author:Phoef Sutton [Sutton, Phoef]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Supernatural Thriller, Fiction
ISBN: 9781611095067
Publisher: AmazonEncore
Published: 2012-06-26T00:00:00+00:00

Eva spread a blanket on the ground, as if they were having a picnic in a park. The crowd, once it was let in, filled the rolling hills like a fog. Barnabas sat in among them, a part of them, but separate. Matt marveled at the way he seemed to ride above the throng, passing his hands through them like the pope in Vatican Square. They worshipped him, Matt realized, and the thought made him feel a little sick in the pit of his stomach.

Barnabas cracked open a bottle of Craftsman beer and took a long drink from it. He leaned back on a headstone and sighed. “Isn’t it a beautiful night, Darren?”

Matt looked around. There was no one named Darren in the immediate vicinity. Just Eva stretched out over a grave like it was a tanning bed and Flint, carrying a basket of chicken and waffles out of the hearse. The running sores in Flint’s eyes were getting worse.

“Who’s Darren?” Matt asked.

“Darren McGavin. You know, Kolchak, The Night Stalker.” Barnabas reached behind himself and tapped the gravestone that he was resting on. It was a tall piece of marble, and over Barnabas’s head Matt could read the name etched in it. It looked familiar.

“He was the father in A Christmas Story, right?” Matt said.

“OK, we’ll accept that,” Barnabas said, sounding aggrieved. “All the Hollywood luminaries are buried here. DeMille. Valentino. Douglas Fairbanks. Junior and Senior. Mel Blanc. Peter Lorre. Even Johnny Ramone. I’m going to be buried over there. If I ever die.”

Matt took his duffel bag out and propped it up underneath himself—somehow he didn’t think it was right to use a headstone as a pillow.

Flint put the basket down in front of Barnabas and cleared his throat. He was obviously bringing up a touchy subject. “So, Barney…did you ever get the chance to read that new draft I did on my screenplay? You’ve had it for a couple of weeks now. Do you have any notes?”

“I said I’d get to it!” Barnabas snapped. The rudeness of his tone was palpable to Matt. Matt would never talk that way to someone who had just brought him a basket of chicken and waffles.

“He thinks I have nothing to do but read his shitty spec screenplays,” Barnabas said, laughing to Matt, as if Matt would understand, even though Matt didn’t know what a spec screenplay was, let alone what notes were.

“As a matter of fact, I did read it,” Barnabas went on. “It has promise, but, man, the third act still feels like I’ve wiped my ass with it a million times. It’s so predictable! You know what it reads like? A fucking Lifetime made-for-TV movie! I’d have flushed it down the toilet if it wouldn’t have stopped up the drain with its clichés!”

Flint blinked at him. One of the maggots in his right eye popped out and jumped down his cheek as his eyelid snapped shut. “OK,” he said, “but you think it has promise, right? If I work on it, you’ll read it again?”

“I suppose.

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