THE NIGHTLY CHILL
By Steve Arviso
Grand Ghoulish, Part 1.
FIGHT THE DAWN!
As the sunlit sanity of the waking world burns the night to ash,
embrace the unbound madness of your wildest dreams,
laugh into the endless abyss of your darkest fantasies,
and rage against the coming dawn.
The Nightly Chill is the unstable experience of the mind and madness of Steve Arviso (@AmoralCrackpot). Mon-Fri. Ish.
- WHERE STARS COLLIDE
- GRAND GHOULISH, PART 1
- TRACK OF THE NIGHT
We’re kicking off October right with a 1-2 punch of new content!
In the latest episode of the PulpBusters podcast, journey into the stars with WHERE STARS COLLIDE, a short-form audio drama originally released as part of The Nightly Chill in 4 bite-sized parts! Listen to it on Spotify, or use the provided link to download a FREE copy of the MP3!
And witness a whirlwind affair unfold, night after night, in GRAND GHOULISH, an original tale of twisted romance! Read PART 1 now, and come back every night for new pages each issue!
WHERE STARS COLLIDE
GRAND GHOULISH, PART 1
A titillating tale of twisted romance by Steve Arviso.
There are precisely two types of people in this world. The first are those daring few showcasing tasteful erotic photography on the walls of a small art gallery located in the sort of affluent coastal California “community” where everyone drives the latest model luxury vehicle, grows their own pot, and insists on charging their rocks by moonlight. (For the sake of legalities, the name of this particular town escapes me at the moment). Meanwhile, the other sort aren’t complete idiots. And as a man we’ll call Harold stood there in a mostly empty art gallery, staring up at a clock hung between a pair of before-and-after photos of a sticky motel room, he took solace in the fact that while his idiocy was on full display, at least nobody was around to witness it.
“Hey,” a voice said, shattering the silence and dragging Harold kicking and screaming back into the harsh, unflattering light of his own failure with a thundering lilt.
Harold turned to a pink faux hawk in horned-rimmed glasses and a pantsuit, started to scream something about phoney capitalist elites sucking on the teat of artistic integrity, then thought better of it. “Hey, Brennifer”
“Yeah,” he lied. “I think so.”
Brennifer looked to the empty gallery, then back to Harold. “Wow. Really?”
Harold looked at Brennifer for moment, wondering if the dead-eyed woman across from him sold either scented oils or pills when she wasn’t failing to sell other people’s artwork for money. Pills, he thought. Definitely pills. “Have we sold anything yet?”
She shook her head, Nuh-uh. “But if it helps any, I’ve curated worse showings than this.”
“No. This is probably the worst.”
Harold considered this, then briefly imagined himself running through the gallery’s glass storefront and cackling his way down Main Street until finally succumbing to blood loss. “Thanks, Brennifer–”
“I didn’t finish.”
Harold shook his head, Nuh-uh. “I was going to say, ‘Thanks, Brennifer, for stomping on the shattered remains of my hopes and dreams.’”
Brennifer hung her head. “Oh.”
Harold turned back to the clock.“It’s fine. I didn’t want to have to carry home what little self-respect I had left.”
To be continued…
TRACK OF THE NIGHT
Dream Warriors (1987) by Dokken
SUBSCRIBE FOR THAT WALK-OF-SHAME FEELING EVERY MORNING AFTER!
If you enjoy The Nightly Chill and would like to support my work, please consider supporting it via Patreon for as little as $1 a month.
YOU ARE NOT ALONE
THE NIGHTLY CHILL