"Midnight Snack" - January 30, 2025
Eating late at night can be hazardous to your health...
Every Thursday, Silver Gecko Publishing highlights one of my stories, either a work of short fiction, a novel, or an audiobook. This week’s selection is the short story “Midnight Snack,” from the anthology 13 MORE TURNS, available on Kindle, on audiobook, and in paperback.
This is one of the oldest stories in my batch. It’s a goofy little bait-and-switch tale that plays more as a punch line than a narrative. I will be the first to admit, this is a bit cheeky, and it’s not the most mature, complex piece. However, as someone who has been known to indulge in his own midnight snacks from time to time (usually without any ill nightmare effects), I still enjoyed developing it.
Enjoy this story in its 1200-word entirety, for the pulp that it is, as you would a midnight snack.
-Kevin Carr
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Illustration by Heribertoaguirrefotograf (@Heribertoaguirrefotograf) from Pixabay
Midnight Snack by Kevin Carr
Knowing full well that the monsters would come, Herb raised the Dagwood sandwich to his lips and took a huge bite. A rainbow mixture of catsup, mustard, mayonnaise, and Heinz 57 dripped in starbursts to the plate below.
He knew the monsters would come, but he didn’t care. He was just too damn hungry.
He had rolled out of bed – literally, because of his 300 pound plus girth – at 12:49. He had to be in to work in slightly more than five hours, but he simply could not sleep.
He tried to avoid a midnight snack rendezvous with a little of nature’s own sleeping medicine. But, when he put a hand to his wife’s shoulder in bed, she slugged him in the gut. Even in her dreams, she had the proverbial headache.
So, contrary to the advice of his dietitian and family doctor, Herb went to the kitchen to compensate for the crummy meal of overdone meatloaf and microwaved veggies six hours ago. Julia had bell choir practice on Wednesday nights, and she had punted on dinner.
Food would make him happy. Food would make him relax. Food would allow him to fall asleep...
...even if the Dreamsters did come.
They had plagued Herb ever since childhood. When his stomach was filled, so were his nightmares. Regardless of how mild a meal he took before bed, his metabolism retaliated by firing at the parts of his brain where his terrors hid.
However, Herb knew that five short hours of nightmare-riddled sleep was far better than five long hours of staring at the ceiling.
Herb eagerly took another bite of the sandwich. The mosaic of sauces squirted from around the lunchmeat and dribbled out the corners of his mouth.
Before he could thoroughly chew the mass of rye bread, leftover bacon, three kinds of lunch meat, two kinds of cheeses, and enough butter to down a horse, Herb took a third bite.
I swear, he thought. Nothing tastes better than a garbage sandwich after midnight.
In less than five minutes, the sandwich was gone. Herb ripped the refrigerator door open and pulled out a can of Coors. He popped the tab and drained the can. Next, he dug out a half-eaten pint of Häagan-Dazs coffee ice cream. A moment later, he tossed the flimsy cardboard container into the trash, licked clean. His final excursion was a doomed piece of cherry pie in the back of the fridge.
As if announcing the completion of his binge, Herb let the room rattle with a gurgling belch.
He blew a smelly, lusty lungful of air through his pursed lips and whispered, “That’s some damn fine pie!”
Herb exited the kitchen to the living room where he sat down on the couch and turned on the television. A late-night Roger Corman film played on one of the cable channels, the perfect way to let the inevitability of sleep enfold him.
• • •
The tunnel was long, and his feet were heavy. Herb found himself running in the dingy void. At the end of the tunnel, he could see a bright blue light. He needed to reach the end of the tunnel to be safe. But with every step, the light grew dimmer, and the concrete shoes that encased his feet grew heavier. Behind him, Herb heard the roar
as the air-conditioner turned on. The cool air tumbled up through the ceiling vent and blew over Herbs feet
which had begun to throb within the dense concrete shoes. Behind him, the Dreamster gained ground, its roars echoing throughout the tunnel. A single look back sent a blade of ice through Herb’s stomach. Of all Dreamsters he had ever encountered, this was by far the most hideous. Hunched over, yet towering with the height of at least three men, multiple sets of gangly arms waved around its body. The outline of its shadow cut through the fog and spilled over Herb’s back. He could just barely see the nature of the face – a wrinkled snout of a pig, saliva dripping from a mouth filled with teeth so long and sharp that Herb could swear they were kitchen cleavers. Two glowing yellow eyes burned through the mist and deep into Herb’s soul. Herb began to feel a cramp in the side of his stomach
as his midnight snack settled. He should have never eaten so much, he knew. But now, it was too late. Despite the chill of the air conditioning, beads of sweat appeared on his forehead
and dribbled into his eyes. He squinted, but the light ahead began to blur. The hot breath of the Dreamster bore down from behind and cooled the sweat on his damp neck. Herb began screaming. A gargantuan claw clamped onto Herb’s arm, pulling him to the right. He fell
off of the couch and landed with a crash through the coffee table. His banshee-like screams rippled through the apartment. Herb rolled over and tried to support himself with his arms. He feebly pushed
at the Dreamster, but it just laughed at him. Herb threw out his chubby leg and kicked
his feet out from under himself. He ran, fighting against sleep towards the bedroom. Julia would help him. Julia would wake him. Suddenly, a sharp pain exploded like hot, bubbling fire in his chest
from where the Dreamster dug in its claws. Herb’s knotted, icy fingers
fumbled at the doorknob of the bedroom. Sharp, hot pain erupted beneath his flesh and coursed down his bare left arm
as he swung it up to strike his demon. The Dreamster dug its claws deeper into Herb’s chest and yanked out a pulsing, dripping heart
which had begun to flutter and dance. A line of drool spilled from Herb’s mouth as his throat managed to squeak, “Julia...?” He heard her crawl from the bed and stagger to the door, calling his name, and fumbling with the doorknob. Then, the world began to fade
as he saw the Dreamster raise the heart up to its razor-filled jaws, quickly devouring it. As if announcing an end to the episode, the Dreamster made a mocking noise that sounded like a belch. The dead eyes of Herb stared
up at Julia as she began to weep, hugging her husband’s cooling corpse.
• • •
The Dreamster faded from Herb’s nightmare. It sifted like mist through the lands of false realities and hurried home to the realm where the monsters live. The Dreamster arrived in time to kiss its mate good-night and bid sweet dreams to its hideous children.
With the night over and its job done, the Dreamster huddled beside its mate and drifted into the realm of sleep.
• • •
The tunnel was long, and its feet were heavy.
The Dreamster found itself running in the dingy void down a dingy black tunnel. At the end of the tunnel, it could see a bright blue light. It needed to reach the end of the tunnel to be safe. But with every step, the light grew dimmer, and the massive boots that had somehow encased its feet grew heavier. Hot breath came from behind. In terror, the Dreamster stole a backwards glance.
“Sweet dreams,” the face of Julia said as she laid a cold, dead hand on the Dreamster’s shoulder.
THE END