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The Starlight Drive-In is showing its final triple feature—*Carnival of Souls*, *Night of the Living Dead*, *The Texas Chain Saw Massacre*—before the bulldozers arrive at dawn. Four hundred cars. Four hundred witnesses. And one killer wearing a drive-in speaker casing for a mask, stalking the aisles between the rusted speaker poles and the projection booth's carbon-arc glow. By the time the midnight reel spins out, the only thing left standing will be the marquee, missing three letters and spelling something that looks an awful lot like a warning.
Wyatt Miller just wants to survive his last shift, collect his final paycheck, and leave the Starlight in the rearview. But the projectionist has vanished, the manager's chair holds a bowling pin with a grinning face, and the groundskeeper is swinging from the screen braces by a length of guy-wire. Trapped on forty acres of paved purgatory with the exits chained shut and a butcher in a grease-stiffened shop coat cutting through the crowd, Wyatt and the skeleton crew—cynical Chloe, terrified Mindy, a handful of locals—have until the credits roll to turn the projectors into weapons, the speaker wire into traps, and the midnight screen into a beacon for help that may never come.
Steeped in the sweat, ozone, and scorched popcorn oil of a dying Americana, *Last Night at the Starlight Drive-In* is a love letter to the golden age of slashers written with the bite of modern horror. No final girl tropes left unearned, no cheap jumps—just relentless tension, a killer as iconic as the screen he haunts, and a body count that rises in perfect time with the double feature. The show starts at dusk. The credits roll at dawn. Try to stay seated until the house lights come up.
Fiction
October 29, 2026
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