Bloody Gullets, by Michael Golvach, is a collection of short stories for those who love their books with a dark edge. Not horror, but dark where it matters. A collection of psychological thrillers that show you inside those dark places where everything else hides. Nothing is black and white. Not even grey. With an atmosphere that is both thrilling and goose bump inducing, Michael Golvach delivers a collection of intense material that you won’t soon forget.
About the Author
Superbly written, Bloody Gullets takes readers down a dark, twisted path of delusional and deranged minds. To places where few dare to venture. Opening windows to spine chilling, and soul stirring, experiences only this author can deliver.
Blended with several satirical, whimsical stories that may just raise a smile, this thought provoking, and sometimes jarring, compilation always entertains, leaving the reader wanting more.
Four Leaf Clover
In the old days, law enforcement would put up ‘wanted’ posters all over town if they wanted to catch a criminal really bad. Dead Or Alive. That was the phrase they always used. Most times, the wanted man was worth just a bit more dead than alive. Less paperwork, one might suppose, if they did any of that back then. Usually, there’d be a picture of the poor son of a bitch, dead centre. Not necessarily a good one. Sometimes they would substitute a sketch. Usually, whatever depiction they chose to go with, it was good enough so that you could be fairly sure the bastard you planned to gun down was going to bring you some change. They still do that to this day, but they’re much more discreet. And the pictures are a lot nicer.
A friend of mine named Buster, who brought me up as a crime scene photographer, used to tell me stuff like that all the time. The history of the ‘wanted’ poster. Why they called money money. Fifteen different ways to jerk off in a public restroom without making a sound. Random observations. Sometimes pointless or unnecessarily obscene. And he didn’t just do it to me. He did it to everybody. It didn’t matter if the occasion was social, professional or otherwise. It was just his way of establishing his presence and breaking the ice. Even if the ice he was standing on was brittle and shaky, like mine. Worn thin already from the constant assault of useless information.
I always listened to him, though. And paid attention. Not because I had to, which I basically did, but because, no matter how ridiculous the subject matter, he would always tell a good tale. A tale that might make you stop crying, if you were the type who couldn’t handle snapping morbid photos every single day and some nights. Documenting the many and varied ways human beings take their own lives and those of others. A tale that might make you think before you hit the bottle, if you were the sort of person who could.