The Midnight Man by Kevin Klehr
About the Book:
Stanley is almost
fifty. He hates his job, has an overbearing mother, and is in a failed
Then he meets Asher,
the man of his dreams, literally in his dreams.
Asher is young,
captivating, and confident about his future - everything Stanley is not. So,
Asher gives Stan a gift. The chance to be an extra five years younger each time
Some of their
adventures are whimsical. A few are challenging. Others are totally surreal.
All are designed to bring Stan closer to the moment his joyful childhood turned
But when they fall in
love, Stan knows he can't live in Asher’s dreamworld. Yet Stan is haunted by
Asher's invitation to "Slip into eternal sleep."
Publisher Buy Link - https://ninestarpress.com/product/the-midnight-man/
Author: Kevin Klehr
Release Date: August 30,
Format: ePub, Mobi,
Cover Artist: Natasha
Word Count: 52,200
Author Reading Trailer:
Author website: https://kevinklehr.com
Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DramaQueensWithLoveScenes
Author YouTube: https://buff.ly/36GJZpJ
Read an Excerpt (Shortened):
The alarm clock ticked loudly at
the side of their bed, and while Francesco snored like a buzz saw clearing a
rain forest, Stanley lay awake. It wasn’t his partner who was the cause of his
insomnia for Stanley could doze through the wildest storm. In fact, Stanley was
sound asleep only ten minutes prior until he thought he heard someone whisper
in his ear.
The arms of his alarm clock
inched their way toward the number twelve. He sat up and, shortly after, stood
and took his dressing gown from the bed post. He remembered hearing the word “eternal”
in the sentence that was murmured to him, but the rest of the phrase was hazy.
Numerous cats meowed in unison.
Stanley was unnerved. He strode to the living room and casually opened the
curtain. Several feline gangs gathered on the front lawn. An eerie wind shook
the trees as the cats strolled to the centre of the garden.
Stanley studied the sky. Not a
star in sight. Nor was there a cloud above, so the lack of any sign of the
universe made no sense. He pondered the end of humanity before concerning
himself with his morbid train of thought. The voice whispered again, and
Stanley instantly felt drowsy. He sauntered back to the bedroom and fell on top
of the sheets.
In his slumber, his dreams began,
and in this personal movie he sat at a small round table in a circular room. A
crimson curtain wrapped itself around the space.
A crisp white tablecloth fell
just above his knees and embossed on a shiny gold card in the middle of his
table were the words RESERVED. THE MIDNIGHT MAN.
There were other tables too. All
with the same small card and all with either a mature-aged man or woman sitting
at them. The only difference was, each of these people were dining and chatting
with a younger male companion.
He noted the dress code. Every man,
young or old, sported a dinner suit. Stanley also wore one. Each lady was
adorned in a stylish black dress.
“Excuse me, sir.” Stanley looked
up. A tall waiter with a quaint moustache addressed him. “I’m sorry to say your
Midnight Man is running late.”
“Okay,” he replied, mumbling.
With time to spare, Stanley
picked up the card. He gazed at it, giving the appearance it aroused his
curiosity, but he was actually eavesdropping. He eased back in his chair to
listen to the woman who was sitting behind him.
“Interesting conversation?” This
questioning voice startled Stanley, but boy, was it sexy. Its honey-rich timbre
could invite you to a murder and you’d stay under its spell until the moment
the knife was placed in your hand. Stanley looked up to see whose voice it was.
A young man stood with hands in
his trouser pockets. His smile sent Stan’s thoughts spinning. Stan knew a
genuine grin and this lad had no hidden agendas lurking behind his cordial
manner. Stanley was convinced of it.
He measured up to all the
best-looking groomsmen Stanley had admired at the various weddings he’d
attended. Most of the time it was the best man Stan fancied, especially if they
were still playing the field. He’d stare at them wishing to be swept off his
feet and carried down the aisle.
This Midnight Man had a crew cut.
It’s a cliché to say it was the preferred style of boy next door types, but for Stan, it sealed the deal. Something
classic. Something captivating. Something familiar enough to help him not feel
“I’m Asher.” He held out his
hand. Stanley took it, holding onto it until Asher seated himself at the table.
“You’re beautiful,” Stanley heard
himself saying. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be forward. It’s just that…” He covered
his mouth momentarily. “How old are you?”
“You’re the perfect age.”
“What for? For you?” Asher
smirked with bedroom confidence.
“No. No. I didn’t mean it like
that. You’re my perfect age. No. I’m
not making myself clear, am I?”
Asher reached across the table
and tenderly stroked Stanley’s wrists.
“Are you hungry?” Asher asked.
“Should I ask the waiter for the menu? I’m looking forward to sitting here and
listening to your tales.”
“Strangely, I don’t have an
“Me neither.” They were the only
people in the room now. “Maybe your dream needs a change of pace.” Asher stood.
“Follow me to enchantment, or something close to it.”
Stanley did as he was told.
Through the crimson curtain was an opening. As they ventured through the
darkness on the other side, music broke through the silence. The floor shook
with each beat. The murmur of a crowd brought back many memories for Stanley,
and as the laser lights flashed random colour into the void, the crowd became
visible. Everyone was Asher’s age. Everyone was male. Stanley reached for Asher’s
hand to lead him through this curious scene. They were both dressed
Stanley wore a waistcoat adorned with
tiny roses, buttoned tight to expose his chest. Asher wore a blue T-shirt as he
strode toward the DJ. Stan looked down at a smiling quarter moon, the oversized
design on his belt buckle. He stomped his foot. His shoes were sturdy, leather
and unmistakably British.
It’s perfect in every way, he thought.
So perfect in fact, he was waiting for the ecstasy to kick in. He worked his way
back to Asher.
“Why are you called the Midnight
Man?” he yelled over the house tune.
“We’re all Midnight Men,” Asher
called back. “Everyone dining with your generation in that restaurant was a
“But what does it mean?”
“It’s the time I entered your
life—midnight.” His playful grin returned.
Then Stanley felt a change.
First, the music. It sounded
hollow, as if someone had played around with an equaliser and got it all wrong.
Then, like a jet engine, it soared.
Next, awareness of his own lanky
shape was replaced by a oneness with everyone in that huge hall. There were no
creaky joints or sagging skin. Decades disappeared. A sense of love so
overwhelming consumed him. And in this micro moment, Asher was arguably the
most bewitching guy Stanley had ever met in the decades he walked the earth.
Then it hit full charge. The need
to dance! The want to take off his waistcoat and sense the sweat, the pleasure,
and the energy that took control. He was lost in sensation. He was lost in
thoughts that highlighted every positive thing about himself. He hadn’t felt
this for a very long time.
And Asher was part of this
charge, the best part. A boy at the start of the finest years of his life.
Young enough to be sought after and brave enough to seek love from those who’ll
fall under his spell.
The guys nearby were eyeing
Stanley. A lover Stanley recalled for his kindness at a time when he was
finding himself. This guy waved at Stanley. The gesture was returned with an
Coming toward them was a guy who
sported small mirror tiles on his shoulders, as if he was a walking disco ball.
He had similarly mirrored shorts. And he also held a mirror.
To Stanley, this guy wore the
face of a human hiding his hurt. Someone wishing others would understand his
sadness, yet too polite to talk about his feelings, or cry until there were no
more tears. A feeling too familiar.
Stanley raised his arms and shook
his butt, encouraging Mirror Man to find his bliss. For a moment, the guy
laughed. A door was open, ready for pain to be released. He swung his hips,
making his way toward Stanley, so Stanley raised his arms higher to transmit
love in all directions. Then the guy held his mirror to Stanley’s face.
There it was. There was no
denying it. Stanley was not twenty-one again. He was nearly fifty. A man in
need of maturity.
“What is it?” Asher asked.
Mirror Man was nowhere to be
“I’m not meant to be here.”
Stanley sat startled as he found
himself opposite Asher back at the restaurant. Both were wearing suits again.
“So, tell me, Stan, where are you
meant to be?”