“A skeletal, thin teenager with a mangy head of green hair hangs a dripping tire from the crazy old man’s neck, ‘I’m food for Paradise!’ the old man crows, laughing. ‘Hallelujah! Send me to Heaven well done!’” – Marc Ruvolo, Waste Ground
HENRY is almost 40, gay, single, and struggling to get by as a delivery driver. When his car gets stolen, he decides to take action. With a strategically placed AirTag and the help of his straight, stoned roommate Digger, he wants to get his car back. The AirTag leads him to a notorious homeless camp deep in the industrial wastelands outside Portland.
A woman named Janelle has driven from Florida to Portland to tell her estranged older sister that their abusive mother has passed away. When she arrives, she finds out that Dorothea is missing. As Janelle searches the harsh streets for her drug-addicted sister, she unknowingly starts a dark journey that will take her “into the bloody, beating heart of an American capitalist hellscape.” Great line, Marc!
In the shadowy recesses of this contemporary wasteland, where crumbling buildings and twisted metal stand as remnants of a once-thriving world, a notorious doomsday cult is fervently attempting to gain the favour of a bizarre cryptid. This ancient entity demands sacrifices, which the cultists are all too willing to provide—and Henry, Janelle, and Digger are heading straight toward this horror.
Ruvolo’s writing effectively captures the essence of urban decay, much like the
novella’s cover, where the atmosphere is bleak, and crumbling buildings loom like forgotten giants, their facades marred by peeling paint and graffiti. An area where weeds sprout defiantly from cracked asphalt, and the air is heavy with the smell of rust and neglect—and burning flesh!
Shadows dance in the flickering glow of broken streetlights, casting an eerie pall over the litter-strewn sidewalks. Scarred, decaying neighbourhoods lay in silent ruin, a haunting reminder of a once thriving and vibrant urban culture.
It’s a place where broken and discarded people live, on the fringes of a society keen to ignore them. And they will turn on each other—and then come for you! No one is safe. And you, the reader, FEEL THIS! Did I mention the burning human flesh!?
This stark environment serves as a powerful mirror to Henry’s inner torment, implying that beneath the veneer of the mundane, murky secrets and long-buried truths await their moment to surface. The jarring contrast between his deep-seated yearnings and the desolate backdrop amplifies a sense of impending dread, as if the story’s setting, the very ground beneath him, bears silent witness to Henry’s unfulfilled dreams and unresolved emotional conflicts that intricately shape his reality. In this poignant tableau, the landscapes of the exterior world and the human soul intertwine, each reflecting the haunting echoes of the other.
This introspection works for Janelle, too, as we examine the trauma of her past, especially in light of her severely shattered family, and how it has all affected her up to the point where we meet her in the story.
The title itself, operates as a rich metaphor with layers of meaning: wasted, wasteful, wasting. Think about it. It encapsulates the conflicted and repeatedly unproductive emotional terrain of a few characters, but primarily Henry, a young man consumed by a profound and unrequited affection for his straight friend Digger—an infatuation that has haunted him like a ghost since their high school days.
Yes, we are presented with that timeless queer trope of the gay guy mooning for the unattainable straight dude, and Ruvolo tactfully showcases the emotional trauma of a longing which is not merely a passing fancy but a deep-seated, decades-long yearning that colours Henry’s every thought about his relationship with Digger.
Something that particularly fascinated me about this story—because I love to deconstruct a text like nobody’s business—is how Ruvolo incorporates the thematic elements of character determination and perseverance, especially when confronted with the dual threats of danger and the unknown. The exploration is oddly subtle yet no less impactful in the delivery. This exploration resonates deeply with the quest for something that holds profound personal significance.
It offers an intriguing glimpse into how individuals weigh (even acknowledge) the potential risk for the reward, often measuring it against their own safety and well-being. For Henry, the stakes are embodied in the return of his car, his tool for employment; for Janelle, the stakes are painfully more personal, revolving around her search for her missing sister.
This juxtaposition naturally raises thought-provoking questions about the value of human life compared to material possessions and whether (or should) risk be measured equally. Can human emotional attachment—including the sense of loss related to it—be comparable between property and people? And how significant an agent for motivation is the fear of financial hardship?
Through these contrasting quests, a more profound message emerges—a
commentary on what we, as civilized, contemporary people, hold dear and the lengths we will go to protect or reclaim it.
While I can’t comment on whether the author intended this story component consciously or subconsciously, it undeniably adds depth to the narrative, engaging readers in a clever, reflective dialogue about the delicate balance between risk and reward.
The backstory of the cult worshiping the unearthly fiend is presented with a calculated sparseness; it feels wholly purposeful, perfectly aligning with the swift and impactful nature of a novella. Yes, anyone who knows me (or my writing) knows I love rich, descriptive text, but don’t anyone think Ruvolo skips out on this element! He strategically weaves vivid imagery throughout the narrative, placing it where it will resonate most powerfully with the readers.
Sometimes, a succinct exposition, especially within horror, is even more frightening as your imagination takes you to disturbed places as you try to fill in the gaps or read between the lines.
Marc Ruvolo’s Waste Ground is more than a scary, even gory, story about a cult, the enigmatic entity they revere and serve, and the ones, both foolish and brave, who find themselves entangled in this nightmare. It’s a gripping character-driven novella that immerses readers in a nightmarish realm of human-based and “cosmic horror.”
The characters’ fates continuously hang in a precarious balance as they grapple with sinister threats not only from their fellow humans (can’t ever trust those!) but also from a lurking, malevolent, HUNGRY entity concealed beneath the earth’s surface. It’s another excellent addition to the author’s growing body of work focussing on Queer Urban Horror.
I received an advanced copy, but Waste Ground will be released on March 15, 2025.
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