Wrecker

War is hell and a war with hell even more so…

Broken by terror, separated by time and circumstance, drawn back together again by insufferable evil, friends stood against the maleficent horror and survived once. But that fight was just the beginning…

They hunted the Demon King in the forest around the town and sparked a war with an enemy they barely understood. Worse yet, by attacking Herlequin and disrupting his plans, they painted a bright target on their own backs for the rest of the demons in the town--and they allowed Brigitta and Lee LaBouche to escape. They will come to regret their error.

Can Toby, Benny, Shannon, Mike, and Scott learn enough about the demons to vanquish them for good?

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Praise for Wrecker

"...a tense dash in the darkness..."

★★★★★ "...a tense dash in the darkness to stay together and survive, filled with sudden violence, enigmatic enemies and strange turns of events...[it] reminded me of Stranger Things where the graphic horror side is really allowed to let rip.""

- K.C. Finn, ReadersFavorite.com

"Erik Henry Vick comes across as a master weaver of frightful tales."

★★★★★ "Wrecker is filled with action and disturbing images and these begin right off the bat. It is pulsating and there is a disturbing eeriness that fills every page of the story. The silence, a falling leaf, or a faint footstep echo something sinister in this gritty tale of horrific deeds. Erik Henry Vick comes across as a master weaver of frightful tales; each page is well-spun with action and the kind of suspense that forces the reader to turn to the next page. The prose is beautiful, the plot ingeniously constructed and the characters richly developed. While this is the kind of story that is chilling, it is infused with realism and powerful imagery. Fans of stories that are dark and horrifying will have a great treat in Wrecker. It is a masterpiece, indeed."

– Romuald Dzemo, ReadersFavorite.com

Praise for the series:

2018 Readers' Favorite Award Horror Finalist

"...the thrills and horrors are engrossing.”

"Vick's dark, tense thriller pits young kids--and their older selves--against a demonic evil and his twisted daughters in Upstate New York... Vick bounces the storyline between eras effectively, and the tension never lets up. Stephen King fans will enjoy spotting the references that Vick sprinkles throughout in homage..."

– Publisher's Weekly

"Evocative of Stephen King’s work”

"Vick’s (Errant Gods, 2017, etc.) supernatural horror story is evocative of Stephen King’s work in its use of a small-town setting and a gang of friends facing a powerful evil."

– Kirkus Reviews

Praise for Demon King

5 out of 5 Demonic Stars for this one!

"What do you get when you mix elements of fear, mystery, suspense, foreshadowing and a perfectly gripping plot? Give up? Well... if all of these elements are woven together in a seamless piece of writing, you will end up with one fantastic horror story! This is exactly the case with Erik Henry Vick's novel, Demon King. This is one intense book you will just not be able to put down as it will captivate, engross and horrify you from start to finish..."

– Leonard Tillerman, LeonardTillerman.com

Monsters are real!

"I really enjoyed this book, it is sufficiently scary and nail biting suspenseful! The characters are wonderfully written and beautifully evolved. Finally a truly scary story that had me held in it's grip from beginning to end! Most stories claim to be a horror story and fail to deliver that true sense of dread and fear. This story does will not disappoint horror genre fans. It was a griping nerve jangling tale that will chill you to the bone and yet have you coming back for more! A smart well written story that in my opinion makes this author one of the best writers out there. I recommend this book highly to anyone who can handle a griping, nerve rattling story with heart. Well done honestly I loved it!"

My absolute favorite new author

"I read the first book in 36 sleep deprived hours and bought every book he has written that I could find.... If you like Stephen King, Robert McCammon, or Clive Barker then check out Erik Henry Vick, you won't regret it."

The best horror story I've read in years!

"Read the entire book in two days, couldn't put it down. Well written and Erik Henry Vick is one of the best writers today. READ THIS BOOK, you'll love it."

This writer in my opinion is an amazing talent!

"The characters and the plot were really good! I liked how he nods at Stephen King but keeps the story very much his own style. While reading this I was trying to figure out all the mysteries and clues to the very end and I wasn't disappointed when I reached the last page."

Before you know it you're hooked.

"Similar to early Stephen King! Loved the book! Gradually introduces the bizarre in a way that is acceptable. Before you know it you're hooked. I was pleasently surprised."

Grab this one right now!

"If you like a fast moving story with two time lines then grab this one right now!"

Awesome.

"A combination of Stephen King and Dean Koontz. Awesome."

Future of the horror book scene.

"This author may just be the future of the horror book scene. I enjoyed everything about this book, give it a try you will not be disappointed."

This book sucked me in from the first pages...

"Wow! This book sucked me in from the first pages and didn’t let me go until the very last page. Give me more!

"Demon King" reminded me of Stephen King’s "It" in the back-and-forth, then-and-now story structure. Children are assailed by unknowable evil; then as adults, they must face it again, but without the benefit of the memory of their earlier experiences. Encounters with these vile creatures does some serious damage. Will they be able to pull the necessary courage and grit to survive and triumph?

This guy has some serious story chops.

This is a fast-moving, vivid tale, told with bright imagination and fresh ideas. I first discovered Erik Henry Vick via his novella "The Devil", then "Devils", the short story anthology "The Devil" was rolled into. I had wanted to find a new favorite author, and I certainly did! This guy has some serious story chops.”

– Jackson W Barnett, Poland, Maine

Demon King easily earned 5 stars from me!

"It kept my interest all the way through. Although my days of reading a book a day are gone, I read this in 2 days."

Very solid.

"Often a writer begins a story involving supernatural elements and it seems as if they feel compelled to justify those elements and dilute their impact. Not here."

Perfectly executed horror

"If you are a fan of perfectly executed horror, then I would highly recommend this book!"

Reminds me of Stephen king or dean koontz.

"His writing reminds me of Stephen king or dean koontz. I hope there's a part 2 to this book very quick!"

One of the best books I've ever read!

"I highly recommend this book. It was one of those books that you think about when you're not reading it, and then you're sorry to see it end because you've become so attached to the characters. What an amazing book and an amazing author. You will not be disappointed!"

1

As the placid surface of Genosgwa Lake began to chop, Greg glanced over his shoulder to judge how far he was from his grandparents’ dock. He was almost halfway across the lake, and the mild gray sky had turned dark and ugly.

Greg didn’t like bad storms, even though the storms in Western New York were nothing compared to the ones in his Florida hometown. He gazed toward the shore opposite his grandparents’ lake house and tried to guess how far he’d have to travel to get there.

A small convenience store stood on that bank. Well, it wasn’t right on the shore or anything, but it was a short walk from where the waves lapped at the small beach. It was close enough that in the evenings, he could read the neon sign for the store as if it were next door.

He dithered, trying to decide whether to turn back or risk being caught out in the storm. On the one hand, he was already damp as a result of horsing around in the kayak before he set out, but storms could be freezing on the lake. Regardless of the rain, his grandfather had given him five dollars for candy.

Five whole dollars.

His parents had gone shopping for the afternoon, and they would make him give the five dollars back on their return. No question there, not without serious pleading. Not only would they want him to return the money, but they wouldn’t want him to have five dollars’ worth of candy even if they allowed him to keep the Franklin. Not in one afternoon, not in one week.

He glanced up at the sky, trying to judge whether the ugly, purple-black clouds meant business or not. In Florida, there would have been no question. In Florida, dark clouds indicated a sky-shattering thunderstorm—usually within the next fifteen minutes. But at the lake, a dark, ugly sky could mean nothing at all.

Again, he glanced over his shoulder at the yellow and white dock his grandfather maintained with precision. Some docks on the lake had faded paint or missing slats, but not his grandpa’s dock. His dock was pristine, year after year.

Greg twisted back around and looked at the far shore over the bow of his red kayak. He couldn’t tell for sure—he wasn’t good with distance—but he thought he was halfway. He glanced down at the pocket of his bathing suit, where the five-dollar bill lay nestled inside a Ziploc bag.

“What do I do?” he asked no one.

As if in answer, a cold wind gusted at him from behind, and he shivered. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone swimming in Florida and had gotten cold. It was hard to understand why people would want to have a lake house in a state where you could only swim two-and-a-half months out of the year—and freeze while you did it part of that short time—but there was no figuring out adults.

If he were still in Florida, that same cold wind would mean that the coming thunderstorm would be a bad one. But up on Genosgwa Lake, the same cold wind might mean nothing at all.

The five-dollar bill seemed heavy, hot.

It’s now or never, kiddo. If you don’t go, your daddy will make you give it back, and if you have to give it back, no candy.

“Yeah, but…those clouds look like they mean business,” he muttered. The kids back home would make fun of him for talking to himself, but it was just something he did. His mom called the voice his invisible friend. Greg didn’t know about that, he seemed real—even if Greg hadn’t ever learned his name.

Do you want the candy or not?

“Of course I want the candy! Don’t be an idiot.”

Do it, Greg. Do it, do it, do it.

“But what about the storm?”

Good grief, kid. I’m telling you if you don’t go now, no candy. I’ll ask you once more: do you want the candy or not?

His imaginary friend seemed…different somehow since they’d arrived in New York. A little less understanding, a little more insistent. A little meaner. Why is that? he wondered.

He shifted his position and dipped the paddle into the water but withdrew it without taking a stroke. “I don’t even know what types of candy they have.” That sounded whiny, even to his own ears.

Come on, Greggy. Get it together. If you want candy, put that paddle in the water and get moving. Even if the storm comes, you’re halfway there already. How wet could you get?

“But it will be cold.”

Candy. Candy. Candy, candy, candy.

“Yeah, yeah. Candy.”

Look, boyo, if you turn back now, you will lose that five-dollar bill. You know it, I know it. Your mom and dad will never let you buy five dollars’ worth of candy, even if they let you keep the bill—which they won’t. Your dad will say five dollars is too much for a boy of eleven and make you give it back to your grandpa.

“I know. Trust me, I know that all too well.” Greg scratched his ear. He didn’t like his friend’s new habit of calling him things such as “boyo” or “sport” either.

So what are you waiting for? Why are you sitting here talking to me?

With a shrug, Greg dug at the water with the kayak’s paddle. He dug hard, making long strokes through the water, leaning back as he pulled. The kayak skimmed across the surface of the water like a sleek torpedo running at the surface.

He made it a game, pretending he was racing in the Olympics, and he was out front in the gold-medal race. Greg could almost hear the crowd cheering.

He kept his eyes on the far shore, which grew nearer and nearer with each pull of his arms. He wasn’t looking at the convenience store, he was looking at the line where the shore turned into someone’s lawn. That was his finish line.

The only problem was, Greg was a horrible judge of distance, and when the rain fell, he had just reached the actual center of the lake. Fat, cold raindrops slapped and splattered all over his body and made the temperature out on the lake feel colder in an instant.

Greg stopped paddling and peered over his shoulder at his grandparents’ lake house. The yellow and white building stood out as if bathed with Batman’s spotlight—as if it were the only safe place left in the world. Despite not paddling, the kayak continued to glide through the choppy water, carrying him farther and farther away from warmth and his grandmother’s cookies. Cookies aren’t candy, but they’re almost as good.

Greg glanced in the direction he was traveling, sure he must be almost there, but he wasn’t. It appeared each shore was the same distance away, and the rain seemed colder, wetter.

“Great idea,” he muttered. “Try to race the storm to get candy. Well, tell me something, smarty-pants. How much candy can I enjoy if I’m at the bottom of this lake?”

Aw, is little Greggy scared? Does the storm terrify you?

“Shut up! Why do I ever listen to you? You think you’re so smart, but you’re not. You’re dumb.”

Yes, I’m the dumb oneSo, besides calling me names, what are you going to do, sport?

Greg rested the kayak’s paddle across his lap and lifted his shoulders. Again, he glanced over his shoulder at the yellow and white lake house, and again, he pivoted his head back toward the other shore.

Is looking back and forth helping? Because I can stop making suggestions hereYou know, because I’m dumb.

Greg dithered, unsure of which direction to go. He was tired of talking to his invisible, nameless friend, but when it came right down to it, who else was he going to ask for help? The lake?

With a shake of his head, Greg sighed. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I called you dumb. Now, will you tell me which way to go?”

You remember why you listen to me? It’s okay for me to make suggestions?

“I said I was sorry. What more do you want?”

Hmmm. Let’s see…should we start with you telling me how smart I am? It seems only fair and right since you felt justified in telling me how dumb I was.

“I know you’re smart, I was frustrated.”

Hmmm. I suppose that will have to do, but we must work on your ability to apologize.

“For an invisible friend, you sure do enjoy busting a guy’s balls.”

You know this from your extensive experience with other invisible friends?

Greg sighed. The wind at his back seemed to have dropped ten degrees in temperature, and the raindrops were falling harder. He thought the sting that came with the drops was ice falling with it. “Come on! It’s summer!” he shouted.

Was that directed at me?

“You know it wasn’t! Tell me what to do, I’m cold.”

Say please.

“Please!” Greg snapped.

Say pretty please.

Greg stuck his paddle in the water again but withdrew it without taking a stroke. “Pretty please,” he grated.

That’s better.

Greg suppressed a sigh. Of all the invisible friends in the world, I had to get one who’s a smartass.

You know I can hear your thoughts, right?

A sigh gusted out of Greg despite his best efforts.

Relax, Maddie McMadhead. You’re halfway across, you might as well go to the other side and get your candy because the same amount of rain will fall on you no matter which way you go.

“But—‍”

Just do it, Greg. Do it, do it, do it.

Greg dipped his paddle into the water and pulled for the far shore. The rain lashed at his back, so cold and coming so hard that it felt like hail. “At least this way, the wind is helping me, right?”

You’re not as dumb as you look, kiddo.

“If you’re my imaginary friend, why aren’t you nicer to me?”

Imaginary? Who said I was imaginary? I am invisibleI suppose that much is obvious even to someone of your determined lack of smarts.

“Imaginary, invisible. What’s the difference?”

From my point of view, the difference is enormous.

“Whatever. Why can’t you be nice? You were nicer back in Florida.”

You think I’m being mean? Kids these daysYou’re so soft. We need to toughen you up, chump.

Greg shook his head but kept his mouth shut. He had to tilt his face down toward the front deck of the kayak because of the stinging rain. He no longer pretended at being in the Olympics, but he pulled just as hard.

Greg Canton hated the rain, and in his effort to minimize its impact, he never saw the slimy, greenish-gray hand rising from the water in front of him.

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