At The End of Church Street
by Gregory L Hall

Print ISBN-13: 978-0-9864831-3-4
Editor: Louise Bohmer
Publisher: Belfire Press
Pages: 300
Dimensions: 5.25″x8″
Cover Price: $13.99

E-book ISBN-13: 978-0-9864831-4-1
Formats: .pdf (secure); more soon
Price: $5.00

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Desperate, costumed homeless kids or the blood drinking undead that have survived in legend for thousands of years? At the End of Church Street takes you to the forgotten that huddle in an abandoned theatre in the shadows of a tourist wonderland. The Vampires of Orlando.

Discarded and starving, Rebecca joins her new family and is reborn. As a Goth, she soon revels in the lifestyle of ‘no rules’. Love whoever you want. Seek whatever high you wish. Live forever young. Every night is an adventure—hunting down tourists, challenging the local police, screaming to the world vampires really exist. They finally get the television coverage they crave to ensure the respect they’ve been denied. It’s Neverland.

…Until the first murder.

There’s someone else hiding in the darkness. Goth kids are found beheaded with wooden stakes pounded through their chests. The hunters have become the hunted. As the bodies pile up, Rebecca and the Family are forced to ask ‘Who do you turn to, who can you trust, when the only person who believes you’re an actual vampire is a vampire killer?’

This is not your father’s Nosferatu. This is not teen romance disguised as horror with prom date vampires. Welcome to a world you already know. Welcome to the world at the end of Church Street.

What they’re saying about At The End of Church Street:

“At the End of Church Street is not your typical vampire novel. But then, Gregory L Hall is not your typical author. Written with true horror, dread and even a touch of romance, Hall’s true feat is in giving us a completely original take on vampire tales — and I’ve read a ton of them. This guy’s the real deal, and thanks to At the End of Church Street, I’ll never feel completely at ease in Orlando again.”
-Joel A. Sutherland, Bram Stoker Award-nominated author of Frozen Blood

“Gregory L Hall’s At The End of Church Street is an adept and novel imagining of the age-old vampire story. Hall offers a gritty portrayal of life on the streets where the shadows conceal much more than petty criminals. His eye for observational detail masterfully places the reader in his bleak but believable settings. In the end Church Street is a stark, intelligent and thrilling depiction of the seedy (and supernatural) subculture lurking within Orlando’s darker places.”
- Tim Deal, Bram Stoker Award Nominated Editor, Shroud Publishing

“I loved At the End of Church Street. Gregory L. Hall creates an urban fantasy Neverland and fills it with a fantastic assortment of Goth lost boys and girls…and then he turns the devil loose among them. This is the kind of debut authors dream of…solid characters, spot on dialogue, and a story that draws you in like a pretty girl’s smile. Highly recommended.”
- Joe McKinney, author of Dead City and Apocalypse of the Dead

“At the End of Church Street delivers more than one dark sucker punch to the senses. It’s a potent read – if you feel like you’ve seen it all in the genre, take a stroll down this lane.”
- David Dunwoody, author of Empire and Unbound & Other Tales

“At the End of Church Street is an eroticially charged suspense tale. Gregory Hall’s vampires are different than what I’ve encountered in stories in the past, and this kept me reading, and guessing, right up until the distubing ending.”
- Debbie Kuhn, author of Mason’s Will and Up The Devil’s Backbone

Excerpt:
I watch the rain reflect off the streets of this city. My city. My home in a long line of homes. It rains every day here in Orlando. Like clockwork. Barely drizzle now, it’s not enough to affect the number of tourists walking around downtown.

Orlando is a strange place. Every city in the world has its own personality, good or bad. But not Orlando. The Little Town that wants to be a Big City. It lacks personality because its existence is based solely on catering to tourists coming in from all corners of the Earth. Tourists who blend in to one faceless, nameless crowd.

I guess that’s why she stands out. She’s not a tourist. And although no one in this moving mass of people notices her, I do…

* * *

The small, frail girl stood invisible by the payphone. Soaked and dirty, she had obviously been living on the streets for some time now. Not the first homeless or lost child in this city. She pushed the long strands of dark hair from her face as she dug in the pockets of her cut-off jeans. Four quarters. A nickel. Three pennies…Penny. Enough for one last call. Maybe Penny would talk to her this time. She was fully aware of how badly her hand shook as she pushed in the last numbers.

Two rings book-ended a long pause and then: “Hello?”

Her throat went dry. No response escaped.

“Hello? Who is this? Rebecca, is this you?”

Tears flooded her eyes, blurring her vision for a moment. She wiped them away and hung up the phone. It was ungraceful. She looked around, expecting to see someone in the surrounding crowd laughing or staring. Maybe looking away as they shook their heads in pity, avoiding eye contact so they would not have to be involved. She expected to see something. Anything. But all she found was nothing. Not a soul knew she existed. She was truly invisible.

Her throat contracted, catching her off guard as the pain came forth in another flood of tears. She tried to stifle the sobs but knew it was a losing battle. Not here, she thought. Not like this with all these people. This was not the place where she could do what she knew she had to do. If she was invisible, let it stay that way. Let them find me long after I’m gone.

As she headed back to the darkness of her alley ‘home,’ surrendering to its cold and heartless embrace, a pale teenager looked up from the reflection of city lights off rain splattered streets. His long black coat was out of place in the warm spring night. But no one noticed. He was truly invisible, as he silently followed the girl into the shadows.

* * *

The sounds of the city continued. Bad bar bands mutilating Jimmy Buffett or the latest Top 40 song. A horse and carriage clomping on cobblestone at a grotesque cost per ride. Drunken, happy tourists coming off their afternoon buzz, loudly segueing into another wild night of bar hopping. All interrupted by the sounds of screams and a chainsaw.

At the end of the street, a small group burst out of a haunted house attraction, spilling onto the sidewalk with laughter. In the doorway, an actor dressed as Leatherface waved a chainsaw in the air, taunting the long line of patrons waiting for their turn to face the terror inside. He gave a final swing at the fallen group, receiving one more scream before disappearing back into the flashing lights and smoke behind him.

Adam stared at the victims with a slight smile, revealing pearl white fangs. His dark blue eyes widened as he stroked his hairless chin. He loved being the street barker for the House of Horror. Every night filled him with a rush of energy. There were times he couldn’t believe he actually got paid for dressing up and playing outside host to the endless stream of people pouring through their gate. Most were folks looking to test their bravery. Some were true horror fans who couldn’t leave Orlando without paying their respect. But to Adam, everyone was the same. Fans he could entertain just by being himself.

He swirled his stylish black cape out into the night air and raised his prop walking cane. He stood quite dominating in his surroundings. This despite his thin build and barely twenty-something age. He turned his head and quickly selected a visibly nervous woman in line to focus upon. He stared unblinking through the back of her head. The woman unconsciously moved backwards and slid behind the safety of her husband’s wide frame. The crowd laughed at her reaction, and Adam felt the surge of power once again.

“Good mourning, Milady. Welcome to the House of Horror! Do you have your organ donor card with you?”

She let out a squeal and squirmed further behind her spouse. The crowd rejoiced in her fear. Adam continued boring a hole through the husband’s round body, so as not to break eye contact with his victim. True to form, the woman peeked up over her husband’s shoulder to see him still staring. She let out a scream and buried her face in a Mickey Mouse T-shirt. Not even in the attraction yet, Adam thought, and I have her scared out of her wits.

He threw his head back and let out a villainous laugh, mocking the terror awaiting them inside. It echoed past the rooftops of the surrounding buildings.