These people will give anything for the idols they worship, be they rock stars, actors or authors. Or even serial killers. Lori is just such a fanatic. Her obsession is with Edmund Cox, a man of sadistic cruelty who butchered more than 20 women. She’s gone so far as to forge a relationship with him, visiting him in prison and sending him letters on a regular basis. She will do anything to get close to him, so when he gives her a task, she eagerly accepts it. She has no idea of the horror that awaits her.

Some girls are fearful, others are brave. One girl’s a princess, the next one a slave. But all girls are equal when they’re down in this cave, until just one is left standing—The Prettiest Girl in the Grave.

Welcome to Haver-Towne. The sedate colonial resort is the perfect place where Stew Fanshawe can get away from it all for a while. But instead finding tranquility and self-reflection, Stew finds something much more unique: a town that was once steeped in a quagmire of witchcraft, satanic debauchery, and centuries-old occult science. Indeed, Haver-Towne has a most colorful history: A warlock who sires children with his own daughter. A witch whose sheer diabolism staggers even the most demented. And a 300-year-old mansion in whose walls are embalmed the infernal secret of...Witch-Water.

No train has run on this railroad since the end of the Civil War—a railroad built by the servitude to perfect evil—and its trusted tracks run right behind the house. Justin Collier expects his respite in Gast, Tennessee, to be relaxing if not a bit dull, but he will find out soon enough that those same train tracks once led to a place worse than Hell.

Plagued by nightmares of torture and intense violence, a writer suffering from trauma-induced memory loss seeks to solve the mystery of his missing past. The only clue is a single page of an unfinished manuscript found in an old manual typewriter, in a fleabag motel, in a small West Virginian town called Luntville. It is here that the writer will seek answers, believing that if he finishes the book he was writing, his memories will return.

Rape. Murder. Brain-eating. Never before has a work of fiction dared to delve so deeply into the realms of perversion, sexual dementia, and bad taste. Who is he? What is he? An inbred homicidal pervert? A supernatural psychopath? Who or whatever he is, he's on a roll now, raging out of the Virginia backwoods and leaving in his wake a trail of blood, guts, and disgust far beyond the limits of your reckoning.

Restaurant manager Vera Abbot has come to The Inn to embark on the job of her dreams. But from the day she arrives, her dream turns into a harrowing nightmare. She hears strange footsteps, sees faceless figures in the dead of night…and is tormented by erotic dreams in which a hideous stranger makes love to her. The past never dies. It only sleeps, waiting to unleash a new cycle of bloodshed and terror. For The Inn is a breeding ground for unspeakable atrocities.

Crick City is a small hick town. Violent, mean, and dirt-poor, it's a place nobody wants to call home. But for homicide cop Phil Straker, it is home. And now someone—or something—is turning his boyhood town into a bloody sideshow of mutilation and gruesome carnage. They're called Creekers. Centuries old, driven by rage and lust for revenge, they move through the deep, dark woods—deformed, shadowy outcasts with twisted faces and blood red eyes. Now, as the moon hangs low over their ancient house, they're gathering for a harvest of terror and death Crick City will never forget....

After the loss of a child along with a slew of agonizing misfortunes, Nick and Jess decide to end their lives. Unable to cope with the misery that fills their days, they commit one last act together and die in loving relief. But when Nick wakes up, he soon realizes that death isn't the gentle darkness he expected. Panicked and horrified, he struggles to understand the twisted abominations and hellish world he's now trapped in.

Deep in the heart of Appalachia stands a crooked farmhouse miles from any road. The Morrows keep to themselves, and it's served them well so far. When girls go missing off the side of the highway, the cops don't knock on their door. Which is a good thing, seeing what's buried in the Morrows' backyard. But 19-year-old Michael Morrow isn't like the rest of his family. He doesn't take pleasure in the screams that echo through the trees.