Craig Spector Libros

His name is Bily Rowe. Yesterday, he was just another tragically talented loser that the city had chewed up and spat back down on the streets - a failed musician, failed lover, failed friend. But that was before a young woman was brutally murdered before his eyes. That was before the hideous creatures crawled out of the shadows to call him by name. That was before Billy Rowe discovered the Power. And with it, his mission... The Cleanup. Billy Rowe is cleaning up the streets. Now, you have nothing left to fear. Nothing but Billy Rowe. "These guys are amongst the frontfunners of modern horror. Skipp and Spector take you to the limits...then one step more." -- Clive Barker

Wild Things...They've been with us forever - prowling the smoky roadhouse dives that are their watering holes and hunting grounds. Predators, lurking amidst the human herd.Changing shape at will. Lusting for blood and meat they are gods in the wild. Gods in disguise. And they feed on the spark inside each of us.Syd was just another lonely working class guy singing the steel-town blues. Then he met Nora. She's sensual, Erotic. Amoral. A creature of the night and she's luring Syd across the line that few can cross--and fewer survive: the line that separates man from beast.

Rock 'n' Roll. Hell. Two great tastes that taste great together. Long before Elvis gyrated on the Sullivan Show or the Beatles toiled the smoky red-light bars of Hamburg, music has been sowing the seeds of liberation. Or damnation. With each new generation the edge of rebellion pushed farther. Rhythms quickened. Volume increased. Lyrics coarsened. The rules continued to be broken, until it seemed that there were no rules at all. And as waves of teens cranked it up and poured it on, parents built walls of accusation to explain their offspring's seeming corruption. Sex and drugs, demon worship and violence are the effects. Music is the cause. Or so the self-styled guardians of morality would have us believe. Meet The Scream. Just your average everyday mega-cult band. Their music is otherworldly. Their words are disturbing. Their message is unholy. Their fans are legion. And they're not kidding. They're killing. Themselves. Each other. Everyone. Their gospel screams from the lips of babes. Their backbeat has a body count. And their encore is just the warm-up act to madness beyond belief. It emerged from a war-torn jungle, where insanity was just another word for survival. It arrived in America with an insatiable lust for power and the means to fulfill it. In the amplified roar of arena applause there beats the heart of absolute darkness.