Fiction Writer
"I’m a little nuts, but, I’m not crazy. I am just a person, like you, with stuff to say.
Fiction Writer
"I’m a little nuts, but, I’m not crazy. I am just a person, like you, with stuff to say.
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The Spiralizer
Vinny DeCarlo doesn’t predict the future, he feels when it’s already begun. Raised in the back rooms of diners and the worn edges of small-town New York, Vinny grows up quiet, observant, and strangely tuned to the hum beneath ordinary life. Sometimes pressure blooms behind his eyes, an invisible warning with no clear message, until the headlines arrive and the world catches up.
As the sensations grow stronger, Vinny realizes the terror isn’t what will happen. It’s that something is already in motion, and the “sequence” does not care who gets hurt. When his instinct brushes against death and coincidence starts looking like design, Vinny is forced to face the most frightening possibility of all: he’s not watching the pattern anymore. He’s inside it.
#thespiralizer #psychologicalThriller #horror #vlechenz #novella #fiction
coming soon to kindle ku! Don't miss this novella!
Backstage at the Palace
- Coming Soon -
Backstage at the Palace is a dark thriller about the side of restaurant life customers never see. Behind the polished walls of a successful restaurant tucked behind Stamford’s Palace Theater, Vinny DeCarlo finds himself trapped in a world of after-hours secrets, sexual betrayal, kitchen brutality, drunken power, and quiet corruption. The deeper he gets, the more the room begins to poison everyone inside it, including him. As tensions rise and restraint starts to crack, Vinny begins to understand that the most dangerous thing in the room may not be what he sees, but what it is drawing out of him.
#backstageatthepalace #psychologicalThriller #vlechenz #novella #fiction
coming soon to kindle ku! Don't miss this novella!
Backstage at the Palace
- Coming Soon -
When a local contractor is hired to clear out the abandoned offices of a shuttered animation studio in Greenwich, he expects dust, debris, and the usual corporate leftovers. What he finds instead is a hidden door, cleverly disguised behind a wall panel, leading to a sealed archival room that hasn’t been opened in decades. Inside are boxes of files, letters, and artifacts from the private office of one of history’s most legendary figures, documents no one was ever meant to see.
Over the following weeks, he secretly removes the contents, piece by piece, unaware that what he is unearthing was deliberately concealed, a vault of secrets meant to be forgotten. At first, the papers seem like ordinary archival material, old memos, office correspondence, and development notes. But then, among the folders and files, he finds a thick accordion folder labeled with a familiar name, and everything changes. What was meant to be a routine job has become a descent into a hidden world of obsession, power, and legacy.
As he pores over the materials, the line between history and myth begins to blur. He realizes that this is no ordinary archive, it is a deliberate burial of knowledge, intention, and possibly danger. The deeper he goes, the more he uncovers about the mind behind the legend and the lengths someone went to hide the truth. What he holds in his hands could rewrite history, and the question looms: some secrets were never meant to be found, and some discoveries come with a cost no one can escape.
#disneyslastwords #psychologicalThriller #vlechenz #novella #fiction
Greenwich: Old Money Cold Blood
A Novel, Coming Soon!
Greenwich is not a novel about privilege. It is a novel about what privilege can conceal. Beneath the manicured surface of Greenwich, Connecticut, beneath the wealth, the celebrity, the old names and new fortunes, runs a darker inheritance: violence, ritual, secrecy, and a generational evil that has learned how to pass for normal.
What begins as the private history of one family opens into something far more disturbing, where murder, psychological damage, and occult influence are not separate threads, but part of the same design.
Then Jake, his son, steps in, and the temperature drops. He starts pulling the threads tight, one by one, and what Vincent left behind stops reading like a past and starts acting like evidence. He follows what no one was supposed to find, and with every page he turns, the air gets heavier, because some secrets don’t stay buried. They wait.
Greenwich moves with the pressure of true crime and the dread of literary horror. When Jake, his son, steps in, the temperature drops. He starts pulling the threads tight, one by one, and what Vincent left behind stops reading like a past and starts acting like evidence. He follows what no one was supposed to find, digging through a middle-class life spent pressed up against a wealthy world that never quite let them in, and with every page he turns, the air gets heavier, because some secrets don’t stay buried. They wait. It is domestic. Spiritual. An atmosphere of menace so intimate it becomes part of the architecture of his life.
As memory gives way to revelation, and revelation to terror, the novel forces open the question of whether some families merely keep secrets, or whether they become the hiding place for something far worse.
At approximately 53,000 words, Greenwich is a lean, dark novel blending psychological thriller, horror, true-crime realism, and occult fiction. It is ruthless, intimate, and deeply unsettling, written for readers who want their suspense sharpened by dread, and their horror grounded in the sickening possibility that the worst things are not imagined at all.
Epigraph for Greenwich: Old Money Cold Blood
As the red-hot blood poured from the fresh wound in my neck, I thought, at least this will be quick. I fumbled to apply pressure, but everything was too slick, too hot, too out of control. “Come on! You can do this,” I urged, my trembling fingers pressing against the perfectly formed hole in my neck.
I fought to stop the roaring flood, but the strength drained out of me almost instantly. I weakened. My hands slipped. And then I let go, surrendering to the inevitable. As I did, a violent blast of hot blood erupted from my neck and struck the opposite wall, marking it in a way I knew I would never forget.
The sensation was disorienting, a hideous mixture of agony and release, like the unbearable pressure of a full bladder suddenly giving way, explosive and disturbingly euphoric. Pain and relief arrived together, tangled so tightly they were almost impossible to separate.
As the room swirled and the edges of it began to darken, I struggled to comprehend the horror of what had just happened. My father had shot me in the neck with my mother’s chrome-plated .357 Magnum. The thought landed heavily, almost too heavily to process. As I swallowed my own blood, my stomach turned. The metallic smell hung thick in the air, dense and unmistakable, filling the room like something alive.
That is when I was jolted awake.
My heart was pounding so hard it felt dangerous, and I woke in immediate horror to find both of my hands wrapped tightly around my throat. Choking myself in my sleep? My pulse kicked even harder as pieces of the dream flashed through my mind in ragged bursts: the gun, the blood, his face twisted with rage. For a few terrible seconds, the dream had not ended. It had followed me back.
Somewhere in that frantic blur between sleep and panic, my body intervened. My hands loosened, the pressure let up, and the blood and air rushed back into me like it had been waiting outside a locked door. And that is the part that still gets under my skin: the dream did not create the danger. It borrowed it.
Something real was happening to me, and my sleeping brain translated it into something savage enough to explain it, my father, the gun, the blood. What made me let go, and what if I didn’t? On one level, it made perfect sense. On another, it left me with questions that clawed at my sanity.
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V Le Chenz
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V Le Chenz
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Hotboxed at ten. Hooked on chaos. A brutally honest coming-of-age in the haze of the ’70s and ’80s.
It’s Glenville, 1977. The windows are up, the summer heat is suffocating, and ten-year-old V is riding in the back of a car thick with marijuana smoke. That moment, equal parts absurd and formative, marks the beginning of a childhood steeped in contact highs, dysfunctional family dynamics, and a search for clarity in a world that rarely offered it.
This candid memoir pulls no punches. From awkward crushes and hockey skates to missed chances and musical obsessions, V recounts a youth shaped by the haze of cannabis and the emotional fog of unreliable parenting.
With sharp wit and unflinching vulnerability, he explores how addiction, identity, and longing collided in the smoke-filled rooms of his adolescence, and how those early experiences echoed into adulthood through workplace camaraderie, romantic misfires, and moments of unexpected grace.
For readers who appreciate memoirs that are raw, reflective, and darkly funny, this is a story of growing up stoned, emotionally and literally, and finding meaning in the madness, reminiscent of the impactful novellas that capture the essence of a generation.
"Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent”
Calvin Coolidge