1927:
It’s the time of prohibition, Valentino,
the Jazz Age, and the Cotton Club.
666 West End Ave, situated close to the
hot urban jungle of Harlem is a sleek new
building in a swanky part of town, decked out in
the latest Art Deco style, home to Jazz Babies
and Debutantes, Witches and Warlocks.

Occult writer, actor, and playboy
Robin Saint Sinclair occupies the entire 13th floor and throws outrageous parties. It’s rumored that he is not just an occult writer but also a practitioner of the dark arts, into black magic, drugs, and the darker depths of sex. His charismatic brand of sin, bathtub gin, and secrets soon attracts disciples.
Admission By Invitation Only

Now:
666 West End Ave is a dump; broken,
degraded, and leering it has ended up
as a sort of hostel, halfway house,
and crackhouse. The apartments are
seedy, the tenants are transitory, the
hallways are dank and moldy.
No one likes to live there too long
except for a handful of old-time tenants
hanging onto their rent-controlled apartments.
The super doesn’t like to go down into basement.
The building has a history of freakish deaths,
nasty tragedies, and unexplained mysteries.

666 West End Avenue is NC-17 Rated.
It is a novel of horror and madness, murder,
the occult, and the supernatural.
For the purposes of the story it is assumed that
black magic is black, and Satanism means just that.
It contains strong language, violence, and sexual content.
Vampires and lycanthropes need not apply
but blood fetishists are welcome.