Totem of Terror (The Eidola Project Series Book 3)

A Demon Walks Among Them

On the remote Washington Coast, a shape-shifting terror stalks a Native village—and The Eidola Project is the last hope of stopping it. But as the 19th-century ghost hunters confront a creature that wears many faces, they must also battle their own inner demons: addiction, grief, and a monstrous curse that threatens to consume them from within.

Tension mounts, trust frays, and the line between hunter and hunted begins to blur. Can the team hold together long enough to stop the killing—or will they become its next victims?

Award-winning and atmospheric, Totem of Terror is the chilling third installment in Robert Herold’s Eidola Project series.

Get your copy of Totem of Terror and step into a world where horror wears many faces.

Excerpt from the book

Washington Coast – September 3rd, 1885

Acrid smoke lay thick in the crowded cedar longhouse, stinging eyes and causing people to cough, but they dared not stop their drumming and chanting. It was near midnight on the second night, but they could not stop, or there would be no chance for the return

of Kitichid and the others. Punctuating the coughs and the tribal litany were periodic wails from Taka, the missing girl’s mother. Her voice, strained and hoarse from two days of crying, sounded as though it would soon be gone.

The entire tribe left their homes, all built within the last few years and constructed in the white man’s style, for this, their traditional meeting place. Many had been drumming and chanting from the start. When people became too tired, others took their place,

tended the fire, or fed the children, who remained unusually quiet. Outside, rain and wind beat against the large one-room structure.

The storm worsened as the second night wore on. The weather pounded against the longhouse with such force, the log beams groaned and cracked.

“Kitichid!” wailed Taka, her strained voice rising above the chanting, the drums, and the storm. “Come to me!”

The storm abruptly stopped.

The tribe silenced their voices and drums. An eerie quiet hung over them, as though the world had ceased to exist outside the confines of the longhouse. The massive cedar door slid open on its own—a door that typically took several men to move.

In the entryway stood the sopping wet little girl.