On a single day at the beginning of Will McIntosh’s Hitchers (Night Shade Books), cartoonist Finn Darby loses both his wife Lorena and his elderly grandfather, who 40 years earlier created the successful comic strip Toy Shop. The grandfather previously made clear his refusal to allow Finn to take over the strip after his own death, but as it turns out, Finn easily convinces his grandmother that continuing the strip will benefit them both. Finn keeps “Top Shop” running, introduces new characters, and signs licensing deals, and these changes bring popularity, fame and wealth.

When a major terrorist attack strikes Finn’s home city of Atlanta, the half-million sudden deaths bring about the novel’s premise: Spirits of the recent dead take over the bodies of the living. These “hitchers” appear first through verbalization, then gradually control the bodies of their living hosts. The novel’s emotional impact is strongly front-loaded. Events pile up fast in the first few chapters. Along with a few characters entangled with him, Finn seeks to understand what’s happening, then manage the interference of these “hitchers” as the influence they exert over the living increases. Finn partners with Mick Mercury, washed-up 80s rock star, and waitress Summer Locker, who Finn and his wife encountered just before Lorena died.

McIntosh presses the story relentlessly forward, in a straightforward, unadorned style, with brief scenes and chapters. Characters move briskly from place to place, event to event. The overall tone remains breezy, despite a brief serious turn in the early going as characters adjust to the loss of loved ones, and greater Atlanta copes with mass death. These scenes are affecting, and come across as “real” in a human way. McIntosh conveys Finn’s conflict between a selfish desire to control “Toy Shop” and an impulse to respect his grandfather’s wishes.

As events progress, the story unfolds at double-speed so that the last half of the book seems compressed. The reader glides along the surface at an increasingly superficial level. Significant story milestones fly past, and the plot jumps forward, more synopsis than narrative. A long-developed romantic triangle is resolved in just a sentence or two. A character’s mindset suddenly jumps from problem-solving to giving up all hope, without much in the way of transition. These plot turns feel less true, less emotionally justified than what came before.

Just when the plot seems to be on a rail headed toward inevitability, McIntosh pulls out some rewarding surprises and nicely resolves the ending. Hitchers offers an interesting setup and likable characters whose conflicts and drives compel the reader. Despite pacing issues in the second half, it’s an enjoyable and entertaining read.

This short debut novel quickly establishes that newcomer Ennis Drake can really write. The narrative voice is strong, rich with nuance and flavor. Scene after scene exhibits Drake’s competence at playing out a narrative thread. The book is clearly in the horror category but also has a noir genre feel to it, including the common noir element of the emotionally or psychologically damaged law enforcement officer for a main character.

The whole story, every character interaction, is a pool of hard, bitter emotions. Everybody in the book seems hurt and wanting, stuck in an agonizing pattern of self-defeat and dysfunction. Characters seem realistically flawed, emotionally alive. It’s clear what they want and what’s keeping them from getting it. Drake’s strength as a writer is in clearly rendering these people (particularly Riley, the protagonist) so they seem believable and familiar to the reader. Throughout this book, I felt what the characters felt. The ability to give the reader this experience is arguably the most important determinant of whether a book succeeds or fails. On this test, I say Drake easily passes. The novel is quite strong in terms of execution, of conveying believable characters with a strong narrative voice.

An aspect I consider less successful is the central conceit of the possessed or demonic power saw. Much of Stephen King’s very popular oeuvre has been built on similar concepts — such possessed/demonic objects as a hotel, laundry press, lawnmower, classic car, eighteen-wheeler, even a St. Bernard. Despite King’s success with this approach, I’d argue a stronger, more interesting antagonist or threat could be created by not merely applying demonic or malignant qualities to a mundane object. I’d love to see Drake’s skill for storytelling, and the creation of realistic characters, applied to a stronger, more complex basic concept.

The only other shortcoming is in those sections of written or recorded testimonies of characters in their own voices, which sound not like a real person telling their story, but more formal, like a novel’s narrator. Through these segments important backstory is revealed, so these passages are necessary, yet the tone is slightly off. This problem does not exist with the novel’s spoken dialog, which is both naturalistic and believable, so it’s clear Drake knows how to convey the way people really speak. This minor quibble applied only to the sections of Jodi’s diary and Strom’s recorded testimony, and really didn’t detract much from my enjoyment of the book.

These reservations were certainly outweighed by the confident, fluent prose and believable characterization. Overall, Twenty-Eight Teeth of Rage is a compelling, passionately-told drama, and a successful piece of writing. From the first page I was impressed with Drake’s ability to draw the reader into an intense, vividly emotional scene. Flaws may be present, but not many for a first novel. I’m eager to see how Ennis Drake applies his obvious authorial talents to different story concepts in the future.