A Book A Week

Summer is in full swing, and this is the time of year when I find myself craving fast-paced page-turners—books that hook me from the very first page and don’t let go. While my definition of a perfect summer read has evolved over the years, sharp, punchy thrillers remain my seasonal go-to. Enter Girl in the Creek, the latest novel by Wendy N. Wagner. A horror-tinged mystery with an arresting cover that instantly caught my eye, it had a premise I couldn’t resist. The moment I read the synopsis, I knew I had to dive in.

Erin Harper has arrived in Faraday, Oregon, under false pretenses. She’s pitched a travel piece to a magazine, claiming the small mountain town is the next must-see vacation destination. In truth, Faraday is anything but. Nestled in the shadow of Mt. Hood, it's a fading community anchored by a decaying hotel overtaken by fungus and rot, a far cry from the charming getaway it once was. Erin’s real reason for coming is personal. Her brother disappeared here, and she’s determined to find out what happened.

Erin's brother isn't the first person to vanish. People go missing here. Always in the woods. Always without a trace. Erin thinks she might finally get answers when another young woman vanishes and later turns up dead in a creek. But the relief is short-lived. The girl disappears again—this time from the morgue—and her fingerprints resurface days later at a violent crime scene. Is it a serial killer? A town-wide cover-up? Or is something darker taking root in the forest itself—something ancient, infectious, and impossible to contain? Erin’s running out of time. If she doesn’t solve the mystery soon, she may become the next to disappear.

Girl in the Creek sees Wendy N. Wagner blend classic mystery elements with eco/body horror in an atmospheric page-turner that hooked me from the start. There’s something irresistible about a quiet small town hiding secrets, and Wagner taps into that unease with sharp prose and a breakneck pace. The story unfolds through alternating perspectives, keeping the tension high throughout.

The cast is fairly large, but the real focus is on Erin, whose character is the most fully developed. The others serve more as background players, which isn’t necessarily a flaw, but it does mean the emotional stakes stay closely tied to Erin's journey. One of the most imaginative points of view comes from a mysterious entity Wagner calls 'The Strangeness'—a force that’s as eerie as it is original. I’d love to say more, but to do so would spoil the fun. Suffice it to say, Girl in the Creek is a quick, creepy, and satisfying summer read that kept me glued to every page.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2025, 55)

There's something wrong with Iðunn. At least, that’s what she thinks. How else can she explain the way she sleeps soundly every night, only to wake up exhausted, her body sore, aching, as if she’d spent hours working out? She would never. So, once again, Iðunn drags herself to another doctor’s appointment, desperate for answers, terrified of what those answers might be. ALS? That’s her guess. God, how awful. But at least it would be something.

Instead, the doctor finds nothing out of the ordinary. Her bloodwork looks fine. Her reflexes are fine. Everything is fine. She’s sent home with a prescription for sleeping pills and the usual suggestions to eat better, exercise more, and reduce stress.

Iðunn isn’t convinced. She’s seen plenty of doctors, and none of them have been able to give her a proper diagnosis. Still, she decides to humor this one and buys a smartwatch to start tracking her health. One night, she forgets to take it off before bed. The next morning, she checks it on a whim, and her stomach drops.

Thousands of steps. Walked in the middle of the night.

Sleepwalking? Maybe. But it’s rare in adults, especially without a history. Usually, it’s connected to something... worse. Iðunn doesn’t want to go there. Not yet. But the strange nightly journeys continue. The steps always seem to center around a single location somewhere near the harbor. She avoids it by day, too afraid to confront whatever might be waiting for her there.

And then come the injuries. Deep aches. Strange bruises. And one morning, something even worse.

Blood.
On her skin.
Not hers.

Something is happening.
And Iðunn is running out of time to figure out what it is.

A co-worker recently recommended I check out The Night Guest by Hildur Knútsdóttir, and after reading the blurb, I couldn’t wait to dive in. At under 200 pages, it’s a quick read, but don’t let that fool you. This book packs a serious punch.

Told entirely from Iðunn’s perspective, the story begins with what seems like run-of-the-mill hypochondria. But as the strange occurrences mount, it becomes clear that something far more unsettling is going on. We only know what Iðunn knows, and that isn’t much. Her fear and paranoia creep in slowly, then crash over you with every page. Knútsdóttir writes with urgency and precision, making it nearly impossible to put the book down. I read it in a single sitting, desperate to see how it would all play out.

My only complaint is with the ending. After such tightly wound tension and eerie buildup, the final pages lean more toward ambiguity than resolution. Because we only see through Iðunn’s limited lens, there’s not quite enough context to fully understand what’s really happening. It’s a bit of a letdown after such an intense lead-up.

Still, The Night Guest is a suspenseful, sharply written psychological thriller with plenty to admire. Knútsdóttir may not quite stick the landing, but the journey is more than worth it.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2025, 54)

Haunted. That’s one word to describe how the past year has left poor Annie Blunt. First, her husband was killed in a hit-and-run accident, leaving her alone to raise their young son, Charlie. Her personal life in shambles, at least she still had her career to anchor her—Annie was the author and illustrator of a beloved children’s book series featuring a lovable penguin. But then, tragedy bled into that world, too. In one of her books, the penguin crafted wings out of cardboard and tape in a whimsical effort to fly, its message clear: you can do anything you set your mind to. Tragically, a young reader took that message literally, fashioning wings of his own and leaping to his death. Annie couldn’t help but blame herself. Now, she’s haunted by everything she’s endured, unable to write, barely able to live.

Her agent suggests a change of scenery, somewhere far from the noise and reminders of her life in New York City. A quiet town in upstate New York might give Annie and Charlie the space to heal, maybe even help her start on the next book in her series, for which she’s already been paid an advance. Their new surroundings are peaceful, if a bit too quiet, and boredom soon begins to creep in. That is, until Charlie discovers an old, forgotten train set hidden away in a locked shed on the property. At first, Annie is relieved to see her son smiling again. But there’s something off about the toy. At night, Annie wakes to the sound of a train, despite the nearest tracks being miles away. And strange things begin to happen around the neighborhood. Most unsettling of all, Annie finds herself compulsively sketching a new character—one that has no place in a children’s story, and one she doesn’t remember creating. Despite her quest to escape her grief, Annie’s misery may only be beginning.

Only in the capable hands of Linwood Barclay could a model train set become the stuff of nightmares. I first encountered his writing with the stellar thriller A Noise Downstairs, so when his publisher offered me the chance to read his latest, Whistle, I jumped at the opportunity. There’s a timelessness to this terror. Barclay sets Annie’s story in the present day but also takes us back to 2001, offering glimpses of the horror that was and hints of the darkness still to come. We’ve seen where the tracks go before Annie does. All we can do now is look on in dread as it all unfolds. Whistle reads like a classic Stephen King novel. It's full of unsettling scenarios (some of which are genuinely hard to read), but anchored by well-developed characters who bring even the most outlandish moments into sharp, chilling focus. It’s the kind of summer page-turner that demands to be read. Quick, eerie, and thoroughly enjoyable.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2025, 40)

There’s a phenomenon that tends to crop up in long-running horror franchises. After a while, the formula gets stale. Desperate to recapture former glory, the creators throw the rulebook out the window and attempt a reinvention. Think Friday the 13th's Jason X, where Jason slashes his way through a spaceship, or Wes Craven’s New Nightmare, where Freddy breaks through the fourth wall to stalk the cast of a movie based on Nightmare on Elm Street.

Adam Cesare’s Clown in a Cornfield 2: Frendo Lives didn’t quite recapture the lightning-in-a-bottle energy of the first novel, but it ended with a compelling tease that hinted at something bold. Against my better judgment, I dove into Clown in a Cornfield 3: The Church of Frendo, curious to see how Cesare would land this trilogy. Like its cinematic horror counterparts, this final installment takes a sharp left turn into new territory—but does it work?

Picking up where book two’s epilogue left off, we find Quinn Maybrook on a mission. No longer just a survivor, she’s become a hunter, tracking down the violent disciples of Frendo across the country. But what began as vigilante justice becomes something far more ominous as she uncovers just how deeply the cult of Frendo has taken root. Back in her hometown, the clown has transformed from a symbol of chaos into the central figure of a burgeoning religion—one fueled by the same hate and extremism that first sparked the bloodshed.

Clown in a Cornfield 3: The Church of Frendo is Adam Cesare at his most unhinged and ambitious. It’s wild, grim, and over-the-top in a way that pays homage to horror’s most infamous third acts. Not everything lands, but there’s a certain satisfaction in seeing the trilogy go out swinging, embracing the bizarre while still holding onto the raw, bloody heart that made the original so memorable. If nothing else, it proves Cesare is unafraid to take risks—and in horror, that counts for a lot.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2025, 38)

With a hurricane bearing down on Galveston, Charlie Book gives his team the night off. They've been stationed offshore with the Texas Parks and Wildlife Service, studying the Christabel—a half-sunken 19th-century freighter swallowed by Gulf waters and tangled in a lattice of mangrove trees. Over time, nature has turned the wreck into something strange and beautiful, a ghost ship wrapped in living roots. Book has grown obsessed with the vessel’s eerie stillness, isolation, and secrets. He plans to ride out the storm alone aboard the ship, despite the warnings.

Just as he’s about to depart, Ruby appears on the dock. He hasn’t seen her in years. Their relationship ended in pain, the kind you don’t easily talk about or forget. Now here she is, soaked in rain and panic, not alone but with a frightened woman and an infant in tow. They beg him to take them aboard the Christabel. They're running from a coven of witches, no less, and believe the child is marked for sacrifice. Book knows it sounds insane. He almost laughs. But something in Ruby’s eyes makes him pause. Against his better judgment, he agrees to help.

As the storm closes in and the wind howls through Christabel's broken ribs, something stirs in the dark. The night birds are circling, watching, waiting. What seemed like an act of mercy may have just invited an ancient terror aboard.

I'll admit, the setup of The Night Birds struck me as a bit over-the-top when I first read the synopsis. A coven of witches chasing a woman with the intent to sacrifice an infant? It sounded more pulpy than genuinely terrifying. And yes, there are certainly moments in this story that invite an eye-roll or two. But Christopher Golden is a master of horror for a reason, and that expertise is on full display here.

Golden conjures a setting that’s as eerie as it is beautiful—a half-drowned ship tangled in mangrove roots, isolated off the Texas coast. It’s the kind of place that keeps you off balance, unsure whether to marvel or shudder. The forest-aquatic atmosphere alone generates a steady undercurrent of unease, and when Golden decides to go for the scares, he delivers. Several moments in this novel had me reaching for the nearest light switch.

Is The Night Birds my favorite of his? No. That title still belongs to The House of Last Resort. But it’s always a thrill to dive into horror that’s atmospheric, original, and unapologetically weird. The Night Birds might be a little silly, but it’s also a creepy, fast-paced blast. And really, what more could you ask for?

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2025, 35)

There’s nothing more certain in the horror genre than a sequel following a smash hit. Adam Cesare’s 2020 novel Clown in a Cornfield was precisely that—a slasher steeped in tradition but energized by a sharp commentary on political polarization and generational conflict. It ended with a satisfying conclusion that could easily stand on its own. But when has that ever stopped a sequel? So, with a mix of anticipation and trepidation, I dove into Clown in a Cornfield 2: Frendo Lives.

A year ago, Quinn was just trying to survive her senior year after moving to the small town of Kettle Springs. What she didn’t expect was a group of unhinged adults donning clown masks and launching a murderous crusade against the youth they blamed for their town’s decline. Quinn made it out—barely—and now she’s starting over in college, trying to move past the trauma and look toward the future.

But trauma doesn’t vanish with a change of scenery. Even hundreds of miles from Kettle Springs, Quinn can’t escape the past. She’s become a target for online conspiracy theorists who insist the massacre never happened. The facts are undeniable, but in the age of disinformation, facts don’t always win. And when a clown attacks Quinn at a college party, she realizes the nightmare isn’t over. The only way to end it is to return to where it all started. To the cornfields. To the truth. Because when reality gets drowned out by lies, people don’t just get confused—they get killed.

Sequels rarely live up to their predecessors, and Clown in a Cornfield 2: Frendo Lives is no exception. What felt sharp and timely in the original now comes across as obligatory. The characters are thinner, the horror less inventive, and the political commentary that once gave the story its bite now feels more heavy-handed than insightful. Adam Cesare still delivers a brisk, bingeable read, but it largely rehashes familiar ground. It’s a decent thriller, and perhaps even more enjoyable for those who haven’t read the first, but for fans returning to the franchise, it’s hard to ignore the lessened impact of this story. Like many horror series before it, this one seems to be falling into the trap of diminishing returns. Still, a final twist offers a flicker of intrigue for what might come next. I’ll be reading, but I’m tempering my expectations.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2025, 32)

There’s something liberating about hitting the open road, leaving behind schedules and responsibilities, if only for a little while. Just you, your thoughts, and the miles stretching ahead. Of course, reality has its limits—gas, speed limits, food, and sleep all play a role—but for a brief moment, a road trip can feel like the perfect escape from life’s burdens.

For Livia and her friends, that escape is precisely what they need. Reeling from the discovery of her husband’s affair, Livia is desperate to get away, and her friends are more than willing to help her forget her troubles for a few days. Their trip through the Cascade foothills of Central Oregon starts as a simple getaway, but a reckless tow truck driver tailing them turns their carefree ride into something far more unsettling.

Hoping to lose him, they veer onto County Road 95, an unremarkable backroad with a chilling local reputation. Known as The Devil’s Driveway, the 15-mile stretch quickly turns their road trip into a nightmare. What starts as a detour soon becomes a desperate fight for survival, pushing the four women to the edge of their sanity. And with every twist and turn, something even more terrifying waits ahead.

I was immediately drawn to the concept of a haunted highway and gladly accepted the audiobook version of White Line Fever from K.C. Jones’ publisher. Kate Hanford’s expert narration added a chilling urgency to the story, keeping me hooked and looking for any excuse to keep listening. Jones gradually unveils the full scope of the horror his characters face, starting with eerie instances of lost time, dissociation, and hallucinations before escalating into true, unrelenting terror.

Throughout the novel, Jones weaves in flashbacks to Livia’s past, adding depth to her character. While I appreciated these insights, they occasionally disrupted the pacing, and I often found myself more eager to return to the escalating tension on the road. Still, White Line Fever hurtles toward a harrowing climax that delivers thrills and meaningful character growth. A solid horror thriller, it’s an especially gripping listen.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2025, 23)

Stay with me on this train of thought. I find a certain comfort in the thrill of a classic slasher movie. I know what you’re thinking: How do you find comfort in something meant to terrify you? Fair question. But hear me out.

I’ve always enjoyed those formulaic horror films, you know, the ones where an unsuspecting victim is relentlessly pursued by a crazed maniac, hellbent on destruction. Classics like Halloween, Friday the 13th, and Scream perfected this formula, and while modern slashers often follow in their footsteps, there's something undeniably satisfying about watching these familiar beats play out. The predictability isn’t a flaw. It’s part of the fun, a rhythm I can sink into as I let the latest variation work its magic.

In the literary world, I've enjoyed how authors like Stephen Graham Jones and Christopher Golden have made their mark by honoring horror’s beloved tropes while carving out fresh, inventive narratives. Now I can add Adam Cesare’s Clown in a Cornfield to that list. His take on the teen slasher is bold, gruesome, and instantly gripping. It lures you in with its familiarity, only to keep you hooked with its clever twists on a well-worn genre.

Kettle Springs is the kind of small Midwestern town that time forgot. Nestled among sprawling cornfields, it’s littered with remnants of what it once was. The now-vacant Baypen Corn Syrup Factory looms over the landscape, a stark monument to economic collapse and the deepening rift between generations. Even more prominent is the town’s faded mascot, Frendo, a grinning clown in a porkpie hat, his image still plastered on buildings and rusting signs, a ghost of better days. The older generation clings desperately to the past, determined to make Kettle Springs great again. The younger generation couldn’t care less. They’re just trying to have fun and escape as soon as possible.

For Quinn Maybrook and her father, Kettle Springs represents a fresh start, something they both need after the death of Quinn’s mother. Her father has traded his high-pressure job as an ER doctor for the slower pace of life as the town’s primary physician. But Quinn isn’t exactly thrilled. This sleepy, dead-end town wasn’t what she had in mind for a new beginning. At this point, her only goal is to keep her head down and make it to graduation.

But Kettle Springs has other plans.

The town’s simmering tensions reach a boiling point when a masked killer—dressed as Frendo himself—decides that the best way to restore Kettle Springs to its former glory is to rid the town of the rotten kids who live there now. Suddenly, Quinn finds herself caught in the crossfire of a town at war with itself, running for her life in a place she never wanted to call home in the first place. 

With Clown in a Cornfield, Adam Cesare uses the framework of a classic slasher to explore small-town politics, grief, and the inevitability of progress. It’s a story that feels both timeless and eerily relevant, capturing the political divide of our current moment. Sure, it gets a bit over-the-top at times, and the climax ties things up a little too neatly, but I didn’t care. Cesare delivers a brutal, fast-paced horror novel that had me completely hooked. He brings classic slasher tropes into the modern era in a way that feels fresh, subverting expectations just enough to keep things unpredictable. With two more books in the series already out and a film adaptation coming later this year, Clown in a Cornfield is a bonafide hit. It's a fun, clever horror novel that has me eager for more.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2025, 20)

From an early age, we’re taught to fear the dark. Sure, most of us outgrow it, but I’d be lying if I said I don’t flick on my phone’s flashlight when navigating the darkened halls of my home—just in case. There’s a thrilling uncertainty in the night, where the darkness toys with our better judgment, daring us to see monsters in what daylight would reveal as perfectly ordinary. In her latest novel, Something in the Walls, Daisy Pearce preys on this universal fear, crafting a chilling tale of childhood nightmares, witchcraft, and the things that go bump in the night. 

Fresh out of school and with a wedding on the horizon, Mina is eager to take the next step in her life. With a degree in child psychology, she’s ready to put her studies to use, but with little hands-on experience, finding a job proves more complicated than she expected. After all, who would entrust their troubled child to a complete newcomer? Stuck in limbo, waiting for her career to take off and her marriage to Oscar to begin, Mina finds her only real outlet in attending a local bereavement group, where she continues to grieve the loss of her brother years after his passing.

It’s at one of these meetings that Mina meets journalist Sam, who offers her an unexpected opportunity. He’s chasing a story about thirteen-year-old Alice Webber, a girl who claims to be haunted by a witch. And she has the chilling stories and disturbing evidence to back it up. Her family is desperate for answers but lacks the means to hire a top expert. They can, however, afford Mina.

For Mina, the job is a chance to gain crucial experience. For Sam, it’s an opportunity to document a bizarre and unsettling case firsthand. But as Mina immerses herself in Alice’s world, she quickly realizes she may be in over her head. The girl’s symptoms are growing more disturbing by the day, and the deeper Mina digs, the more she begins to question whether Alice’s affliction is psychological...or something far more sinister.

I was instantly drawn into the eerie atmosphere of Something in the Walls. In the novel's opening, Pearce wisely employs a less-is-more approach, allowing the mere possibility of something sinister lurking beneath the surface to drive much of the suspense. I received an audiobook copy from the publisher, and Ana Clements’ narration hit all the right notes for this unsettling story.

The setup had all the makings of a classic horror tale: a small town with a dark history, a family struggling to find a logical explanation for their child’s strange behavior, and breadcrumb clues hinting at the true terror lurking beneath the surface (or, in this case, behind the walls). But as I ventured deeper into the novel, I found the horror’s impact diminishing. It’s a classic case of my imagination conjuring far more unsettling possibilities than what the story ultimately delivered.

Lulls in pacing and a glaring unresolved plot point further dampened the novel’s effectiveness. Yes, there’s plenty of creepiness to be found, and I seem to be in the minority of readers on this one. Still, Something in the Walls left me more intrigued by the possibility of discovering something lurking in the shadows than by what it actually revealed in the end.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2025, 16)

October wouldn’t be complete without reading at least one novel by the master of horror, Stephen King. The iconic American author has ventured into various genres in recent years, skillfully crafting thought-provoking plots and deeply developed characters. Yet it’s horror that made King a household name, and his ability to terrify readers will remain his lasting legacy. With that in mind, I knew I wanted to tackle a classic King novel this season, and 'Salem's Lot seemed like the perfect choice.

Jerusalem's Lot is a charming, postcard-perfect small town in New England. It is the kind of place where everyone knows each other and it feels safe to raise a family. Author Ben Mears returns to the Lot, a town he once called home, hoping to confront some personal demons while working on what he hopes will be his breakout novel. His focus is the ominous Marsten House, a decaying mansion that casts a long shadow over the town.

Mears has long believed the house harbors a deep evil, and his suspicions grow when a mysterious new resident, an antique dealer named Mr. Straker, moves in. Not long after, strange events begin to plague the town—children disappear, people fall ill under mysterious circumstances, and creeping darkness seems to envelop the community. As Mears investigates, he uncovers a chilling truth: Straker is merely a pawn for an ancient, far more sinister force threatening to consume the entire town. Now, Mears and a small group of allies must fight for their lives, testing their courage and resolve as the line between life and death blurs.

Originally published in 1975, following the success of Carrie, 'Salem's Lot established many of the signature elements that would come to define Stephen King's body of work. The protagonist is an author—an autobiographical archetype King would revisit in numerous future novels. The setting is a small Maine town, the cast is large and richly developed, and the narrative is driven by a horrifying evil layered with complexity. I'll admit, the first third of the novel took some time to get into. King dedicates much of this section to meticulously introducing the town and its residents. While this slow build pays off later when the action intensifies, it does give the book a bit of a sluggish start.

However, it’s the sheer terror of 'Salem's Lot that has secured its lasting legacy. King’s twist on the classic vampire tale infuses familiar elements with his unsettling, unique vision. On the surface, the novel is about a town gradually succumbing to an ancient monster’s darkness. On a deeper level, it reflects the decline of small-town America, once the heart of the country, and already beginning to fade when the book was first published. Because King brings this setting and its inhabitants to life with authenticity and depth, the horrors they face feel all the more chilling. 'Salem’s Lot remains a timeless Stephen King classic, proving that masterful storytelling will always endure.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2024, 79)

Christmas is a time for giving, togetherness, and sharing the season's joy. While I’m a sucker for the heartwarming holiday stories that flood the season, I’ve found them becoming a bit predictable. Recently, I’ve been searching for something different. This year, I was thrilled to come across You Better Watch Out, a thriller set during the holidays by James S. Murray (of Impractical Jokers fame) and Darren Wearmouth. With its eerie twist, it’s a fresh, unexpected Christmas novel that blends holiday cheer with a dash of horror—just what I was looking for.

Just days before Christmas, Eddie Parker is making the long drive home when he pulls into Old Forge for a quick stop. It’s a classic small town, the kind that time—and everyone else—seems to have forgotten. As he browses the dusty shelves of the general store, his eyes are drawn to an elderly couple shuffling through the aisles. A glimpse of crisp bills in the woman’s purse catches his attention, and despite knowing better, temptation gets the best of him. Old habits die hard, and Eddie could use the extra cash. He follows them out, ready to make his move. But just as he’s about to strike, he realizes he may have underestimated his targets. A sharp sting on his neck is the last thing he feels before the world darkens.

Jessica Kane wakes with blurred vision and a splitting headache. Her fingers brush her forehead, coming back slick with blood. Panic sets in. Where is she? How did she get here? As her vision clears, she recognizes the town of Old Forge, but something is wrong. The once-familiar place is completely abandoned, draped in eerie, vintage Christmas decorations as if frozen in time. But it’s not the past she’s traveled to. Soon, Jessica discovers five other strangers, including Eddie, each with no memory of how they arrived in this strange place. They share the same confusion and dread, but one thing is clear: they must find a way out. Escape, however, won't be easy. Someone is hunting them, methodically orchestrating their deaths, one by one. Each time, they watch helplessly as another life fades before their eyes. They must find a way out of this nightmare before they become the next victim. 

You Better Watch Out isn’t your typical holiday read. It unfolds more like a horror thriller than anything else, making for a refreshing take on the genre. Authors Murray and Wearmouth fully embrace the fun of this unique narrative, crafting a gory and thrilling holiday tale that feels like a blend of A Christmas Carol and the Saw movies. The characters aren’t exactly good people. They find themselves in a scenario that forces them to confront their past while seeking redemption for their futures. But first, they’ll have to survive.

I went into the novel blind and was blown away by the adrenaline rush it delivered. There’s a central mystery surrounding the mastermind behind this holiday horror, and the twist caught me completely off guard. While you might need to suspend some logic to fully enjoy the ride, don’t let that deter you. You Better Watch Out is a thrilling, clever novel that is a unique addition to the holiday reading season.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2024, 77)

As a horror enthusiast, I like to weave in spooky reads throughout the year. With the arrival of Fall, my craving for the genre has intensified. So, I eagerly accepted when the publisher offered me Johnny Compton's Devils Kill Devils as an audiobook. The chilling premise immediately pulled me in, quickly satisfying my appetite for a gripping, terrifying read.

Sarita has always been shielded by a guardian angel, a mysterious presence she calls Angelo, keeping his existence hidden from the world. But even angels can’t remain unseen forever. Lately, Sarita has started to wonder whether Angelo is truly a force for good or something far more sinister. When he takes the life of someone she loves, Sarita is confronted with a chilling reality. To survive, she must confront the darkness lurking within herself and embrace the very evil she’s been trying to escape.

I went into Devils Kill Devils without any expectations, and right from the start, I felt a creeping sense of unease. Johnny Compton has a way of drawing readers in with a deceptively simple narrative, gradually revealing layers of terror that tighten their grip as the story unfolds. Imani Jade Powers’ narration brings Sarita to life, infusing Compton's characters with vivid energy. With the novel set in South Texas, the familiar locations added an extra sense of authenticity for me. While the ending felt a bit grander than the buildup might have warranted, it still delivered a chaotic and genuinely chilling conclusion. Overall, it was an intriguing start to my lineup of spooky reads for the season.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2024, 71)

September has arrived, bringing a slight chill to the air. Though the season is slowly changing here in South Texas, at least the temperatures aren’t as blistering as they were this summer! Even though it’s a bit early, I couldn’t resist diving into my favorite fall traditions—opening the windows to welcome the breeze, indulging in pumpkin spice everything, and, of course, starting some spooky season reads. I turned to a reliable favorite, Stephen Graham Jones. His previous novels, My Heart is a Chainsaw and The Only Good Indians, delivered some genuine scares, so I was excited to pick up his latest, I Was a Teenage Slasher. As expected, this new book blends memorable characters, a fresh plot, and spine-tingling chills that kept me turning the pages.

Lampasas, Texas, is about as remote as it gets. In 1989, this small town looked much the same as it does today, sustained by oil wells and cotton fields, the kind of place where everyone knows everyone else’s business because there’s little else to do. No one would have ever imagined that such a quiet town would produce a serial killer—least of all, the killer himself.

Tolly Driver considered himself a decent kid, even though he never quite fit in with the other teens in town. As he geared up for his senior year of high school, Tolly attended a party where most of his classmates gathered. But instead of blending in, he made a fool of himself, ending the night in a near-fatal accident that changed his life forever. That night sparked a transformation in Tolly, setting him on a dark path of revenge and turning him into a full-fledged serial killer.

I Was a Teenage Slasher might be Stephen Graham Jones' most accessible novel yet—at least as accessible as a story about a brutal serial killer can be. Jones takes the familiar tropes of a '90s teen slasher and gives them his own twisted spin. The story is told from the main character's perspective as he recounts his descent into darkness through a stream-of-consciousness flashback. Jones plays with the morally gray nature of his protagonist, adding a surprising sense of humor that provides some much-needed levity to the dark story. It’s a mix of classic slasher horror and a coming-of-age tale, resulting in a compelling page-turner I couldn’t put down. This is my favorite novel from Jones to date, and it was the perfect way to kick off my spooky season reading.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2024, 65)

Good stories linger in our minds, prompting us to reflect on their themes, characters, and the emotions they evoke. Some of the most memorable stories for me come from the horror genre. Great horror does more than just scare; it challenges us to consider concepts like good and evil and the complexities of humanity. The best stories are driven by compelling characters, regardless of genre, and resonate with us long after we've finished reading. Paul Tremblay is a master at blending terrifying scenarios with intricate characters. He has captivated readers with genre-defining works such as A Head Full of Ghosts and The Cabin at the End of the World. Now, he returns with his latest tale, Horror Movie, a chilling story of nostalgia, regret, and second chances.

Sometimes, you can just sense when a project is destined to be magical. For the cast and crew of Horror Movie, that feeling is unmistakable. It's the summer of 1993, and they are pushing the boundaries of guerrilla filmmaking. Their art-house approach embraces the rawness of each scene. Lacking a substantial budget, they depend on their setting—an abandoned school—their script—an evolving document only fully known to the director and screenwriter—and a cast deeply immersed in their roles. The standout of this ensemble is the film's monster, "The Thin Kid," portrayed by a wiry misfit with no previous acting experience. To keep him fully engaged in his character, the filmmakers instruct him to always wear his mask on set and avoid speaking to the other cast and crew. This method results in true cinematic magic. Oddly, though, the completed movie is never released. Only three scenes ever make it to the public. Over the years, curiosity about the final film and the mysterious events on set turn Horror Movie into a legend. Devoted fans yearn to see the entire film and experience its enigmatic terror.

Decades later, the actor who played "The Thin Kid" is the only surviving member of the original cast. Curiosity about the unreleased project has reached a fever pitch, and a major movie studio is eager to capitalize on the buzz. They plan to remake Horror Movie, using the original script and hiring the actor to produce and reprise his legendary role. He is excited to finally complete the project, and the substantial paycheck is an excellent incentive to do it. As production gears up, though, the past comes crashing back in. He'll have to confront the secrets buried within the original screenplay, face the reality of the unconventional events of the filming, and avoid crossing the same dangerous lines that led to an unspeakable tragedy. 

Horror Movie sees Paul Tremblay craft a terse, visceral novel that chilled me to my core. The book unfolds through shifting perspectives: the unnamed actor's audiobook recollections, past and present, and excerpts from the original screenplay. It took me a moment to fully grasp the structure, but I quickly fell into the story's rhythm and was utterly captivated. Tremblay's terror works on multiple levels. First, there's the mystery of what happened on the film set. It's shrouded in secrecy and gradually revealed through flashbacks. Concurrently, the novel presents an actual horror movie as a screenplay, immersing us in a retro horror vibe that reflects our nostalgia and expectations. Further still, the novel critiques reboot and sequel culture, highlighting Hollywood's tendency to recycle ideas and extend franchises far beyond their natural shelf life. Tremblay brings the ramifications of this creative stagnation to a fittingly horrific conclusion.

Finally, and perhaps most effectively, Horror Movie works on an unconscious level. Three-quarters of the way through, I began to feel a growing sense of unease that had been building since I started reading. I began to piece together the clues, realizing how a perfectly laid path had been set out, leading me, the unsuspecting reader, to a shocking yet inevitable ending. It was a gut punch of a revelation that only the best horror can deliver. Ultimately, Horror Movie is a masterful showcase of the power of this genre and an homage to all the great horror stories that have come before it. The novel further cements Tremblay's position as a storyteller at the peak of his craft.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2024, 57)

Many of my most anticipated reads this summer are set in the woods. Something about the rugged wilderness instantly adds mystery and suspense to a story, so it's no surprise that so many authors are choosing to have their stories unfold in this setting. Add Wilderness Reform, the second novel by Matt and Harrison Querey, to the list. Fans of their smash horror debut, Old Country, have been eagerly awaiting this release. Fortunately, their publisher generously provided me with a copy, and I quickly dived in.

Life hasn't been easy for thirteen-year-old Ben. Under the guardianship of an abusive aunt, he has turned to petty crime to fill his days. When he's caught trying to escape the scene of his latest misdeed, Ben is arrested and taken to court. Rather than sentencing him to a juvenile detention center, the judge sends him to a wilderness camp, promising that the experience will teach him the discipline and survival skills he needs to turn his life around. Upon arriving at the remote Montana camp, Ben is greeted by overly friendly counselors who seem too good to be true. From the start, Ben senses something is off. There's an undercurrent of menace throughout the camp, and as he delves deeper into its history, he uncovers a terror beyond his wildest imaginings.

After thoroughly enjoying Old Country, I approached Wilderness Reform with high expectations. The remote campground setting and the protagonist's redemption arc promised a compelling horror read. Brothers and writing partners Matt and Harrison Query start this new novel with a terrifying bang, one that left me breathless and eager for more. Unfortunately, that gripping opening scene turned out to be the best part of the book. The page-turning prologue gives way to a slow burn that struggles to gain momentum. While I appreciate the importance of building tension and developing characters, this book fails to do so effectively. The characters lack depth beyond their superficial roles, and the spooky undertones never develop into anything frightening or thought-provoking. Instead, Wilderness Reform became a tedious read that left me underwhelmed. It's a surprising miss from a duo who previously delivered a highly entertaining novel.

For more information, visit Amazon and Goodreads. 

(2024, 53)

For five decades, Stephen King has captivated audiences with his richly developed characters, imaginative narratives, and knack for crafting stories that truly scare us. My journey with King's works began in my senior year of high school with the hefty Duma Key, and I've been an avid reader ever since. I strive to incorporate his books into my regular reading rotation, balancing his latest releases with the classic titles that have cemented his status as a household name. His newest effort, You Like It Darker, sees the author returning to his roots with a collection of short stories that showcase the genre-bending breadth of his writing prowess.

Like most short story collections, You Like It Darker has its share of hits and misses. Fortunately, the stories I found to be misses were the shorter ones. I could see King experimenting with his usual array of literary devices, but ultimately, the brevity of these tales left me wanting more. That being said, many of the stories were well worth the price of admission. Here’s a breakdown of my top three favorites.

Perhaps the most buzzed-about story in this collection is Rattlesnakes, the sequel to King's classic novel Cujo. It follows Vic Trenton, who readers will remember lost his young son to a rabid St. Bernard decades ago. Now a recent widower, the 76-year-old Vic rides out the COVID-19 pandemic at a friend's house in the Florida Keys. There, he meets an elderly woman whose personal tragedy mirrors his own. Rumor has it that she lost her twin boys decades ago and now pushes around their empty stroller, unable to acknowledge that her children are gone forever. The two grieving parents continue to cross paths, perhaps connected by their shared sorrow or something more sinister. When the woman meets a tragic end in one of the most gruesome scenes in the entire book, she leaves Vic an unusual inheritance, one that will reopen old wounds and torment him all over again.

Danny Coughlin's Bad Dream stems from a simple idea: What if you dreamed about the location of a murdered body? Would you seek it out? Would the authorities believe you truly dreamed it, or would they suspect you as the killer? This is the longest story in the collection, and it seems most in line with King's recent foray into crime thrillers. At nearly 200 pages, the work feels the most complete, providing a tense "what if" scenario that hits all the right notes.

The final story in the collection is quintessential Stephen King. The Answer Man imagines a protagonist who stumbles upon a simple table with a red umbrella. Sitting beneath the shade is the Answer Man. For a nominal fee, the Answer Man promises to truthfully answer whatever question you ask. Is that knowledge a blessing or a curse? This story highlights what King excels at: finding deep unease and philosophical uncertainty within the lives of everyday people. I think that's why we connect so deeply with his writing. We see glimmers of ourselves in the flawed people who inhabit his world. Yes, there are absolutely crazy things happening a lot of the time, but that connection to his characters and his ability to ground absurd plot points in reality have sustained him for his entire career.

The afterward of the book reads as both a thank you and a retrospective. King admits to liking only two of his finished works, The Green Mile and Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption. In the golden years of his life, however, he continues to follow his imagination and chase the thrill of writing something that truly captures magic. For the sake of us readers, I hope he continues that pursuit.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2024, 44)

I've always had a penchant for horror. There's an undeniable allure to the spine-tingling excitement of a good scare, especially when experienced within the safe confines of the pages of a fictional book. Throughout the years, I've delved into numerous titles that claim to be among the most terrifying reads out there. Yet, more often than not, these tales fail to live up to my lofty expectations. Perhaps that's why it's taken me so long to finally pick up Ania Ahlborn's Brother. This book has garnered a prominent place on countless lists of top horror novels, sparking curiosity and anticipation. Could it truly live up to the hype?

Nestled deep within the dense woods of Appalachia resides the Morrow family. To outsiders, their secluded lifestyle may appear idyllic, shielded from the outside world by the thick foliage. Yet, this isolation serves a darker purpose. You see, the Morrows are anything but ordinary. They are twisted individuals, more akin to characters from the most horrifying slasher films than members of civil society. Picture Leatherface of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre settling down to raise a family, and you'll grasp the essence of their depravity. The true extent of their atrocities remains shrouded in secrecy, known only to themselves, and they have no intention of exposing their dark deeds to the light of day.

Nineteen-year-old Michael Morrow feels a growing divide between himself and his family. Despite his upbringing amidst the chilling echoes of terror, Michael yearns for a life untouched by his family's malevolence. Encountering Alice, a local girl from a nearby town, deepens his longing for normality. Drawn to Alice's innocence and the possibility of a different path, Michael dares to envision a future beyond the shadows cast by his family's sinister legacy. As Michael grapples with his desires for a conventional life, he confronts the harsh reality that his family's monstrous nature may forever deny him the happiness he seeks. In a world where darkness reigns supreme, the notion of redemption feels like little more than a fleeting dream.

Reading Brother feels like peering into forbidden territory, offering an intimate glimpse into the minds of monsters typically relegated to B-movie horror fare. Ania Ahlborn crafts a narrative that latches onto your psyche, leaving you wary of the shadows as you turn each page. While the narrative brims with gruesome acts, it's Ahlborn's portrayal of Michael that truly chills to the bone. His quest for normalcy shines through, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. Micahel's resilience in the face of horror is both haunting and captivating. This complex character study elevates Brother beyond mere shock value, leaving readers pondering its depths long after the final chapter. For those brave enough to venture into its pages, Brother is a horror experience that lingers, demanding contemplation and reflection.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2024, 37)

Since debuting with The Chalk Man in 2018, author C.J. Tudor has established herself as a master of crafting original novels that toe the line between thriller and horror. I've had the pleasure of delving into each of her books, finding particular enjoyment in The Burning Girls, which remains my favorite among her releases. Last year's The Drift further showcased Tudor's prowess in evolving her style and experimenting with narrative structures. Naturally, I eagerly anticipated the release of her newest book, The Gathering. In keeping with her signature style, this latest offering from Tudor once again delves into genre-bending territory, weaving elements of folklore, suspense, and rich character development into a highly original narrative that grabs you from the very beginning.

Deadhart, Alaska, a remote small town nestled in the vast Alaskan wilderness, remains largely unknown to the outside world, its population of fewer than 900 residents living quietly without any notable connections to the larger community. Yet, as the long nights descend and the snow blankets the landscape, Deadhart becomes the stage for a darkness not felt in over 25 years. The grim discovery of a young boy's body, his throat savagely slashed and completely drained of blood, sends shockwaves rippling through the community. Memories of a similar gruesome murder from years past flood the minds of the locals, sparking immediate suspicions. They are convinced that The Colony, an ostracized enclave of vampyrs residing in a secluded old mine settlement deep within the woods, is to blame. With the specter of the past haunting them, the residents brace themselves for the imminent arrival of darker, colder, and more perilous days.

Enter Detective Barbara Atkins, a seasoned investigator specializing in vampyr-related homicides. Tasked with determining whether The Colony is indeed responsible for the heinous killing, she faces the daunting prospect of authorizing a cull—a systematic extermination of all vampyrs in the vicinity. Barbara harbors doubts regarding the creatures' involvement. Determined to uncover the truth, she recruits the assistance of former Deadhart sheriff, Jenson Tucker, whose previous investigation into a similar murder nearly cost him his life. Tensions between the townsfolk and vampyrs are reaching a fever pitch, and Barbara and Tucker must unravel the mystery before further harm befalls the community. Before they can proceed, though, they must ascertain the true identity of their quarry. Is this the handiwork of a bloodthirsty monster or a deranged psychopath? Where does the boundary between the two even lie?

With her seventh book, The Gathering, C.J. Tudor demonstrates her adeptness at exploring fresh territory. In this installment, she intertwines a murder mystery with a tale of monsters, interwoven with themes of small-town politics, the lingering specter of past indiscretions, and religious undertones. The town boasts diverse characters, adding depth to the narrative beyond typical genre expectations. Set against the backdrop of a snow-laden town shrouded in darkness, the story exudes an aura of suspense, intensifying the intrigue surrounding the central murder mystery.

While I appreciated the atmospheric setting and the overarching mystery, I found it challenging to connect strongly with the numerous characters and their ever-shifting perspectives. Although invested in unraveling the mystery, I felt that insufficient time was allotted to each character for a deeper emotional investment. Nevertheless, Deadhart emerges as a vividly depicted locale with its own rich mythology, blending traditional genre elements with innovative twists. The Gathering can be likened to a solid B-movie read, showcasing Tudor's versatile writing style and her willingness to explore diverse narrative terrain. While it may not rank as my favorite among her works, it undeniably adds value to her body of work. Once again, I eagerly anticipate whatever captivating tale Tudor conjures up next.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2024, 30)

Do you believe in giving authors a second chance? Not every book resonates with every reader, and there have been numerous occasions when a particular story failed to connect with me. Nevertheless, I am generally open to giving an author's writing another chance before deciding whether it aligns with my preferences. Take horror author Christopher Golden, for instance. I was familiar with his work for years but only delved into his novel Road of Bones last year. While I appreciated the clever setup and the chilling premise, the ending fell short of my expectations. Intrigued nonetheless, I decided to give Golden another opportunity with his latest book, The House of Last Resort.

Overflowing with abandoned villas left to decay, Becchina, Italy, remains largely forgotten, with only a handful of locals still residing there. It has become "...the corpse of a town that didn't even realize it was already dead." Eager to breathe life back into his town, the mayor proposes a final, desperate plan. The city acquires all the deserted homes, offering them to new families at the nominal price of one Euro. The only caveats are that the buyers must commit to a minimum investment to renovate and modernize their newfound residences and live there for at least five years. The concept gains traction, attracting people from various places who relocate to the quaint Italian town to embark on their fresh start.

Tommy and Kate Puglisi, a newly married couple from America, are among the newcomers enticed by the offer. With the flexibility of remote work and the added bonus of Tommy's grandparents living in Becchina, the move is a golden opportunity for the couple. It promises homeownership, quality time with family, and an adventure in romantic Italy. From the beginning, however, things take an unsettling turn. While initially appealing, their dream house on the hill raises reservations as a significant tremor shakes the earth upon their arrival. Even more foreboding is the reaction of Tommy's grandmother, who, instead of sharing in the family's joy, is filled with fear and anger. Nonna knows the house's history, and Tommy and Kate are about to discover they've signed up for more than they bargained for.

In The House of Last Resort, Christopher Golden masterfully constructs a narrative steeped in anticipation and foreboding. The notion of leaving one's home to pursue a better, more balanced life in a different country resonated with me, and I immediately connected with Tommy and Kate. Golden initiates the story with innocence, capturing the protagonist's joy and optimism for a fresh start. As moments of doubt begin to pepper this dream, both the characters and readers are left questioning everything. Even as the true horror became more apparent, I was irresistibly drawn into the story. It all culminates in an ending that poetically echoes the town's history that we learn about earlier in the book. Golden adeptly balances character development with a chilling plot, ensuring a narrative that engages the reader fully. The House of Last Resort delivers everything I seek in a horror read, and it has solidified my decision to explore more of this author's works in the near future.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2024, 17)

Even though the spooky season has ended, my appetite for creepy books remains unabated. Jason Rekulak's Hidden Pictures generated quite a buzz when it hit the shelves last year. This thrilling work with a touch of horror captured readers' imaginations and secured a spot on my ever-expanding TBR list. Although it languished on my stack of library books for most of October, patiently awaiting my attention, I've finally found the time to dive into it. I'm even more happy to confirm that the excitement surrounding this book is entirely justified.

Mallory Quinn has hit rock bottom and is now determined to climb her way back up. She's successfully completed a rehab program, taking control of her drug addiction and resolving to lead a clean and honest life moving forward. With her recovery firmly on track, Mallory is now prepared to embark on the next phase of rebuilding her life: seeking stable employment. Her sponsor introduces her to a family needing a live-in nanny for their young son. This potential opportunity could be the perfect stepping stone for Mallory as she transitions into this new chapter of her life.

Ted and Caroline Maxwell approach the decision to hire Mallory with justifiable caution. They are well aware of her troubled past, and while they are empathetic to her desire for a fresh start, their primary concern is the safety of their five-year-old son, Teddy. Mallory, understanding the Maxwell's apprehensions, is eager to demonstrate her commitment to her own recovery and Teddy's well-being. She willingly agrees to undergo random drug testing at their discretion and assures them that her intentions are solely focused on what is best for their son. Ultimately, Teddy himself plays a pivotal role in the decision, forming an instant connection with Mallory.

Teddy, typically a sweet and introverted child known for filling his sketchpad with innocent childhood drawings, surprises everyone when he suddenly creates a much darker image – a man dragging a lifeless woman's body in a forest. As time passes, his drawings become shockingly realistic and disturbing, defying the artistic abilities expected of a child his age. The origins of these macabre creations puzzle Mallory, who fears their implications. Yet, her utmost priority is safeguarding Teddy. She is committed to unraveling the mystery that shrouds these unsettling images and ensuring Teddy's safety before it's too late.

In Hidden Pictures, Jason Rekulak reimagines classic horror tropes, giving readers a fresh perspective on the genre. While I typically favor audiobooks, this novel shines best in its physical form. This preference arises from Rekulak's innovative use of the child's drawings to enhance the narrative. As each new image is revealed, it is presented in full on the page, allowing readers to share in the protagonist's shock and uncertainty. The supernatural elements combine with an unreliable narrator who is refreshingly aware of just how unreliable she must seem. I found myself utterly engrossed in the pages of this book, unable to stop reading until I reached its thrilling conclusion.

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads. 

(2023, 73)