“Sometimes, justice isn’t quiet or clean; it’s feral and bloody and unapologetic.”
PLOT SUMMARY:
Lonely, broke and depressed with a serious case of OCD, Gia finds herself at a crossroads when financial troubles lead her to Nathan, a mysterious and affluent man she encounters on a sugar dating website. Desperate for a solution, Gia is intrigued by Nathan’s unconventional offer: in exchange for living as his devoted pet, all of her debts will be erased. But the longer Gia is in captivity, the more animalistic she becomes.
For fans of Nightbitch by Rachel Yoder and Lisa Taddeo’s Animal, Shy Girl is a harrowing tale of girlhood, survival, autonomy, and revenge.
Grade: A+
REVIEW:
I read this book in two days, it was so compelling and also very unhinged and disturbing that it was like assisting a car crash you couldn’t look away from. Gia is laid off from her job and is increasingly becoming more and more worried about how she’s going to keep her apartment with her dwindling savings and no work prospects in site. This leads her to take a more unconventional approach and downloads a dating app that is specifically designed for those men who are seeking to be a sugar daddy to a young woman, and Gia feels like this may solve all of her economic hardships.
But when she meets Nathan, she feels like everything will change for her, bringing her a life of economic freedom. But there’s only one caveat, Nathan has a kink that’s not typical, he wishes Gia to portray his pet dog for several hours a day. Gia thinks that she can manage this, but she will soon find out that being Nathan’s pet is far more difficult than she had anticipated.
Ballard’s writing is sharp and insightful, creating a nuanced narrative that is both relatable and inspiring. The protagonist’s internal struggles feel genuine and familiar, and her journey toward finding her voice is empowering. If you loved Nightbitch but felt like it didn’t quite go there, then let me tell you, Ballard goes there and beyond in this twisted tale of self-discovery and empowerment.
I recommend this book if you love unhinged plots with a dose of female rage.
*Thank you so much to NetGalley & Galaxy Press for the digital copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!
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The horror genre, with its history of jump scares, suspense, and psychological terror, has often been seen as a space primarily dominated by men—both on-screen and behind the scenes. Yet, as audiences grow more diverse and as filmmakers explore new approaches to storytelling, women have increasingly made their mark in the world of horror. Whether through compelling on-screen performances, dynamic characters, or groundbreaking directorial and writing roles, women are becoming crucial in the evolution of the genre, shaping the way we understand and experience fear.
The Evolution of Female Characters in Horror
For decades, women in horror were primarily portrayed as victims, often relegated to the role of the “final girl”—the lone survivor who outwits the killer. While characters like Laurie Strode from Halloween (1978) and Sally Hardesty from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) became staples of the genre, they often served as one-dimensional tropes of purity and innocence, simply surviving the terror unleashed by male antagonists. But as the genre has evolved, so have these female characters. No longer are they helpless victims, but multifaceted, empowered individuals who face terror with resourcefulness, courage, and strength.
Films like The Descent (2005) and The Witch (2015) introduced complex female characters who not only survived the terror but confronted their own fears, flaws, and complexities. The rise of these characters marks a significant shift in the genre, moving away from simple tropes and toward nuanced portrayals of women navigating horror in various forms. These women aren’t merely defined by their relationships to male characters or their ability to survive. Instead, they become central to the plot, shaping the story and driving the action.
Women as Creators in the Genre
While women have historically been underrepresented in horror filmmaking, this is beginning to change. Female directors and writers are increasingly using horror as a platform to explore themes like trauma, gender, and societal expectations. These films often provide a unique and important perspective, one that reflects the experiences of women navigating a world filled with its own set of dangers and societal pressures.
Director and writer Jennifer Kent made waves with her 2014 film The Babadook, a chilling exploration of grief, motherhood, and psychological terror. Kent’s ability to blend supernatural horror with real emotional trauma resonated deeply with audiences and critics alike. Her work paved the way for other female filmmakers, proving that women could tell horror stories with both depth and intensity.
Other notable women in horror include Mary Harron, who directed American Psycho (2000), a film that blends horror with social commentary on masculinity and identity. In recent years, filmmakers like Ari Aster (Hereditary) and Jordan Peele (Get Out) have created psychologically rich horror films that tap into societal fears, many of which echo the experiences of women in particular. As a result, women directors, producers, and writers are now more prominent than ever in shaping the genre.
The Importance of Women in Horror
The increasing representation of women in horror—both in front of and behind the camera—brings valuable perspectives to the genre. Horror, as a genre, is uniquely suited to explore human fears, traumas, and anxieties. When women have the opportunity to tell these stories, the result is often a more nuanced and complex portrayal of fear, one that speaks not just to the universal but also to the distinctly female experience.
Moreover, the rise of strong, multifaceted female characters challenges outdated gender roles and stereotypes, allowing audiences to see women as more than just victims or sidekicks. Instead, they are presented as active participants in the horror narrative, often driving the plot forward and confronting fears that are both supernatural and rooted in reality.
Final Thoughts
Women in horror are breaking barriers and redefining what it means to be both scared and powerful. As creators, they’re bringing fresh and important perspectives to the genre, pushing the boundaries of storytelling. As characters, they are no longer bound by the constraints of outdated stereotypes but are becoming integral parts of the narrative, embodying strength, resilience, and complexity. With the continued rise of female filmmakers and characters in horror, it’s clear that women are shaping the future of fear in ways that are both empowering and thought-provoking.
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“That’s a thing people don’t talk about enough – that there are people who will judge even the way you mourn your loved ones.”
PLOT SUMMARY:
“If you’re reading this, you’ve likely thought that the world would be a better place without you.”
A single line of text, glowing in the darkness of the internet. Written by Ashley Lutin, who has often thought the same—and worse—in the years since his wife died and his young son disappeared. But the peace of the grave is not for him—it’s for those he can help. Ashley has constructed a peculiar ritual for those whose desire to die is at war with their yearning to live a better life.
Struggling to overcome his own endless grief, one night Ashley finds connection with Jinx—a potential candidate for Ashley’s next ritual—who spins a tale both revolting and fascinating. Thus begins a relationship that traps the two men in an ever-tightening spiral of painful revelations, where long-hidden secrets are dragged, kicking and screaming, into the light.
Only through pain can we find healing. Only through death can we find new life.
GRADE: A
REVIEW:
This book is a haunting exploration of the grotesque wrapped in lush, almost lyrical prose. LaRocca’s writing is elegant and poetic, with a grace that contrasts sharply against the dark and often disturbing imagery that unfolds throughout the story. The beauty of his language, full of intricate descriptions and poignant reflections, creates a stark juxtaposition to the horrors the characters experience. The audiobook’s narrator, Andrew Eiden does an excellent job at emoting Ashley Lutin’s turmoil throughout the book. I don’t usually like audiobooks but he truly made LaRocca’s twisted world come alive.
The novel’s chilling events—ranging from psychological torment to physical grotesqueries—are presented with a sense of eerie calmness, making the brutality all the more unsettling. LaRocca’s careful attention to detail in crafting these disturbing scenes only enhances their impact, as the reader is drawn into a world where beauty and terror coexist in an almost surreal harmony. The seamless blending of the poetic with the horrific turns each disturbing moment into something both grotesque and mesmerizing.
This juxtaposition is not just a stylistic choice but also deepens the emotional weight of the narrative. As Ashley grapples with his own loathing and despair, the elegance of the prose makes his suffering even more tragic. At Night, I Become Loathsome is a masterclass in how beauty can amplify horror, creating a truly unsettling and unforgettable reading experience. I highly recommend purchasing this as an audiobook for the ultimate reading experience.
*Thank you so much to NetGalley & Blackstone Publishing for the audiobook copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!
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Active Ingredients: Prickly Pear (locks in hydration) and Fruit Seed Complex (repairs and conditions dry skin)
Verdict: The Laura Mercier Tinted Moisturizer Bronzer is a game-changer for anyone seeking a light, natural glow. The formula is beautifully lightweight, offering just the right amount of coverage without feeling heavy or cakey. It blends seamlessly into the skin, creating a sun-kissed look that’s both effortless and radiant. The bronzer provides a soft, buildable warmth, perfect for adding dimension to the face while maintaining a fresh, dewy finish. Whether worn alone for a subtle glow or layered over foundation, it gives the skin a healthy, lit-from-within radiance. Ideal for those who want a no-fuss, glowing complexion.
Price: $32
Where To Buy It: Sephora and Ulta
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“One of the biggest mistakes stable people make is believing they can predict and account for the thought patterns of narcissists.”
PLOT SUMMARY:
Once there were four Lasco siblings banded together against a world that failed to protect them. But on a hellish night that marked the end of their childhood, eldest brother Shawn died violently after being dragged behind closed doors. Though the official finding was accidental death, Nathan Lasco knows better, and has never forgiven their mother, Stella.
Now two decades later, Stella promises to finally reveal the truth of what happened on The Day of the Door. Accompanied by a paranormal investigative team, the Lasco family comes together one final time, but no one is prepared for the revelations waiting for them on the third floor.
GRADE: A-
REVIEW:
The Day of the Door by Laurel Hightower delivers a chilling and atmospheric ride, blending psychological terror with a fresh twist on the haunted house genre. Set in a seemingly ordinary home, the novel slowly unravels a deeply unsettling presence that blurs the line between reality and nightmare. Hightower excels in crafting a sense of unease from the very first page, with a building tension that grows into an almost palpable dread. The Lasco siblings want to find out exactly what happened the day Sean died, and Stella promises to give answers, only that as the book progresses, the siblings end up having more questions than before.
What sets this book apart from traditional haunted house stories is its exploration of personal trauma and grief, which heightens the supernatural horror. The house itself becomes a mirror to the protagonist’s inner turmoil, amplifying the horror he faces. The eerie presence in the house isn’t just a force from beyond but an intricate part of the protagonist’s emotional landscape, making the haunting feel personal and psychologically layered.
The writing is tight, with Hightower’s pacing carefully controlled to keep the reader on edge. The creeping horror never feels forced, instead, it’s a slow burn that builds to a climax of truly unsettling revelations. Hightower’s novel offers a unique perspective on the haunted house trope, showcasing not just a place of terror but a reflection of the deepest, darkest fears within the characters. Highly recommended for fans of atmospheric horror with emotional depth.
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Active Ingredients: Hyaluronic acid and Lactic Acid
Verdict: This product is a luxurious treat for the lips. Its smooth, buttery texture glides on effortlessly, providing instant hydration without feeling greasy. Infused with nourishing ingredients, it leaves lips feeling soft and plump with a subtle, natural sheen. The delightful, fruity scent adds an extra touch of indulgence, making it a pleasure to apply. The mini size is perfect for on-the-go, fitting easily in your purse for quick touch-ups. Overall, it’s a great addition to any lip care routine, offering both hydration and a refreshing burst of flavor. Highly recommended!
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I fail to understand why men think violence will intimidate women.
PLOT SUMMARY:
Grim Wolds, England: Winifred Notty arrives at Ensor House prepared to play the perfect governess—she’ll dutifully tutor her charges, Drusilla and Andrew, tell them bedtime stories, and only joke about eating children. But long, listless days spent within the estate’s dreary confines come with an intimate knowledge of the perversions and pathetic preoccupations of the Pounds family—Mr. Pounds can’t keep his eyes off Winifred’s chest, and Mrs. Pounds takes a sickly pleasure in punishing Winifred for her husband’s wandering gaze. Compounded with her disdain for the entitled Pounds children, Winifred finds herself struggling at every turn to stifle the violent compulsions of her past. French tutoring and needlework are one way to pass the time, as is admiring the ugly portraits in the gallery . . . and creeping across the moonlit lawns. . . .
Patience. Winifred must have patience, for Christmas is coming, and she has very special gifts planned for the dear souls of Ensor House. Brimming with sardonic wit and culminating in a shocking conclusion, Victorian Psychoplunges readers into the chilling mind of an iconic new literary psychopath.
GRADE: A
REVIEW:
Victorian Psycho is exactly what it sounds like: a twisted carnival of blood, mayhem, and delightful madness that somehow manages to have a voice so captivating, you’ll feel like you’re sipping tea with a homicidal maniac in a top hat. And let’s be clear—this book is fun. Not just fun in the “let’s play a nice board game” way, but the kind of fun where you’re throwing dice and hoping they don’t land in a pool of blood. The plot is ridiculously thrilling, with a twisted blend of Victorian manners and shocking, gory violence. The characters? They’re more memorable than a morning in a butcher shop, and every chapter feels like you’re being whirled through a carnival of chaos. Blood splatters on the page with the same frequency as witty one-liners—both equally delicious.
But here’s where the book really shines: the voice. The writing is pure, unadulterated joy. Imagine an author who’s had too much tea laced with a dash of dark humor and a pinch of madness. That’s the voice. It’s snarky, witty, and always one step away from tipping over into total insanity. You’ll be chuckling at the absurdity of it all, even as you wipe the bloodstains off your clothes.
The narrative isn’t just a story—it’s like you’re chatting with a delightful, if slightly unhinged, guide through a maze of murder and mayhem. And the blood—did I mention the blood? It’s there in all its crimson glory, a reminder that this isn’t a cozy Victorian novel where characters sip brandy and read poetry. It’s a bloody, thrilling roller coaster, and you won’t be able to put it down. In conclusion, Victorian Psycho is a masterclass in balancing dark humor with chaos and gore. It’s a wild ride you won’t forget—entertaining, bloody, and a perfect escape if you enjoy your stories with a touch of the macabre and a whole lot of wit.
*Thank you so much to NetGalley & Liveright for the audio copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!
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We all have our tried-and-true beauty routines—moisturize, maybe some mascara, and, if you’re feeling fancy, a little highlighter. But what if I told you there are some hidden gems in the beauty world that most people have never heard of? These beauty secrets are the kind of stuff that will have you saying, “Why didn’t anyone tell me this sooner?!”
Let’s dive in and get your beauty game next level.
1. Using Ice Cubes for Pore Perfection
Here’s a cool trick (pun intended) that might just change your life: ice cubes for glowing skin and smaller pores. Seriously. Rubbing an ice cube over your face for a minute or two before applying your skincare routine can help tighten and minimize the appearance of pores, reduce puffiness, and boost circulation. You know that refreshing feeling you get after an ice-cold splash of water? Imagine that—but for your face.
How it works: The cold helps constrict blood vessels, reducing swelling and giving your skin a fresh, lifted look. Plus, it can even help set your makeup so it lasts longer!
Pro Tip: You can even freeze green tea or rose water into ice cubes for added skin benefits. You’re basically a skincare genius at this point.
2. Lifting Your Brows with Vaseline (Yes, Really)
Okay, before you panic and wonder if I’ve lost my mind—hear me out. Vaseline (or petroleum jelly) isn’t just for chapped lips. It’s an underrated beauty secret that can do wonders for your brows. You can use it to tame unruly brows and give them a natural, fuller, and lifted look. Just dab a tiny bit of Vaseline onto your brow spoolie or finger and brush through. It’ll hold the hairs in place without making them crunchy, plus it gives them that sleek, shiny, just-groomed effect.
Why it works: Vaseline coats the brow hairs, creating definition and holding them in place all day. Think of it as a natural brow gel—minus the $20 price tag.
Pro Tip: Don’t go overboard, though! A tiny dab is all you need. You’re going for “brow goals,” not “greaseball chic.”
3. Sleep on a Silk Pillowcase for Better Skin and Hair
We all know that getting enough sleep is key for glowing skin, but did you know that what you sleep on also makes a difference? Silk pillowcases are a beauty game-changer, and they’re not just for luxury—they’re for you, too. Sleeping on silk can help reduce friction on your skin and hair, which means fewer wrinkles, less hair breakage, and smoother skin overall.
How it works: Silk is much gentler on your skin and hair than cotton, which can tug and cause irritation. Plus, silk helps to lock in moisture, keeping your skin hydrated overnight.
Pro Tip: If you can’t splurge on a whole silk pillowcase, at least try a silk pillowcase for your face. Your skin will thank you the next morning.
There you have it—three beauty secrets that can elevate your routine from “meh” to “wow!” Whether you’re freezing your way to flawless skin, lifting your brows with the power of petroleum jelly, or pampering yourself with a silk pillowcase, these little-known hacks will have you feeling like a beauty guru in no time. Try them out, and you’ll be the one sharing your new secrets with everyone else soon enough!
What’s your favorite beauty secret? Let me know—after all, we could all use a little extra glow. ✨
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I read a story on the internet about how elderly people without hobbies are among the saddest sacks on earth, although I’m sure I have that wrong and they didn’t use the word “sacks.” Anyway, it went on to say how having hobbies could greatly reduce one’s chances of developing dementia. They didn’t give a percentage and I would have liked a percentage, because if it’s only a one percent chance reduction, well then, why bother? But I guess they wouldn’t have written the whole article, in that case, or used the words “greatly reduce one’s chances” for that matter either, would they? So I decided I would like a hobby.
So, when I Googled “how to start a hobby” the first advice given was to break it into small steps so you’re not overwhelmed. For Christ’s sake, I didn’t Google how to embezzle diamonds from the Russian mafia, I was simply thinking I might take up cookie making or something. How could I get overwhelmed? Anyway…then I learned that professional cookie decorators call themselves “cookiers” and I just found the term so irritating I gave up on the whole thing.
Then Millie told me I could knit with her and I told Millie that she’s shamefully cliché, and how does she not have carpal tunnel by now? And it’s not really a hobby, is it? She’d be sitting in front of the television watching Bonanza with or without her knitting in hand, so it’s quite mindless, and I don’t think a hobby should be mindless. Bernie has taken up winemaking, but his room smells like a boiled egg, so I don’t think he’s doing it right. It’s still at the top of my list, though.
Gardening was a contender too. I was quite the gardener once, but the snow won’t melt until April, so that seems a long wait. I could be dead by then for all I know. But then Herb said I should make a podcast about gardening and share my wisdom with the world. This intrigued me—because I was once a news announcer on public radio, and in a way it’s a perfect idea. My love for plants and helping people learn, hmm. But how would one even begin? I just showed up and talked into a mic at the station, and that was long ago. I would need to figure out a lot of things, but learning it all would keep me busy, and maybe that’s a hobby all in itself. I was almost sold on the idea.
But then something very serendipitous happened. I was at Murph Moyer’s funeral, which was such a sad occasion since Murph had just had a hair transplant he was very excited about, and had planned a trip to the Bahamas to swim with the pigs. I guess that’s a thing… He even bought a bottle of spray tan on Amazon, and then just like that, a fall on the ice on his way down to The Angry Trout for a pint one night and that was it. And now he looks orange in his casket, poor Murph, and he never even got to put his new hair to good use. It’s like that these days, though. When you get to be our age, you start receiving invitations to a lot more funerals. And part of you gets used to it, but the main part of you never does.
At the reception, I was chatting with Rosie and Susan by the punch bowl. We were sitting in metal folding chairs and holding little slices of white cake on napkins when I noticed Winny pouring a long pull of scotch into a Santa Claus coffee mug and sitting by herself next to a fake ficus in need of dusting. She was hunched over her drink, and I saw her dot her eye with the corner of a napkin, so I excused myself and went to sit with her.
I could tell it wasn’t her first scotch because she had a glassy-eyed look and loose lips, but that’s a good thing. It was easy to get her to confide in me and tell me why she’d missed our bridge game last Tuesday and what in the world was the matter. I mean, I know her husband passed only a couple of months ago, of course. But he’d been battling severe diabetes complications and was in the hospital for who knows how long. He was even left unable to speak after a diabetes-induced stroke. Lord help him. It was a mercy, really, him passing. It was very expected. So I am quite surprised at what Winny tells me—that she thinks her husband was murdered and didn’t die of natural causes. Well, I had to set my punch on the floor next to me and rest my hand on my heart a moment.
“Sweetheart, why would you say that? Otis was so sick, bless him,” I say to her, placing my hands on her knees. I thought she lost the plot, if I’m honest, but I was still going to be sympathetic. She picks at Santa’s chipping glitter beard and talks into her lap.
“Something wasn’t right there,” she says with a haunted look on her face.
“What do you mean, love?” I ask, trying to look in her eyes so she’s forced to look back at me, but she continues to mumble. And I suppose I would speak quietly too if I were saying the crazy thing she was about to say.
“Someone there killed him,” she whispers.
“At the hospital?”
“Yes, Florence. I… Yes. I’m not just—I’m not crazy. I’m not making shit up.”
“Of course you’re not, dear,” I say, but I don’t really mean it. “Well, did you tell the police?” I ask, because what else does one ask in this sort of situation? “Of course, but they don’t believe me. I can tell. They say they’ll ‘have a look,’ whatever that means, but I know when I’m being condescended to. They will not have a look. Plus that old detective Riley has a head full of chipped beef. Has he ever helped anyone solve anything in this town?” she asks, becoming louder and more agitated as she goes. She puts her mug down and takes a deep breath.
To be fair, the only crime I can remember happening in the last few years in this town, besides petty bike theft or drunk fistfights, is the tragedy that happened to Mack and Shelby that terrible night last year, but I can’t blame Riley for that. It absolutely baffled everyone. He does have a head full of chipped beef though, I’ll give her that.
“Why would you think something like that, love? You know all of the hospital workers,” I say, which is a given. She pretty much knows everyone around here. “You think one of them hurt Otis? That’s…” I stop, because I don’t know what to say. It’s absurd and makes me worry for Winny. I wonder if she’s gone around telling other people this sort of thing.
“He told me,” she says, and since I know he was unable to speak, now I really zip my lip and just look over at the bottle of scotch on the refreshments table with a longing gaze, wondering how to kindly extract myself from the conversation.
“Something’s goin’ on around here, Flor. Something is happening. First Shel and Mack, and poor Leo wherever the hell he really is. Now this.” It’s strange to hear someone say “poor Leo,” because the general, mostly unspoken consensus is that he’s a rat bastard who ghosted his wife. I hope I’m using that term correctly. Ghosted. Anyway, I wonder if it would be rude to lean over and pick a few cucumber sandwiches off of the table while she’s talking. I do hate to be rude, but I really am famished, and I know Liddy Wingfield made them, and she uses the pimento cream cheese on them, which is a dream.
Before I can decide, Winny leans in conspiratorially.
“Can I show you something?” she asks.
“Of course,” I agree, giving up on my chance for a cucumber sandwich as she motions for me to follow her. The reception is at Dusty Waltman’s house because he and Murph were very good friends. I suppose he’s a nice enough man, I just can’t get past the urge to take a bottle of Pledge and a washrag after him each time I hear the name Dusty. Not his fault, I suppose, and his house is quite tidy, although too drafty for my taste.
Even so, I follow Winny down his front hall with the brown plaid wallpaper and creaky wood floors, and we pull our coats from a pile of other sad-looking black and navy down coats draped over an old steamer trunk near the door and walk out into the frozen air. It’s so cold the snow is having trouble trying to fall, and it swirls around the lampposts in light, icy specks. Before I can complain about freezing to death, I hear “My Heart Will Go On” start to play inside, and now I’m happy to be out here, so I give her a minute as I shift from foot to foot and blow on my hands while she pulls something from her pocket. Why do they play songs like that at funerals? Everyone is already sad, and now I can hear sobs from inside. I hope they play “Another One Bites the Dust” at my funeral. And have it at a Dave & Buster’s, where everyone will get free mojitos and play free SkeeBall, and not in a drafty house with peely wallpaper and stale sheet cake.
Winny finally fishes out whatever it is she’s been digging for, then shoves the pieces of a ripped-up sheet of paper at me. I take it, examining it and have no idea what the hell she’s playing at.
“What is it?” I ask. She takes the papers back, swipes a layer of snow off of Dusty’s porch swing, and sits. I sit next to her, and she lays them out on her knees.
“Look,” she says, and I do. I see a scrap with the words “Help me” scrawled across it, and another that reads “Trying to kill me.” But the words before it are torn away. She stares at me, waiting for a response. “Well, what is this?” I ask. “Otis wrote it. Look! This is the clearest one.” She puts a scrap on top of the others. It says, “You have to tell someone what’s happening here.” The last part says, “Warn Mack and Shel…” but the end of her name is torn away.
“See,” she says, “and then it stops, like he couldn’t finish.”
“I don’t… Why is this in scraps? Why would he write this?” I’m shivering from the cold, and my words come out in white puffs.
“All I can think is that he was trying to get this note to me. Maybe something happened when I went home that last night, because he was gone by morning and he never had a chance to give it to me. And then I think back to all the people who were in the room when I was there, and maybe he couldn’t risk giving it to me then, but I was there so much it’s all a blur. I can’t keep it all straight. I found it just a few days ago in the wooly sweater he always wore over his hospital gown. It was sitting in a bag for weeks and then I went through it all and… God. He was begging for help. I’ll never forgive myself. Maybe he didn’t want someone to find he’d written it—someone he was afraid of. I don’t know,” she says, tears welling in her eyes as she pushes the paper shreds back into her pocket.
“Why else would it be torn up?” she asks before I even have a chance to respond to all this shocking information. “I mean, that’s all that makes sense, right? For why it’s torn up? It’s like he was afraid of someone finding it, I mean why else? He was trying to warn me—to get help, and he was afraid the person who was after him would find it. I know how that sounds, but I have gone over this a million times in my head, and what other reason could there be?”
“Shit” is all I manage to say.
“My poor Otis, I couldn’t help him and he was all alone there with someone trying to hurt him. But who would want to hurt Otis? I mean, who in the world?” she says, and that’s exactly what I was going to ask.
“And you told all of this to Detective Riley?” I ask.
“Yeah right. What do you think he’d say—that Otis had a stroke and we didn’t know the extent of the damage, so this was probably some delusion or paranoia?” she says, and he would have a point, of course. “But I know my Otis, and he seemed different those last days. I know, of course, a stroke makes people different, but I still know him, Florence. I know him, and I saw his eyes change. Now I think it was fear, not just being sick, but…this…” She half motions to the papers in her pocket.
“I can’t let it go. I can’t have his cries for help literally in my hand and blow it off as paranoia. I need to find out the truth. And fine, people can think whatever they want about me, but what about Mack…and poor Shelby Dawson. It was a warning to them too.”
“You think he meant they’re in danger?” I ask. She closes her eyes and blows a cone of white mist into the frozen air, shaking her head. “I don’t know,” she says. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“This could all be connected,” I sort of mumble to myself, thinking about any reason why, even if he was suffering from some delusion, he would bring Mack and Shelby into it. That’s pretty specific for a delusional man’s imaginings. Winny holds her head in her hands and I put my arm around her shoulder. We shiver together for a few moments.
“I believe you,” I say.
“You do?” she asks, straightening up and looking at me with wet, desperate eyes.
“If there’s some motherfucker out there responsible for this, we’re gonna find him,” I say. She puts her arms around me and cries while I hold her and tell her it’s going to be okay.
And that’s the moment everything was set in motion. I didn’t know it then, but hunting a killer would become my new hobby, not gardening, as it turns out.
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Valentine’s Day is coming up, and we all know that feeling. The flowers, the chocolates, the romantic dinners… and the fact that you’re single and possibly sitting at home in your favorite sweatpants, living your best life. But fear not, fellow singletons! You can still make the day feel special—even if it’s just you, your couch, and a pint of ice cream. Here are three romantic things you can do on Valentine’s Day without needing a date.
1. Treat Yourself to a Date (With Yourself)
Who says you need another person to feel special? Plan a romantic evening for one. Light some candles (you know, the kind that scream “I have my life together”), put on your fanciest sweatpants, and cook up a delicious dinner that only you will appreciate. Maybe even pop open a bottle of wine, or, let’s be real, crack open that 12-pack of your favorite soda. Take yourself out on the most romantic date you can imagine. You deserve it, and if you’re anything like me, you’re the only person who can really understand your true charm.
Pro Tip: Leave a little note to yourself: “You’re amazing. No one is more deserving of a whole pizza than you. XOXO, Me.”
2. Get Cozy with Netflix and Cry Over a Rom-Com
Sure, you’re not getting any flowers this year, but who needs that when you have Netflix and emotional vulnerability? Make yourself a cozy fort of blankets and pillows, and then let the tears flow as you watch The Notebook for the 17th time in a row. Sure, it’s a bit tragic, but nothing says “romantic” like pretending you have your life together while watching fictional characters fall in love.
Pro Tip: Keep some tissues handy, but remember that wiping away your tears with chocolate wrappers is a perfect (and budget-friendly) solution.
3. Write a Love Letter… to Your Favorite Snack
Who needs a Valentine when you’ve got perfectly seasoned French fries, right? Write a passionate love letter to your favorite snack, expressing all the feelings you never got to share with a human. Go ahead, pour your heart out to the bag of chips or the pint of ice cream you’ll be devouring later.
Here’s an example: “Dear Ice Cream, You are the peanut butter to my jelly, the sweet to my salty. When I spoon you out of your tub, I feel a connection deeper than anything I’ve ever felt before. You’re the best part of my day. Forever yours, Me.”
Pro Tip: Read the letter aloud in your best dramatic voice for full effect. Bonus points for adding a tear or two.
Remember, Valentine’s Day is about love, and sometimes the best kind of love is the love you give to yourself (and your snacks). Enjoy the day, whether you’re single or just in a committed relationship with your couch.
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The Inkblotters 