Ji-won’s life tumbles into disarray in the wake of her Appa’s extramarital affair and subsequent departure. Her mother, distraught. Her younger sister, hurt and confused. Her college freshman grades, failing. Her dreams, horrifying… yet enticing.
In them, Ji-won walks through bloody rooms full of eyes. Succulent blue eyes. Salivatingly blue eyes. Eyes the same shape and shade as George’s, who is Umma’s obnoxious new boyfriend. George has already overstayed his welcome in her family’s claustrophobic apartment. He brags about his puffed-up consulting job, ogles Asian waitresses while dining out, and acts condescending toward Ji-won and her sister as if he deserves all of Umma’s fawning adoration. No, George doesn’t deserve anything from her family. Ji-won will make sure of that.
For no matter how many victims accumulate around her campus or how many people she must deceive and manipulate, Ji-won’s hunger and her rage deserve to be sated.
SLEEP ALONE by J.A.W. MCCARTHY
For the past six years, Ronnie has worked selling merch for a perpetually touring band. Late nights, sweaty clubs, dingy motel rooms, endless roads-as rough as it’s been, there is no other way of life for this band of hungry succubi leaving bodies in their wake.
Until she meets the enigmatic Helene.
Helene is just as restless, just as lonely, and just as full of secrets. With Helene in tow, Ronnie and the band make their way across the Pacific Northwest, trying to outrun not only their mistakes, but the mysterious disease stalking the band, a disease that devours succubi from the inside out.
The hunger is as endless as the road, but maybe Ronnie doesn’t always want to sleep alone.
THE VEGETARIAN by HAN KANG
Before the nightmares began, Yeong-hye and her husband lived an ordinary, controlled life. But the dreams—invasive images of blood and brutality—torture her, driving Yeong-hye to purge her mind and renounce eating meat altogether. It’s a small act of independence, but it interrupts her marriage and sets into motion an increasingly grotesque chain of events at home. As her husband, her brother-in-law and sister each fight to reassert their control, Yeong-hye obsessively defends the choice that’s become sacred to her. Soon their attempts turn desperate, subjecting first her mind, and then her body, to ever more intrusive and perverse violations, sending Yeong-hye spiraling into a dangerous, bizarre estrangement, not only from those closest to her, but also from herself.
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A recent widow’s plan to spend the summer in Cape Cod hiding from her interfering family is upended when she discovers her beach house has an unexpected guest, and the secret she’s been keeping about her marriage threatens to be exposed. Perfect beach reading for fans of Taylor Jenkins Reid and Emily Henry.
70 year old widow Cecilia Lapthorne can’t bear the prospect of a family party to celebrate her birthday and the memory of her husband, famous artist Cameron Lapthorne. They had a toxic marriage but stayed together for the children, and bound by a big secret. She runs away to the Cape Cod seashore cottage she owned with Cameron–it’s where they first fell in love–but she hasn’t returned since she discovered him cheating on her there (for the first time). No one in her family knows about it, so she will be perfectly, delightfully alone for the summer.
Except struggling artist Lily has been secretly crashing on the sofa of the seashore cottage for the last couple of weeks. Unable to make rent after dropping out of medical school to pursue her dreams of becoming an artist and working as a housekeeper in Cecilia’s Cape Cod enclave, she’s been illicitly camping at the cottage. Which isn’t a problem as it’s been unoccupied for years…until Cecilia unexpectedly shows up.
After the drama of discovering she has an unexpected house-guest has faded, Cecilia decides she’ll get along just fine with Lily for the summer. They form a tentative and powerful bond, based on shared love of art, but also the vulnerabilities they both share with each other. And when Todd, Cecilia’s beloved grandson (and the man who broke Lily’s heart in college) tracks her to the cottage, the three of them settle in for a summer of self-discovery, self-belief and second chances.
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For the first time, she understood the liberation of having nothing left to lose.
PLOT SUMMARY
Gracetown, Florida
June 1950
Twelve-year-old Robbie Stephens, Jr., is sentenced to six months at the Gracetown School for Boys, a reformatory, for kicking the son of the largest landowner in town in defense of his older sister, Gloria. So begins Robbie’s journey further into the terrors of the Jim Crow South and the very real horror of the school they call The Reformatory.
Robbie has a talent for seeing ghosts, or haints. But what was once a comfort to him after the loss of his mother has become a window to the truth of what happens at the reformatory. Boys forced to work to remediate their so-called crimes have gone missing, but the haints Robbie sees hint at worse things. Through his friends Redbone and Blue, Robbie is learning not just the rules but how to survive. Meanwhile, Gloria is rallying every family member and connection in Florida to find a way to get Robbie out before it’s too late.
GRADE: A+
REVIEW
This book has been receiving a lot of hype and positive reviews and whenever that is the case for a book, I try to take it in stride – however, this novel is worthy of all the hype and then some! I was so thoroughly captivated by Robbie’s dilemma and trying to find out if his sister Gloria could truly help him get out of the Reformatory that I read it in two days (and this isn’t a short novel!). Despite learning about Jim Crow in my history classes, this book made the reality of that time period very real and honestly, this should be read in literature classes at school so that students get a better idea of what Jim Crow South truly entailed and meant.
Now, the horror aspect of this book was fascinating (who doesn’t like a good ghost story?). I found it very fascinating and although I guessed the plot twist before it actually happened it didn’t lessen my enjoyment of this book. This book is brutal, and will get you in the feels in a way not many books will be able to. It’s a haunting story of survival and coming of age, weaved into a historical setting that aims to shed some light on what actually occurred in these schools for young boys and how many didn’t live to ever make it back out.
This was my first read from Tananarive Due and I can certainly assure you that it won’t be my last – I actually look forward to checking out all of her previously published books.
If you’re going to read only one book this year, make sure it’s this one, it’s an incredible, haunting read that you won’t forget very easily after reading it. The hype is real and I truly hope this book wins all the awards it’s been nominated for.
*Thank you so much to NetGalley and Saga Press for the digital copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!
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Tomorrow, in my experience, is only worth worrying about when there’s something you can do about it.
PLOT SUMMARY:
After their terrifying ordeal at the Usher manor, Alex Easton feels as if they just survived another war. All they crave is rest, routine, and sunshine, but instead, as a favor to Angus and Miss Potter, they find themself heading to their family hunting lodge, deep in the cold, damp forests of their home country, Gallacia.
In theory, one can find relaxation in even the coldest and dampest of Gallacian autumns, but when Easton arrives, they find the caretaker dead, the lodge in disarray, and the grounds troubled by a strange, uncanny silence. The villagers whisper that a breath-stealing monster from folklore has taken up residence in Easton’s home. Easton knows better than to put too much stock in local superstitions, but they can tell that something is not quite right in their home. . . or in their dreams.
GRADE: B+
REVIEW:
This is a sequel to What Moves The Dead and we follow soldier Alex Easton back to his home where he finds that something strange is going on. People are being plagued by a succubus of sorts, that kills men after several nights. Eugenia Potts is back, coming to visit Easton, and if you really loved these characters in the first book you’re going to continue loving them in the sequel too. There are very light hearted and hilarious moments in this novella, as well as some very dark and creepy moments. I don’t want to give much of the plot away as the novella is short – but rest assured that this is an excellent and fun read, and personally I can’t wait to embark on another adventure with Easton and Potts!
This can be read as a stand alone – although there are some references to book one, it’s not vital to have read it to enjoy this book. I recommend this book to those that like horror with a side of hilarity. But if you enjoyed book one, then you will like this one too, although the mystery isn’t as intricate as in the previous book.
*Thank you so much to NetGalley and Tor Nightfire for the digital copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!
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When Case arrives at a run-down, ivy-covered house tucked deep in the West Texas woods, an ashy haze lingers in the air and the sky is tissue-paper pink. Her best friend Drea has been living here with a few classmates Case has never met, and Drea asked her to visit in a letter dated two weeks ago.
But now Drea is nowhere to be found.
Drea’s roommates can’t—or won’t—answer questions, leaving Case to search alone. She finds bits of Drea’s journal hidden in the tiles of the bathroom wall, in a beat-up cooler by the muddy river, wedged into the frame of her closet door. As Case pieces together Drea’s life in this strange house, the roommates’ behavior puts her increasingly on edge—and she’s not the only one. The animals nearby are lashing out, attacking each other, threatening the humans.
Something bad happened in this house. Something that must be connected to Drea’s disappearance. And if she gets too close to the truth, Case just might be next.
GRADE: C
REVIEW:
I was truly anticipating reading this book because I absolutely adored Tigers, Not Daughters so much. Unfortunately, my reading experience with Clever Creatures of the Night wasn’t that good. It did start off promising – Case goes to visit her friend Drea only to find out that she’s not there. Did she go missing? Are her roommates responsible for her absence? The issue is that the book takes place during the course of one day. There’s only so much Case can do to find her friend in a place where they’re located in the middle of nowhere and there’s no cell signal. Initially, the mystery of what happened to her friend had me really invested. The problem is that this book has so much promise and truly could’ve been something amazing, instead we get a really underwhelming reason as to why Drea’s not around. The writing is beautiful, but for a book that was very short (around two hundred pages) it felt impossibly long.
The supporting characters needed to be more interesting to keep this book going for how long it did. Instead, they were rather dull and one-dimensional. This was such a letdown after reading Tigers, Not Daughters.
This book is good for readers who like slow-burn mysteries and literary thrillers. I wouldn’t even call this horror.
*Thank you so much to NetGalley and Algonquin Young Readers for the digital copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!
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This is the meal I’ve been waiting for, and I’m going to savor it.
PLOT SUMMARY:
Ji-won’s life tumbles into disarray in the wake of her appa’s extramarital affair and subsequent departure. Her mother, distraught. Her younger sister, hurt and confused. Her college freshman grades, failing. Her dreams, horrifying… yet enticing.In them, Ji-won walks through bloody rooms full of eyes. Succulent blue eyes. Salivatingly blue eyes. Eyes the same shape and shade as George’s, who is Umma’s obnoxious new boyfriend. George has already overstayed his welcome in her family’s claustrophobic apartment. He brags about his puffed-up consulting job, ogles Asian waitresses while dining out, and acts condescending toward Ji-won and her sister as if he deserves all of Umma’s fawning adoration. No, George doesn’t deserve anything from her family. Ji-won will make sure of that.For no matter how many victims accumulate around her campus or how many people she must deceive and manipulate, Ji-won’s hunger and her rage deserve to be sated.
GRADE: A+
REVIEW:
I devoured this book in two days (probably would’ve read it in one sitting if I didn’t have to do life things like work, eat, and sleep). I love how unhinged this book was. When we meet Ji-Won her father has just left his family to get with another woman, leaving her and her sister to deal with her grieving mother on their own. Ji-Won is also beginning her first year of college and once her mother starts dating a new man George (who she’s certain has an Asian girl fetish) things begin to to truly escalate. First of all, Ji-Won becomes obsessed with George’s eyes and her nightmares explore that obsession. As Ji-Won’s life begins to derail (she’s failing in college – her relationship with her sister and mother is strenuous and trying to fit in at college is difficult) – the book takes a very dark and twisted turn that I highly enjoyed.
I don’t want to say much about the plot because I wish you to experience this book the way I did – totally diving into it blind and staying for the wild ride. This is one excellent horror thriller with one of the best endings I’ve ever read (and I’m very picky when it comes to endings – I’m rarely satisfied by them).
Read this if you’re a fan of unhinged female characters ala Maeve Fly or Bunny.
*Thank you so much to NetGalley and Erewhon Books for the digital copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!
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BEGONIA: a favor repaid, a warning foretold, a promise delivered in darkness.
Sussex, England, February 1815
I can feel Betsy watching me from the doorway.
She hovers like a bee, rehearsing some small speech in whispers. I pretend not to notice her fidgeting and instead focus on the vase of narcissi before me, the weight of my pencil in my hand. Betsy clears her throat, twice, but I am already arcing out the path of the dainty stems and unfurling petals. There is something calming about reducing the flowers to splashes of grays and blacks, finding beauty in the absence of light.
Betsy lets out a throaty cough. “You might as well come in and be done with it,” I tell her without looking up.
“Yes, miss.” She drops a curtsy, her gray ringlets bouncing under her cap. “It’s just that there’s a man in the drawing room with your uncle, miss, and your uncle asks that you join them.”
I continue sketching, watching the frilly petals take shape on my paper. “Please make my excuses,” I tell her. Uncle likes to bring me out when he has business meetings, the same way he sets out the good claret and crystal goblets with the old family crest. With no wife and no children of his own, I make a pretty addition and bring a touch of softness to his otherwise hard demeanor. “There’s a cake in the kitchen and cold ham as well that you might bring them,” I add as an afterthought.
But Betsy doesn’t leave. She wrings her hands and tuts about like a fussing hen. “No, miss. He’s for you.”
I carefully set aside my pencil. This is what I was afraid of. Closing my eyes, I rub my temples, wishing that it was anything else besides this. My time is not even my own, and I hate being pulled out of my work just to oblige Uncle.
“Very well.” I dismiss Betsy and take a moment in front of the mirror in the hall. Uncle’s friends and associates are mostly stodgy old men, but there is always the possibility that it could be someone young, someone exciting. I pinch roses into my cheeks and tease out a few of my yellow curls. If have control of nothing else in this house, I at least can take pride in my appearance.
I take a deep breath and let myself into the drawing room. “Betsy said you wanted me, sir?”
Uncle stands and tugs at his waistcoat. “Cornelia, come in.”
Though not more than fifty years in age, his poor temper and taste for rich food and drink has left my uncle with a ruddy complexion and portly figure. He is not a healthy man, and his jowls are loose, his complexion jaundiced. What he lacks in polished comportment, though, he makes up in his wardrobe, opting for elaborate cravats and showy brocaded waistcoats that never quite fit him but speak of money and an account in good standing at the tailor. Uncle waves me over, impatient. “Come meet Mr. Reeves.”
Obedient, I come and position myself near the window where I know the soft gray light is especially flattering to my fair complexion. The man unfolds himself from his chair. He is tall and spare, his black frockcoat well-cut and his boots shined. He looks familiar, perhaps from church or one of Uncle’s interminable business dinners. I suppose some might consider him handsome, but there is an intensity in his dark eyes that is more predatory than charming. “Miss Cornelia,” he says, taking my hand and bowing over it, “a pleasure.”
“Mr. Reeves.” I withdraw my hand. “I hope my uncle is not boring you with land yields and livestock accounts.”
He shares a confidential look with my uncle. “On the contrary. Our conversation has been on the most enjoyable of topics.”
“He’s here to see you,” Uncle says, plowing straight into the heart of the matter as he always does. “Mr. Reeves comes as a suitor.”
Uncle makes the outcome of this meeting perfectly clear in the sharp downturn of his lips. His patience with the matter of my marital status is wearing thin.
Well, that makes two of us.
I don’t fancy marriage, but I certainly don’t fancy spending one more day than I have to under my uncle’s roof, either. My dreams of publishing a book remain foggy and out of reach, and the money from my illustrations published in a French newspaper under a nom de plume pays only a pittance. It is not enough to live on, and certainly not enough for a young woman who enjoys fine things and an easy life. A husband would solve at least two of my problems, but it would create a host more.
“I’ll leave you two alone to talk,” Uncle says, cutting me with a look that says there will be hell to pay if I emerge from this room without securing an engagement.
The air usually lightens, the room sighing a breath of relief, when Uncle leaves, but Mr. Reeves’s presence prickles me under my stays, makes me fidgety.
Betsy is posted outside the door, her needles softly clacking as she knits some horrid bonnet or muffler. Outside, a fine mist has rolled over the gentle Sussex hills. A smile spreads over Mr. Reeves’s sharp features. “Your uncle says you’re a spirited filly. That you need a strong hand to break you.”
Ah, so it is to go like that, then. I pour a cup of tea, ignoring my guest’s outstretched hand, instead lifting the cup to my lips. “That does sound like the sort of nonsense my uncle would say.”
Mr. Reeves regards me, his dark eyes calculating. “Your uncle was right, but I think he also underestimated you. I can see you possess some wits, so I’ll not mince words.” He crosses his long legs. “I am looking for a wife, and your uncle is looking to expand his landholdings to the south of the county.”
If the man who has sat down across from me was meek, pliable, then perhaps I would have more patience in hearing his suit; I don’t need someone who will get underfoot or try to handle me. Even some doddering old lord who might die quickly and leave me a widow would be acceptable. But Mr. Reeves is irritatingly young and looks to be in good health.
“My uncle was mistaken. I am not in need of a husband.” I offer him a cold smile, my mind already back on my flowers, my fingers itching to hold my pencil. The light has shifted with the gathering clouds, and I will have to rework my shading.
He pours himself a cup of tea. “Come, wouldn’t you like to have a fine house? Be mistress of a whole host of servants? I can see that you enjoy some degree of freedom, and I can give you that. You will have a mare and a generous allowance.”
“I should think it would be terribly lowering to have to lure a wife into one’s home with promises of horses and gowns. Shouldn’t you rather wish her to come of her own volition because she holds you in some esteem?”
“You are naive if you think that marriage is anything other than a business transaction. You are a young woman of beauty and some small means but a drain on your guardian. I am an enterprising man, with successful business dealings and a good bloodline looking for a wife who will elevate his status and ornament his home. I hold a commission in the army and anticipate traveling to the Continent shortly. It is a good deal for you, and you would be hard-pressed to find a better one, especially with your lack of polish and manners.”
“It’s a little late to be going over to the Continent, isn’t it? I believe we quite vanquished Napoleon.”
Irritation animates his dark eyes before he glances away, taking what I suspect is an intentionally long sip of his tea.
I study him over the rim of my cup, imagining the way I would draw the sharp angle of his chin, the aquiline nose, before finally placing where I’ve seen him. “You were married before, were you not?”
There is an almost imperceptible stiffening of his body. “Yes, I make no secret of the fact that I am a widower,” he says shortly.
“And how, exactly, did your first wife die?” The roses in the vase on the table beside me are vibrating, warning me. I pretend not to notice, pretend that I am a normal young woman who does not receive messages from flowers.
His lips thin. “An unfortunate fall.”
“Mm. She did not bear you any children, did she?”
“Barren.” He tugs at his cravat, irritated. “You would do well not to let your ear wander to every housemaid that has a piece of gossip to peddle,” he says coldly.
“In any case, I am not interested.” I move to put my cup down, but a hand closes around my wrist, hard. I look up to find that he has leaned in close, his breath hot on my neck.
“Perhaps you’ve also heard that I have certain…proclivities.”
The roses in the vase strain toward me, singing, setting my teeth on edge. My fingers begin to tremble, but I do not let him see it. “Why would you tell me that?”
“Because I think, dear girl, that you are under the impression that I would use you poorly.” He leans back, but only slightly, the air around him still charged and menacing. “I can be a very hard man when I’m tested, but I can take my pleasures elsewhere, so long as my wife is obedient.”
His gaze is sharp, his grip painful, and I realize that here is a dangerous man, one who is not just a brute but also clever. He cannot be fobbed off with witty barbs or batting eyelashes.
“This conversation bores me,” I tell him, standing. “I will not be your wife. I’m sorry that you wasted your time in coming here.”
But he makes no move to stand, his cool gaze sliding over me in a way that leaves me feeling horribly exposed. “I’ve seen you often, Cornelia. In church, sitting so demurely with your hands folded in your lap. You may think to have everyone else fooled, but I see the spirit in your eyes. A woman like you can never be satisfied with the life of a spinster, put on a shelf here in Sussex. I can offer you fine things, take you to exciting places abroad with me.”
And I’ve seen you, I think. I’ve seen how cruelly you used your first wife, the bruises on her pretty face. The way she faded little by little every week in church, until she was just a ghost in a dress, her final service that of her funeral. That will not be me.
“Surely there are other young ladies that would be flattered by your attentions,” I tell him.
“None so beautiful, none that I would take so much pleasure in breaking. The more you deny me, the more determined I am. Ask your uncle. I am a man who gets what he wants, one way or another.”
All the promise of gold or Continental trips would not be enough to tempt any marriage-minded mama to let her daughter enter into an arrangement with a man like Mr. Reeves. But of course, I have no mama to arrange such matters for me, to keep me safe.
“Then, perhaps it was time you lose for a change. Do you not find it dull to always get what you expect?”
He stands, drawing close and jabbing a finger into my bodice. It takes some great force of will to stand my ground and not let him see my fear. “You may think yourself clever, but this visit was just a courtesy. Your uncle and I have all but drawn up the contract already.”
He storms out, and the room grows quiet in the wake of the front door slamming. Betsy startles from her seat where she had fallen to dozing. I close my eyes, take a breath, wait until my heartbeat grows even again. Then I return to my waiting drawing in the parlor.
If I work quickly, I can still finish it and have it ready for tomorrow’s post. But for now, there is no waiting publisher, no silly French pseudonym; it is just the light and the shadows and me, a silent dance as I commit them to paper. Mr. Reeves and his odious proposal quickly fade away from my mind.
But then a raised voice shatters the silence, breaking my concentration, and there is the thundering velocity of Uncle coming down the hall.
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The creatures peered at her with beady eyes, lips curling to bare tiny teeth in an expression more suited to a rabid dog.
PLOT SUMMARY:
Remember the ’90s? Well…the town of Demise, North Dakota doesn’t, and they’re living in the year 1997. That’s because an alien worm hitched a ride on a comet, crash landed in the town’s trailer park, and is now infecting animals with a memory-loss-inducing bite–and right before Christmas! Now it’s up to nineteen-year-old Realene and her best friend Nate to stop the spread and defeat the worms before the entire town loses its mind. The only things standing in the way are their troubled pasts, a doomsday cult, and an army of infected prairie dogs.
GRADE: A
REVIEW:
I’ve always been a fan of Angela’s short stories as she’s appeared in two of my Women in Horror Anthologies (My American Nightmare with The Ballad of Sorrow and Lila and Strange Girls with Night Terrors), so when I had a chance to read her debut novel I was thrilled. Frost Bite is a fun, entertaining read that follows protagonist Realene as an alien parasite invades her small town ala The Faculty.
There were many fun action-packed scenes that I thoroughly enjoyed and I really loved the emotional highs and lows I got from reading this novel. Personally, I thought the crazed prairie dogs to be quite amusing (I’ve never seen them before so I totally had to Google them and they’re the cutest animals ever).
This very much reads like a 90s horror book but with a nostalgic twist. Anyone who has lived during the 90s will get a kick out of all the references, not to mention be reminded of some things we may have forgotten about. It was really bittersweet in that respect. I also loved that this book reminded me of the 80s film The Curse (also dealing with a meteor falling in a small town with devastating consequences for everyone who lived there).
I recommend this book to anyone who likes horror with a sci-fi alien with a dash of cults and loves snowy, cold settings.
*Thank you so much to Nightworms & the author for the digital copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!
Short Q & A with Author
Was there a specific reason why you chose to set your book in the 90’s?
I grew up in the ’80s and ‘90s, and I was the same age as the main character around the late ‘90s, so it was the most obvious choice since I had specific memories of that time. Maybe I’m lazy? LOL. It was also just really fun to set it then, because it allowed me to reconnect with a lot of the pop culture I experienced and loved. I had a fantastic time researching events, movies, music, and food and figuring out how to thread references throughout the book to give a strong sense of time and place.
Your book has been really popular. Did you think it would’ve resonated with so many people and how does it feel?
I certainly hoped it would be popular but didn’t necessarily expect it. It felt really incredible to know this story and these characters resonated with people, especially since it’s kind of a silly premise. Ultimately, I wanted people to have fun reading it, but I’m really happy people have connected with the heart behind the story, too (I often get messages about Realene’s relationship with her mom, who had dementia, and how meaningful that was to readers).
What can we expect from the sequel?
As those who read book 1 know, there is a bit of a cliff hanger:) Alien worms aren’t so easy to kill, and Realene and Nate will have to step up again, though they are now battling the grief and trauma from the events in book 1. The book takes place during Spring Break, but not in Florida or Cancun. We’ll be venturing up to beautiful Canada!
The meteor in the novel is very reminiscent of the one from the movie The Curse (1987). Have you ever watched that movie?
I do remember that movie, but it has been so long since I have seen it! This is the first time that has been mentioned as a comp, but it is so spot on. I am totally going to rewatch it!
What are you currently working on?
I just finished my debut short story collection, The Dead Spot: Stories of Lost Girls, which will be released May 21st. It’s a collection on seventeen stories of girls and women lost to obsession, manipulation, and the darkness in the world around them, and I’m very proud of it. It’s got a much darker tone than Frost Bite but still has a little sweetness. I also just finished expanding my novella Chopping Spree, which will be rereleased in September. It’s a mall slasher with a cult-y twist that is currently out of print, and this new version is an extended cut (LOL) with a new cover that I can’t wait to show off!
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A hotel haunted by an unseen presence, and even the insects somehow knew to keep away.
PLOT SUMMARY:
What’s been happening at Cranberry Cove? It’s unspeakable. It’s unspoken.
Emberly Hale is about to take a dark journey inside the derelict hotel—and inside her own past—to find out the horrible truth.
GRADE: A-
REVIEW:
This novella started off in complete medias res, meaning that for the first few pages, it felt like we the readers were dropped off in the middle of something and had to figure out what exactly was going on. I really loved Emberly a lot and Piper has this way of taking rehashed tropes and injecting new life into them with a unique spin. I always love haunted hotels so I was thrilled to read this. The way Piper described the hauntings in this novella was chilling especially when you find out what exactly is doing the haunting. The novella was filled with tension and you couldn’t help but be on the edge of your seat as you tried to figure out the mystery of Cranberry Cove along with Emberly. I don’t know if Piper will bring Emberly back for a sequel (but I totally feel like this novella deserves one!) because there are so many more things one could explore.
I recommend this book for those who love ghosts and hauntings but are told in a new and fresh way.
*Thank you so much to Nightworms & the author for the digital copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!
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It’s three-deep at the bar, and I get my order in seconds before they ring for time. I double up: a JD and Coke each and two beers to take with us. The lights are up and the music’s gone quiet as I weave the tray through the punters. Standing in the doorway out to the terrace, I am disorientated. There must be fifty tables outside between here and the river and it’s still packed out, darker and smokier than ever. I search the crowd but can’t see Holly.
I negotiate my way down to the water’s edge. She’s maybe ten tables away, oblivious, a ciggie poised skyward in her fingers like she’s posing for Vettriano. I smirk, enjoy my good fortune again.
“Excuse me, good gentlemen,” I say to a group of four in my path, voice cocky with booze and lust. They shuffle over, not breaking from their conversation. The resulting gap between their circle and the edge of the path isn’t wide enough—a careless elbow would send the tray of drinks into the river, possibly me with them.
“If you don’t mind, guys?” I lay a palm on the forearm of the bloke with his back to me. Their circle opens out and he turns side-on, ushering me past. “Nice one,” I say, glancing at him as I pass.
I look back at the ground. There’s a delay in my brain processing who it is I’m walking past. There’s a moment in which it seems that we’ll just carry on, pretend like we don’t know each other.
The air thickens. Time slows. I stop, a step past him. Look again. Razor-sharp short back and sides, hooded eyes, lopsided mouth. Preppy. It’s a face I catch myself imagining sometimes, never for long. A waking nightmare. Not that my imagination does it justice. Not even close, I now realize.
His recognition of me unfolds in slow motion. Perhaps like me, alcohol has dulled his synapses, delayed the inevitable shift of mode.
Blake Benfield. There have been times in the past when just hearing that name in my head has stopped me dead, left me incapable.
How long since we last ran into each other? I was sixteen—best part of four years, then. Feels so recent. Our paths crossing has always been inevitable; we grew up barely a mile apart. He spat at me that last time, called me faggot cunt. The many times before that I’d just legged it, hidden from his fury and his hatred. But you get too old to do that.
This crowded place seems so quiet now. Like there’s cotton wool stuffed in my ears. The two bottles tip over on my trembling tray, foam splattering to the ground. One rolls over the edge and shatters on the concrete. People turn.
How long have we stood here, him glaring at me, me unable to hold his stare? Saying nothing. A few seconds? Feels longer.
There’s the smell of burned-out house in my nose. The sound of his whisper in my ears that I try to drown out.
Don’t think about it. Do not think about that day.
Why do I shake? I’m a fucking grown man. Why am I shaking?
He takes a half step closer to me.
I once told him I was sorry. It was years ago—when I was still a kid. I was sorry. Does he remember?
I spin around. Where’s Holly? She must be watching this.
There’s no more delay. There is, of course, nothing for me and this bloke to say to each other. We have ventured into each other’s space, and that brings with it a remembering. And, as we always have, we must deal with that in our own way.
His knuckles graze my chin. I stumble backward and the tray falls to the ground. His swing is off, though; there is no pain. Not even surprise. We definitely have an audience now.
My response is pure instinct: palms raised, lean away. Easy now.
I don’t want to fight this man. I want to go back thirty seconds, walk a different route, have this night back for myself.
Blake closes the gap, my weakness an invitation. His second punch crashes into my ear like a swinging girder. My brain slaps side to side in my skull. Vision sways. My head boils, a cool trickle from my eardrum.
Where is Holly? Panic grips. I can’t just stand here and take this.
My eyes flit to our audience. He swings again, this time with his left. But I see it coming, dodge. He stumbles.
I drive my weight, shoulder first, into his ribs. He goes over, sprawled among the spilled drinks and shattered glass.
On all fours, he stares up at me. I’m perfectly positioned. I could kick him square in the face. End this right now. Why don’t I do it? Why can’t I bring myself to do it? I’d rather turn my back and cry than kick his head in.
He glares up at me. Why do I pity him? Why am I so uncomfortable towering over him like this? It’s like the positions we’ve always held have been reversed. The power is mine.
I let him find his feet.
He’s up and level with me again. He glares like a bloodthirsty dog, wipes his nose on the sleeve of his polo shirt. If we were alone, maybe I’d run. But with people watching, with Holly watching, that’s no option.
My punch lands perfectly. His jaws scissor against each other. For a second his head floats, eyes rolling.
I realize my error too late. I should’ve followed up when I had the chance. One punch is only enough in the movies, everyone knows that. His hands are on the collar of my shirt, cloth tearing as he holds firm. His forehead slams into the bridge of my nose like a sledgehammer. My face is suddenly and totally numb. I drop to the ground. A ruby-red stain spreads fast through the jewels of broken glass around me.
He shouts above me. Every filthy word I’ve long come to expect. Something soft disperses against my head. Spit.
The neck of the Stella bottle I dropped lies on the ground. Inches away. Blood gurgles in my mouth as I take a deep breath. I launch like a sprinter. Leading with the dagger of green glass, I’m aiming straight at his face and closing fast.
Blake backs into a table, stumbles, hands slow to cover his face. His eyes widen, abject fear. But this is no time to be derailed.
I see it too late. No time to react. One of Blake’s friends windmilling a table ashtray. The side of my skull cracks like thunder.
The ground feels like a cushion, drawing me in and bouncing me back. My vision finds enough order in time to see the sole of boot accelerating toward me, like a cartoon piano from the sky.
There is no pain. Just a sense of floating in space.
Time passes. More blows land.
The surface of the Thames billows like a black satin sheet as it rises toward me. There’s no fear. Is that Holly I can hear calling my name? It’s so distant, so hard to tell.
The river gathers me in like it’s here to take care of me.
Cool water spears my lungs like sharpened icicles. I sink forever.
A low hum builds in my ears. Lights fades to nothing.
And I sleep.
NOVEMBER 30, 2010 | AGE 35
My head throbs. It doesn’t matter if I open or close my eyes, the pain worsens either way. My mouth is like dust. Joints and muscles lie seized.
Last night is a blank. I hate that. I look above me. Focusing is excruciating. The ceiling is browny cream, textured in spikes like a Christmas cake. An unshaded bulb swings in the draft, the filament shivering. It’s really cold in here.
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The Inkblotters 