Tag: books

Short Story: Please Serve Cold by Rachel Bolton

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She was what you’d call a handsome woman. Particular. Elegant. Grace was not the type to leave her house unbeautified. Hair forever coiffed in the style she’d had for the past thirty years. Timeless flattering suit skirts. A brooch pinned over her heart. Her mother taught her that once one finds a complimentary style, one must stick with it. She did not even own a pair of jeans. Slacks were to be worn under specific circumstances only. Grace thought of herself as enduring. Others saw her as tacky. But a woman approaching her seventies could not please everyone.

“This is such a lovely party, isn’t it, Henry?” She said to her husband. “Elizabeth’s a good hostess.”

Henry’s eldest daughter was in charge of Thanksgiving this year. They had been told not to bring anything. Simply to come and enjoy the food.

“Hmm,” Henry grunted and nodded. Grace refolded her hands in her lap, adjusting the sapphire of her engagement ring so it was in the middle of her finger. Her husband had not been particularly verbose that evening. Grace put it off as being uncomfortable after overeating. Then again, this was the first Thanksgiving after Marie’s death.

The party had moved from Elizabeth’s modest dining room and into the more spacious den. Grace was not fond of the color scheme. When Elizabeth and her husband, Joel, had moved in, Grace put together a binder of suggestions and gifted it to her stepdaughter. Elizabeth thanked her, but the advice was never used.

The house was crowded with over twenty people in attendance. Almost half were conveniently children. Grace liked children, and there was the old reoccurring sorrow she’d never had any of her own. Grace was not a woman to make a fuss. She’d married her first husband, William, right after college. No children followed, only William dropping dead from a heart attack at thirty-two.

A teen girl sat next to Grace, joining her in the quieter end of the room. Grace didn’t know her name, but from her hair and the shape of her jawline, she assumed she was one of Marie’s relatives. The girl started to eat Italian cookies from her plate.

“Did you enjoy the food?” asked Grace. She was making conversation. Sitting in silence wasn’t polite. She’d been raised to have manners.

Unlike the girl, who answered through a mouth full of crumbs. Grace thought about telling her how unladylike that was. But no one else had come over to talk with Grace. One must take one’s company as one can.

Henry’s son Ricky was speaking to his father. Grace believed parents should not have favorites, but as a stepmother she was allowed to. Ricky had been ten when Grace married Henry, young enough that she’d hoped he would’ve formed a son-like attachment to her. Such a sweet boy. She remembered the hand drawn Mother’s Day he’d given her, her first ever. I love you Aunt Grace. From Ricky. All the children called her Aunt Grace. The title had been Marie’s idea.

Grace brought up other topics with the girl, her travels, what did she plan for school. The girl answered her questions yet did not ask Grace any in return. She was not a woman who eavesdropped, but Grace tried to listen to what Henry and Ricky were talking about. She heard the name of a man Henry had worked with for years.

“Henry, did you say that Jack’s going to Florida?” Grace stretched her neck towards the conversation. Not to be intrusive or grotesque, to show she was really listening.

Henry raised a finger towards Grace. A request for silence. Ricky, her dear one, kept his face towards his father.

* * *

Grace walked to the kitchen. She had yet to talk to Elizabeth, to thank her for working so hard on dinner. Marie had always cooked Thanksgiving. From the turkey down to the famous strawberry cream cake. The cake’s absence was noticeable on the dessert table. No one had wanted to bake it, not without Marie’s hands to do so. Elizabeth had been good to step up. She’d been so close to her mother… Grace would offer to help wash the dishes. Protect her hands with the yellow rubber gloves and scrub, scrub, scrub.

Elizabeth was having an intense conversation with an older woman as they cleaned. With a jolt, Grace recognized it was Marie’s sister, Adaline. Grace hadn’t noticed her at the table. Why did Grace find her appearance so jarring? They’d never spoken a word to each other in twenty-five years. She didn’t matter. But Adaline knew things about Grace. She was Marie’s sister, her confidant. A woman who would know more about Grace than she ever would in return.

Grace was not a woman to dwell on the past. She cleared her throat.

“Do you need help with the dishes?”

Adaline glanced in Grace’s direction. Elizabeth kept washing.

“… she didn’t approve of the idea. But the plan was how we got through it,” said Elizabeth. The plate clinked into the drying rack.

Her aunt rubbed Elizabeth’s arm. “You have to do what you need to do.”

“Elizabeth,” said Grace. “The casserole was delicious.”

Elizabeth sprayed the sink.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” added Grace. She rolled her rings with a manicured nail.

“I think we’re all set,” said Adaline, the first time she’d spoken directly to Grace.

Elizabeth dried her hands. “Thanks for everything, Aunt Addie.”

* * *

This Thanksgiving had been an unusual one, Grace remarked as such to her husband on the drive home.

“Thanksgiving was Marie’s holiday,” said Henry.

It was true. Five months after she married Henry, Grace had Thanksgiving at Marie’s new house. Unusual, yes, to dine with your husband’s first wife. To have her serve you mashed potatoes. To eat together at the same table. Henry and Marie had wanted to be the divorced couple who stayed friends for their children’s sakes. Marie had even been the one to make Grace and Henry’s wedding go smoothly.

Grace knew she was lucky. Marie signed the divorce papers as soon as she could. Grace got to be a June bride for her second wedding. Henry’s child support and alimony payments were generous, perhaps a little too generous. Grace kept that opinion to herself. How would Henry have reacted if she said the checks seemed more like assuaging guilt than a kindness towards Marie?

The children were not disruptive before the ceremony. But once they were in the church… Henry was the groom, he had other responsibilities than to mind his brood. As the bride Grace was aware of everything. Harry had taken off his tie and couldn’t find it. Elizabeth, always the leader, sat quietly while her siblings misbehaved. Grace thought she and Harry should have known better. They were young adults then. Henry had found Abigail out smoking with her elder cousins in the parking lot. Jennifer whined like a much younger child that her shoes were too tight. Ricky crossed his arms and buried his chin in his chest. Grace was an understanding woman, but this was her wedding! A much nicer one than her first. Harry was his father’s best man. Her new stepdaughters, junior bridesmaids and the flower girl. And Ricky was to be the ring bearer. He had told Grace how excited he was.

Grace paced in the waiting room and picked at her veil.

“Could you please get your brothers and sisters to behave,” she had asked Elizabeth. The girls were a close little trio, and the bookending boys would follow their sisters. Grace was an only child. She had wanted a little sister once.

“I don’t think anything’s wrong,” said Elizabeth.

Someone, after all these years Grace still doesn’t know who, called Marie. She got the children into order. Marie was not dressed for church. Faded sunhat on her head. Her top showing off freckled shoulders. She still wore her apron, speckled with layers of paint. Ratty old sandals revealing her bare toes.

“I talked to the kids,” she had said. “Everything will be fine.”

Grace thanked her. She was an accommodating woman, the sort who could be friendly to her husband’s ex-wife. Harry found his tie. Elizabeth smiled. Abigail never smoked again. Jennifer’s shoes fit her properly. Ricky smiled as he carried the rings down the aisle.

Before she left, staying for the ceremony would’ve been too much, Grace watched Marie stroke Ricky’s head.

“Remember our agreement?” she had whispered to her son.

Grace thought of her wedding to Henry fondly. The ceremony marking the first moment she’d felt like a real partner to him. All the photos showed a happy new family. Besides, the only person to really dampen the day had been Grace’s father. Who before taking his daughter’s arm said he was glad her mother wasn’t here to see this.

* * *

Jennifer’s birthday was a week into December. Henry considered himself a lucky man since all his children ended up in the same area. Grace loved watching him play with his grandchildren. He would get on his hands and knees to play at their level, even if his arthritis flared up. Henry never missed a baptism, dance recital, game, or any chance to spend one on one time with them. He was the best Grampy. Like her stepchildren, the grandchildren called her Aunt Grace. She had hoped for a grandmotherly nickname when the first was born, but why change what has been perfectly fine for a decade at that point?

The party for Jennifer was small. Just parents, siblings, and in-laws. She and her husband had recently welcomed a surprise second child. Little Matthew was not quite four months. When the pregnancy was announced, Grace had shared her concern about Jennifer’s age. Would the child be healthy?

Jennifer scoffed. “I’m thirty-seven not forty-two.”

Everyone laughed. Forty-two. Grace had been at that age when she married Henry. Possible motherhood was fading away, but not completely gone then. There were a few hopeful weeks, then a return to regular monthly disappointment ‘til menopause. Jennifer just picked a random age. Grace’s stepdaughter had not meant the barb. She knew it in her heart.

Grandchildren were everywhere. The elder ones gathered around Henry, asking him for advice. They really listened to him, their eyes revealing only true interest. No pacifying an old man. Henry was so wise. Grace had been drawn to that from the start. The younger children ran wild, playing games Grace found indecipherable.

She was surrounded by familiar faces. Some she had been around for a quarter century. Harry. Elizabeth. Abigail. Jennifer. Their spouses. But where was Ricky? Grace decided to ask around.

She went to Harry first. Ricky followed him around like a puppy. Don’t all little boys worship their big brothers? Harry was tall, taller than his father. Grace needed to look up to speak to him.

“Harry, where’s your brother?”

Harry didn’t answer. “Cassie, don’t put that in your mouth!” He swooped down to pop a crayon away from his niece.

* * *

Abigail was pouring drinks at the minibar. Of the girls, Grace believed she was closest to her middle stepdaughter. Grace gave Abigail some practical lessons before she went off to college. It was unfortunate, but she was the plainest of her sisters. Her body was shaped with emphasis on the wrong parts. Grace had taken her shopping for graduation. Bought her clothes to flatter what she had.

“Learn to do your hair and face right, dear, and your figure won’t matter,” Grace had said at the tea house afterwards.

Abigail did wear the clothes. Grace had seen photos as proof. Yet not when she was around. And years later, she found the blouses and skirts in a pile for donation.

A cocktail shaker was between Abigail’s large hands. Grace wanted to give her rings, more than a wedding band, to make them daintier.

“I thought Ricky was coming to the party,” said Grace.

“Hey Dad,” said Abigail, as she poured into a stemmed glass. “I’ve got your martini.”

Grace wanted to tap Abigail on the shoulder, to make sure she had heard her. Grace had been raised to think that was impolite. Crass people touched each other to make a point. Instead, Grace waited patiently for Abigail to attend to her.

That moment never came.

* * *

Malcolm, Jennifers’s husband, brought Grace a cup of tea. He told her that Ricky was unable to attend his sister’s party due to work. He could not stay long to chat. He needed to change his baby’s diaper.

Grace was not a woman to mope. What was the point? Life changed whether you wanted it to or not. Her mother always said that regrets were a poison. Regret was not what bothered Grace, absence did. She thought through the haze of Marie’s final days and funeral. Grace did speak to her stepchildren, told them how she had lost her own mother, at a far younger age than all of them.

Jennifer announced she needed to go upstairs and let the baby nurse. Her older sisters guided her on each side. Sister-in-law Becky too. Malcolm’s mother was invited as well. Protectors and escorts. These women retreated into a collective privacy, as old and essential as Eve herself. One that Grace wasn’t invited to share.

Grace wouldn’t have gone. Not to feel the remnant envy of motherhood. Just to be asked would’ve been nice.

* * *

Before dessert, before Abigail brought out a shallow imitation of her mother’s strawberry cream cake, Grace had tried to spend time with the younger grandchildren. She would learn about their games, what television shows they watched, she wanted to be someone they loved.

She ended up overhearing Elizabeth’s daughter and Harry’s youngest son talking about her.

“She’s not really our aunt,” said Kaitlyn. She was exactly like her mother. An authority on all despite her position in the birth order. “She’s just the lady Grampy’s married to.”

“So she’s not Nana’s sister?” asked Steven.

Kaitlyn rolled her eyes. “Don’t be stupid.”

* * *

“Is there something going on with the children?” Grace asked Henry once they returned home. They were always the children, not his children, and definitely never our children.

Henry poured himself a nightcap. “They’re grieving their mother.”

“I know, but I thought they were acting strange.” Grace could have used a stronger word. They are acting difficult. Rude. Insulting. She declined, as Grace was not a woman to start a fight before bed.

Henry swirled the ice in his glass. “Don’t think on it, my dear.”

* * *

The next morning Grace called Ricky. It was a Saturday. He should be home. She left two voicemails, and she attempted to leave a third, but the tape ran out.

* * *

Grace felt a wave of loneliness. She wished for the first time since her marriage to Henry that she had more female friends. There were a few she exchanged Christmas cards with, but none she could call unexpectedly. Grace let her girlhood and college friends drift away. They hadn’t liked Henry. Never tried to understand their love story. I can’t believe you did that to another woman. Grace hadn’t started seeing Henry for sex. That would have been wrong. Low of her to do. It was love. Love was pure and good. Love overcame everything. And Grace was the love of Henry’s life. He had told her so himself.

Who else could she talk to? Her parents were dead, cousins far away by space and years. Maybe Marie had been her friend. Her only one. Not a usual friendship. They never went and spent time together on their own. Neither one bought the other any gifts for birthdays or Christmas. Yet the two had talked. More than just pleasantries. Longer than the polite minimum of time. Marie sent flowers and a kind note when Grace’s father passed away. When Marie was sick and none of the daughters were around, Grace did laundry for her. Folded, ironed, and put away. Wasn’t it meaningful? Wasn’t that real?

* * *

There had been Henry’s birthday dinner a month after Marie’s death. The five children treated their father to an evening out at Antonio’s in town. Grace disliked Antonio’s. The restaurant cooked her steak wrongly every time. All the dishes were oversaturated with butter. She’d get a salad, but it was a gamble if the greens would be wilted or not. It was a relief to let Henry enjoy his birthday without her.

He came home scarcely two hours later, storming in while Grace watched QVC. He muttered something under his breath. He stood by the bar cart and poured himself a drink.

“What happened?” Grace had asked.

Henry knocked back two whiskeys in quick successions.

“Henry!”

The glass shattered against the wallpaper. He had thrown it across his body dismissively. Whiskey drops rolled down to the floor. For the first time Grace was afraid of her husband.

She sat motionless on the sofa, hands clasped over her pounding heart. Henry had approached her then, slowly. He kneeled.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and kissed her hand like a supplicant.

“Would you please tell me what happened?”

He ran his thumb over her knuckles. “Nothing for you to worry about, my love.”

Grace did not ask again. She was not a woman who pried.

* * *

The cold shoulder continued. It was not just the girls or Harry and Ricky. All of Grace’s stepchildren decided to pretend she didn’t exist. How juvenile. They ignored her at church, at the grandsons’ basketball games. Grace had spoken and asked questions, and none of her stepchildren replied. No one met her gaze. The children moved around her like she was a piece of furniture. The five of them had closed ranks, only allowing their father inside.

Her husband seemed content to leave the relationship between his wife and children as is. Grace supposed inaction was easier for him. Henry only benefited from this status quo, and Grace was forced to acquiesce.

Well, she could play their game. Christmas was approaching. The occasion for another family dinner. Harry and his wife were hosting. Grace was not the sort of woman to be drastic. No screaming or crying, or worse, complaining to Henry outright. If she did, the stepchildren had their victory.

There was Marie’s famous strawberry cream cake. She was the only one who made it best, as she had created the recipe. Grace had eaten it many times over the years and knew what the cake was supposed to look like. Always covered in pink vanilla frosting with sliced strawberries in a circle on top. Three layers connected by cream cheese frosting. The cake itself was again vanilla, dyed pink by maraschino cherry juice. Grace was certain the recipe required a splash of liquor. Perhaps sherry?

Grace was an ingenious woman. She had cookbooks and a grocery store a short drive from the house. She could experiment. She’d always done well in chemistry at school. This cake was nothing and everything. The children could not ignore Grace taking from their mother. Again.

* * *

When Henry was out, Grace got to work. She’d bought an apron for the task. A nice one with pockets. Marie would have appreciated her practicality. Grace went through old family albums to find a picture of the strawberry cream cake. The frosting had to match. Fruit sliced correctly.

On the fourth try, Grace made her perfect cake.

* * *

The Christmas Eve dinner was what Grace expected it to be.

The grandchildren ate at various mismatching card tables set up in Harry’s living room. Different heights produced amusement over the placements of serving dishes. Holiday standards played on the radio, and the lights of the tree cast a colorful warm glow. To be festive, Grace wore a red skirt suit with a brooch depicting a miniature nativity scene pinned to the lapel.

The adults in the family were at the table in the kitchen. If Grace had planned the dinner, she would have put the grandchildren in there and let the adults dine in the living room. While the kitchen was spacious, the living room was far better. Harry and Becky told Henry that the kids needed more space than adults. How considerate of them.

As Grace anticipated, her stepchildren continued to deny her existence and her husband went along with this shunning. Grace had been placed between Jennifer’s husband Malcolm and Ricky. Malcolm decided to be polite and asked Grace if she wanted a scoop of stuffing, or if she needed salt for her brussels sprouts. Ricky talked over Grace, around and under her as well.

Where was the little boy she used to read to?

Grace was not a woman who sulked. She nibbled at her plate and drank a half glass of wine. The stepchildren’s behavior was not her concern. Not until just before dessert. The strawberry cream cake, freshly made without Henry noticing, was in a hat box under the tree.

Henry had asked what it was when they got into the car.

“A gift,” replied Grace.

In the box, the cake rested on a glass stand that had once belonged to Grace’s mother. A classic pearlescent white, perfect for a pink cake. Grace had done so well, all the ingredients were correct, and the liquor was a tablespoon of amaretto. This insult to their mother was unignorable. Harry, Elizabeth, Abigail, Jennifer, and Ricky, had to say something to Grace.

While she was frosting the cake, Grace sent out a promise to Marie that after tonight she would never make the strawberry cream cake again. The recipe belonged to her. Grace was merely borrowing it.

* * *

Grace did not wait for the transition between the main course and dessert. She needed them all to be seated for the maximum effect. So as second or third servings were being finished, Grace got up from the table, no one commented, and fetched her hat box. She placed it on the counter and took out the strawberry cream cake and the beautiful stand.

Grace inhaled deeply before she turned around. She would not be smug. The cake was not a punishment, but a conversation starter. The best sort. Strong and undeniable.

“Everyone, I’ve made a special cake for dessert tonight.”

The stepchildren did not respond. No heads turned. No eyebrows raised.

Grace cleared her throat, just loudly enough. “I’ve made the strawberry cream cake.” She lifted the stand to make the point.

“That’s very nice, Aunt Grace,” said Becky, sweet as a kindergarten teacher. “Why don’t you put it down and I’ll cut it for you.”

Grace tried to smile. Becky, her silly little stepdaughter-in-law, talking to her like she was a senile dotard.

“I don’t want to do that,” said Grace. “I want my stepchildren to see their mother’s cake.”

That should’ve been enough. Invoking Marie was transgressive. Now the other guests and Henry knew Grace was trying for their attention. The daughter and sons-in-law adjusted themselves in their chairs, finally uncomfortable, but silent. They must have agreed with their spouses on some level. The cake started to tremble in Grace’s hands. The stepchildren ate and conversed with each other without a care in the world. There was no woman standing with a cake in the kitchen. What stepmother? Henry glanced between his wife and his children, crunching ice in his mouth.

A feeling Grace didn’t believe she possessed grew and grew. Unknown and shocking, like growing a new limb. Why, anger was delightful! Her mother taught her a woman never shows irritability. But anger was clarifying. Anger burned away all the nonsense. Anger traveled from her chest, down her arms, and into her hands.

Now Grace was a woman who could scream.

She hurled the cake and stand onto the floor. The glass shattered spectacularly. Shards glued together by pink frosting and bits of an untouched cake laid in a wide splatter over the linoleum and Grace’s heels. The kitchen had taken a deep breath and would not let it out.

The stepchildren turned and looked at Grace, blankly. Silent stares that cut like glass.

“Ha,” said Elizabeth, only Elizabeth, and then she and her siblings went back to eating.

Grace blinked. The surety of her anger was gone. She stood as if she was naked. What had she done? She’d turned into a silly old woman. Had Elizabeth spoken at all? Grace looked at her hands. The cake. Her eyes followed the pink. She turned her art into a mess. Oh, her mother’s stand… Another heartbreak. Grace could put it back together. She was allowed to have that, right? Becky appeared in yellow gloves and started picking up, trash bag in hand. Please stop! It’s mine! Nothing came out when Grace opened her mouth.

Henry went to Grace and grabbed her wrists. She slipped out of her shoes as he pulled her up.

“For Christ sakes, Grace! What’s wrong with you? You’ve ruined your stockings!”

* * *

Rachel Bolton is a busy writer with more projects than she has time for. Her work has appeared in or is forthcoming from Apex Magazine, Women Write About Comics, Strange Girls, and more. She lives in Massachusetts with her cat. Follow her on Twitter/X and BlueSky @RaeBolt. rachelmbolton.wordpress.com.

How to Read More: Effective Strategies for Busy Lives

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In today’s fast-paced world, finding time to read can often feel like a challenge. Whether you’re trying to catch up on your book list, read for personal development, or simply enjoy a good story, it can seem difficult to make room for reading amidst your busy schedule. However, with a little intention and some practical strategies, you can easily incorporate more reading into your daily routine. Here’s how to read more—and make it a consistent habit.

1. Set Clear Reading Goals

One of the most effective ways to increase your reading is to set specific, measurable goals. Instead of just saying, “I want to read more,” make your goal concrete. For example, aim to read for 30 minutes every day, or set a target of reading 10 pages before bed. Break larger goals into smaller, more manageable chunks—like reading one chapter each day—and track your progress. These small wins will keep you motivated and focused on your reading journey.

2. Create a Reading Schedule

The key to making reading a consistent habit is setting aside time for it. If you don’t schedule reading into your day, it’s easy for other tasks to take priority. Choose a time of day that works best for you—whether it’s first thing in the morning, during lunch, or right before bed—and stick to it. Even 15-20 minutes a day can lead to significant progress over time.

3. Make Your Books Accessible

If you only have a few books in your house or they’re tucked away in a shelf, it can be harder to remember to read. Keep your current book or audiobook easily accessible—whether that’s on your nightstand, in your bag, or on your phone if you prefer digital reading. Having your book readily available increases the chances that you’ll read when you have a few spare minutes. The more visible your books are, the more likely you’ll be to pick one up.

4. Limit Distractions

One of the most common reasons people don’t read as much as they’d like is distractions, particularly from technology. Social media, TV shows, and apps all compete for your attention. To improve your focus while reading, create a quiet environment. Turn off notifications on your phone, or set your phone to “Do Not Disturb” mode. If you find it hard to focus, try reading in short bursts—10 to 15 minutes at a time—without interruptions.

5. Use Audiobooks

Audiobooks are a great way to incorporate more reading into your day, especially if you have a busy schedule. You can listen to audiobooks during your commute, while exercising, or even while doing household chores. Audiobooks also allow you to “read” while doing other things, making it easier to consume more books over time. Many audiobooks come with great narration that can make the experience even more enjoyable.

6. Join a Book Club or Reading Challenge

Being part of a reading community can help motivate you to read more. Whether it’s a local book club or an online group, connecting with others who share your love of reading can inspire you to read more consistently. You can discuss books, get recommendations, and hold each other accountable. Additionally, participating in reading challenges (like reading a certain number of books in a year) can push you to stay on track and make reading a fun goal.

7. Read What You Enjoy

It’s easier to read more when you enjoy the material you’re reading. If you’re struggling to get through a book, don’t be afraid to switch to something that captures your interest. Whether it’s fiction, non-fiction, memoirs, or self-help, reading should be enjoyable—not a chore. When you’re excited about what you’re reading, it won’t feel like an obligation.

8. Use Reading Apps

There are plenty of apps that can help you stay on top of your reading goals. Apps like Goodreads allow you to track your progress, set reading goals, and get book recommendations. Many apps also offer digital versions of books or even audiobooks, making it easier to read on the go. Digital libraries, like Kindle or Apple Books, give you instant access to a wide range of titles without leaving your home.

9. Start Small and Build Up

If you’ve been out of the reading habit for a while, don’t feel like you have to jump into reading large books right away. Start with shorter books, articles, or even essays. Set modest goals—such as reading one chapter a day—and gradually build up to more. The key is consistency. Even if you read for just 10 minutes a day, you’ll develop a habit that can eventually lead to more reading over time.

10. Combine Reading with Other Habits

If you’re trying to fit more reading into your day, consider pairing it with other habits. For example, you could read for 10 minutes after your morning coffee or while winding down before bed. Associating reading with a routine you already have can help solidify the habit. Just like brushing your teeth, when reading becomes a part of your daily rhythm, it becomes automatic.

11. Reevaluate Your Reading Environment

The physical environment in which you read can significantly impact your ability to focus and enjoy your reading sessions. Ensure that your reading space is comfortable, well-lit, and free from distractions. Whether it’s a cozy chair, a park bench, or a quiet corner in your home, creating the right atmosphere can make reading more enjoyable and encourage you to read longer.

In Closing…

Reading is one of the most rewarding activities you can do for your mind and soul. By setting goals, creating a routine, limiting distractions, and exploring different formats, you can easily incorporate more reading into your daily life. Remember, the key is consistency, not perfection. Start small, stay committed, and enjoy the wonderful journey that reading can offer. Happy reading!

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Book Excerpt: Apartment Women by Gu Byeong-mo

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The recycling truck kicked up pieces of cardboard and dust as it drove off. Soda cans and bottle caps that had fallen off the back tumbled along the ground. Danhui’s hands became sticky as she picked up the trash and put it in the sack. 

After she cleaned up the recycling, she broomed the dust into a metal dustpan, dumped it into a trash bag, and headed up to the third floor. She could hear the baby’s cries from the bottom of the stairs.

“Hyonae-ssi, are you there? Hyonae-ssi? Sounds like Darim’s crying?” 

She heard rustling as the crying settled, then the front door swung open. Exhausted, her eyes bloodshot, Jo Hyonae came outside holding Darim. She looked as desperate as a trembling drop of water clinging to the faucet. “Yes, what is it?” Hyonae’s voice was hoarse. 

“Were you sleeping all this time? You don’t look like you got any rest!” “What’s going on so early in the morning?” 

“Oh, Hyonae-ssi! You sent Sangnak-ssi down by himself the other day when we were all meeting the new family, and you haven’t shown your face since. It’s not early, everyone’s gone off to work and it’s already nine! I thought I told you the recycling truck comes at eight on Mondays.” 

Hyonae shifted Darim to her other arm and scratched her tousled head. “I had to pull an allnighter again. I’m happy to take it on next time.” 

This woman was the complete opposite of the new tenant Euno, who had come out to see if he could help when he heard the truck. Even though his family was still unpacking and settling in, Euno had come anyway and hovered about, asking if there was anything he could do, while Danhui and Gyowon waved him off, declining any assistance. What Danhui did want, although she refrained from asking, was for him to go pound on Hyonae’s door and wake her up. All this time Danhui had nodded and smiled sympathetically when Hyonae claimed to be too worn out from work to offer a hand; though she knew it wasn’t that big of a deal, Danhui had been waiting for a chance to have a serious talk with that self-centered Hyonae to make sure her neighbor knew she couldn’t walk all over her. 

“Now you’re making me feel like I’m in the wrong here,” Danhui protested. “I’m not trying to imply that the work is hard. The workers collecting the recyclables are the ones doing the heavy lifting, and all we need to do is gather everything in one place so things don’t go flying around everywhere.” 

“Right, that’s why I’m saying I can be the one to handle it next time.” 

Danhui wanted to believe that Hyonae wasn’t purposely shirking her duties, but irresponsibility and laziness seemed something of a second nature to Hyonae. Even if Hyonae herself didn’t care, it was exhausting for the rest of them to have to deal with her. 

“You know that’s not the issue. Doing communal work together is what makes it meaningful. Like I said before, if someone does it on their own this week and someone else handles it on their own the next week, it gets tricky and the system falls apart. Even if we made a schedule of whose turn it is to do what, there are always going to be times when we can’t follow it. That’s why everyone needs to come out and do this together. We can be flexible when someone has an unavoidable conflict. But if you can’t do the bare minimum, how will we be able to live together in harmony?” 

This was when Darim, whose lips had been trembling during Danhui’s speech, burst into tears again, and Hyonae took that opportunity to cut her neighbor off. “Well, I need to nurse her right now.” 

Danhui let out a sigh as she glanced over Hyonae’s slender shoulders into her apartment—the rumpled baby blankets, an open bag of sliced bread, toys strewn across the floor, clothes thrown every which way. “Sure. Text me later once Darim’s asleep. I’ll stop by for a second and we can finish talking.”

Danhui headed back downstairs, telling herself she shouldn’t be irritated by Hyonae, who, as always, had merely given a curt nod to put an end to their conversation. 

It wasn’t a shock that Hyonae was exhausted—Danhui herself had experienced this fatigue when her two boys were younger, and she wouldn’t have been able to survive those years if the people around her hadn’t been unconditionally accommodating and considerate. You could try your best but not make it out of the apartment on time. Sometimes, no matter how hard you tried to wake up, it felt truly impossible to pry a single eye open, even with a wailing child beside you. Raising children was all about dragging yourself forward. Despite all your maternal love and inner strength, you’d still find yourself marooned from time to time, and you had no choice but to continue on until your last breath. 

Those feelings were normal, but she couldn’t help but be annoyed. Whenever childcare obligations kept Danhui from upholding her side of the communal bargain (like the time she missed a general meeting at her boys’ day care center), she would apologize in a manner appropriate to the magnitude of her act. She would personally deliver a handwritten note—I’m sorry I missed the meeting, my son was sick again—with a fruit basket or a cake box. Then she would bow in apology at the next opportunity and work twice as hard whenever a small task came her way. Even if the others were put out before, they would end up doing her a favor when she needed something; they might push her turn back or let her go first. 

Long before they moved here, back when Jeongmok was a baby, Jaegang had been away on a business trip and the recycling had piled up for three weeks in the utility room of their tiny twenty-four-pyeong apartment. Of course it did; since the baby’s arrival, they had started buying and using more and more personal hygiene products, and all of them had come packaged in plastic. Recycling days were once a week like at most apartment buildings in Seoul, and the residents were supposed to bring their recyclables out between six in the evening on Thursday and five thirty the following morning when the recycling truck arrived. But Jaegang had come home late after work the first week, then returned drunk off his feet from a work dinner the following week, and then had gone overseas for business the third week. 

She had opened the door to the utility room to discover Styrofoam dishes and plastic recyclables piled around the large overflowing polypropylene tote bag in which they carried recycling downstairs; the plastic refuse blocked the path to the washing machine, barring her from entry. If someone were to see the utility room, they would assume she was a hoarder, the kind you saw on the news, or an alcoholic who neglected her child, and she was made miserable by this thought; it felt as though everything she had done earlier in her marriage to live a more environmentally friendly life, which of course had taken attention and effort, had gone down the drain. 

Deciding to handle this problem herself instead of waiting for Jaegang to get home, she carefully slipped sleeping Jeongmok in his baby carrier. She should have done this from the get-go, but she had been trying not to expose Jeongmok to the freezing winter wind, which they’d confront on the seven-minute walk down the long corridor to the elevator and out the front doors to the trash and recycling area. Danhui went out with the bag filled with cardboard boxes and plastic. As she made the second trip with the baby on her back—after all, she only had two hands—other residents and the security guard spotted her and rushed over to help. She gratefully accepted their kindness, though she hadn’t brought Jeongmok to evoke sympathy, but rather because of all the tragedies she heard about on the news, stories of a child falling or suffocating to death during the brief moments their mom washed the dishes or ran to the supermarket just across the street. By her third trip, the security guard and the residents who had been breaking down her boxes and stacking them offered to come up to her apartment to help bring the rest down. 

She had, of course, bowed in gratitude, and later, once she had her wits about her, she found out which units the kind neighbors lived in and brought gifts of tteok and fruit for them and the security guard. After that, her neighbors were naturally happy to help out. This was just one of the many ways a young mother could pay back the inevitable debt she racked up among her neighbors; you just had to show your gratitude. 

But Hyonae didn’t bother doing any of that. It wasn’t that she was incapable; she just didn’t care. As an example, a salesperson hawking red ginseng or health supplements might offer a regular customer a bottle of vitamins for free, and, if that customer had any sense, they would kindly refuse after the first time, appreciating the thought behind the gesture. But Hyonae never even gave out copies of the picture books she illustrated. She claimed to be embarrassed because they weren’t published by a well-known company, and said they were sold as a box set and therefore hard for her to give out only the one she illustrated; still, if she handed out a few books to the neighbors, whose children were all around the same age, she could easily generate some goodwill by showing everyone what kind of work she did and help them understand why she couldn’t fully participate in their day-to-day schedule, but she didn’t put in any effort. Relationships were like joints that creaked without fluid between them, and Danhui’s biggest complaint was that the same people always felt the resulting pain and discomfort. She wasn’t annoyed by the fact that she wasn’t on the receiving end of niceties; she sincerely believed that these small acts were the bare minimum when you lived in an apartment building. 

Even if you weren’t a people person, all you had to do was merely say the right things at the right time. Reflecting on her experience raising two kids, Danhui felt that a mother had to constantly say “sorry” and “thank you” even if she had done nothing wrong. All Hyonae had to do was add just one more sentence; just now, after saying, “I had to pull an allnighter again,” she could have easily added, I’m so sorry. Again, it wasn’t that Danhui wanted Hyonae to prostrate herself, it was just that these were the skills— or rather, the basic courtesy—of maintaining relationships. Intellectually she knew she should forgive Hyonae’s disorganized disposition and not judge her based on her line of work, but her lack of social skills was obvious, sitting as she did in her room, working on projects alone. 

Two days ago, Sangnak had emphasized that Hyonae had fallen asleep after meeting a deadline, which was why she couldn’t come to the welcome party for the new family. He had even brought Darim to the backyard on his own to allow Hyonae to rest. But here she was, up all night again despite her husband’s support. Was she drawing all the pictures in the world, all by herself? Danhui had gone upstairs merely to tell her that they should try to work more effectively together, and Hyonae had cut her off, saying she’d just handle the recycling by herself the next time. Not only was it incredibly unclear when exactly this next time would be, but this disorganized approach would also render a turn-taking system useless and confusing. Maybe someone might think Hyonae was being ostracized over the trivial issue of recycling… 

But it wasn’t trivial. 

Trivial things weren’t so trivial when they piled up, not a corn on the sole of a foot or dust heaped on a forgotten shelf. Danhui just wanted Hyonae to understand this.

Excerpted from APARTMENT WOMEN by Gu Byeong-mo. Copyright © 2018 by Gu Byeong-mo. English translation © 2024 by Chi-Young Kim. Published by Hanover Square Press, an imprint of HarperCollins.

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Book Review: Full Immersion by Gemma Amor

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God, I’m tired of myself…..

PLOT SUMMARY:

What can you do when you’re reeling from trauma but you’ve tried it all? Counselling, yoga, pills, meditation, art, healthy living… none of it makes a dent. What’s left?

Magpie is out of ideas. She’s desperate enough to try anything. Just when she thinks her life can get no worse, she discovers herself, or rather her own dead body, partially buried in the mudbank of a river. A man stands by, a familiar stranger. What does he want? And why can’t she remember getting here? Why can’t she remember anything?

Unbeknownst to her, two pairs of eyes watch from behind an observation screen, in a room filled with computers and sensors. An experiment is unfolding, but is Magpie the subject, or practitioner? Reality becomes a slippery concept. And beyond the glass is something worse still: a hint of an outline, shaped in darkness…

Magpie realises all too soon that her journey has transformed from healing to survival. She must become the hunter rather than the hunted, with her missing memories the prey.

GRADE: A

REVIEW:

Gemma Amor’s sci-fi horror novel perfectly blends the horrors of postpartum depression with supernatural/sci-fi horrors. Magpie is desperate to escape her suicidal ideations and finds herself penning a letter to an experimental group in hope that they can fix her. The only issue is that the researchers aren’t prepared for Magpie’s fear to manifest in a true identity ready to devour and destroy everything that comes in its way. This book expertly describes the malaise that often comes with motherhood and how still today many women face these same issues alone drenched in shame. This was an emotional and scary ride – kudos to Amor for having the balls to write something so deeply personal and share it with the world. But I feel like the world is better with such an important book like this available. I recommend this book if you love horror and sci-fi genre blends and seek horror with a ton of heart and soul.

*Thank you so much to NetGalley and Angry Robot for the digital copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!

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3 Horror Books with Haunted Houses

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Haunted homes are one of my favourite tropes both in horror movies and books. Here are three books with haunted homes that are bound to give you chills!

THE LITTLE STRANGER BY SARAH WATERS

One postwar summer in his home of rural Warwickshire, Dr. Faraday, the son of a maid who has built a life of quiet respectability as a country physician, is called to a patient at lonely Hundreds Hall. Home to the Ayres family for over two centuries, the Georgian house, once impressive and handsome, is now in decline, its masonry crumbling, its gardens choked with weeds, the clock in its stable yard permanently fixed at twenty to nine. Its owners—mother, son, and daughter—are struggling to keep pace with a changing society, as well as with conflicts of their own. But are the Ayreses haunted by something more sinister than a dying way of life? Little does Dr. Faraday know how closely, and how terrifyingly, their story is about to become intimately entwined with his.

THIS HOUSE IS HAUNTED BY JOHN BOYNE

This House Is Haunted is a striking homage to the classic nineteenth-century ghost story. Set in Norfolk in 1867, Eliza Caine responds to an ad for a governess position at Gaudlin Hall. When she arrives at the hall, shaken by an unsettling disturbance that occurred during her travels, she is greeted by the two children now in her care, Isabella and Eustace. There is no adult present to represent her mysterious employer, and the children offer no explanation. Later that night in her room, another terrifying experience further reinforces the sense that something is very wrong.
 
From the moment Eliza rises the following morning, her every step seems dogged by a malign presence that lives within Gaudlin’s walls. Eliza realizes that if she and the children are to survive its violent attentions, she must first uncover the hall’s long-buried secrets and confront the demons of its past. Clever, captivating, and witty, This House Is Haunted is pure entertainment with a catch.

KILL CREEK BY SCOTT THOMAS

At the end of a dark prairie road, nearly forgotten in the Kansas countryside, is the Finch House. For years it has remained empty, overgrown, abandoned. Soon the door will be opened for the first time in decades. But something is waiting, lurking in the shadows, anxious to meet its new guests…

When best-selling horror author Sam McGarver is invited to spend Halloween night in one of the country’s most infamous haunted houses, he reluctantly agrees. At least he won’t be alone; joining him are three other masters of the macabre, writers who have helped shape modern horror. But what begins as a simple publicity stunt will become a fight for survival. The entity they have awakened will follow them, torment them, threatening to make them a part of the bloody legacy of Kill Creek.

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3 Terrifyingly Dark Books by AAPI Authors

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In honour of APPI month, I wish to showcase three books from APPI authors that I think should totally be on your radar!

THE HALF-LIFE OF RUBY FIELDING BY LYDIA KANG

Brooklyn, 1942. War rages overseas as brother and sister Will and Maggie Scripps contribute to the war effort stateside. Ambitious Will secretly scouts for the Manhattan Project while grief-stricken Maggie works at the Navy Yard, writing letters to her dead mother between shifts.

But the siblings’ quiet lives change when they discover a beautiful woman hiding under their back stairs. This stranger harbors an obsession with poisons, an affection for fine things, and a singular talent for killing small creatures. As she draws Will and Maggie deeper into her mysterious past, they both begin to suspect she’s quite dangerous—all while falling helplessly under her spell.

With whispers of spies in dark corners and the world’s first atomic bomb in the works, the visitor’s sudden presence in Maggie’s and Will’s lives raises questions about who she is and what she wants. Is this mysterious woman someone they can trust—or a threat to everything they hold dear?

THE CHOSEN AND THE BEAUTIFUL BY NGHI VO

Jordan Baker grows up in the most rarefied circles of 1920s American society—she has money, education, a killer golf handicap, and invitations to some of the most exclusive parties of the Jazz Age. She’s also queer and Asian, a Vietnamese adoptee treated as an exotic attraction by her peers, while the most important doors remain closed to her.

But the world is full of wonders: infernal pacts and dazzling illusions, lost ghosts and elemental mysteries. In all paper is fire, and Jordan can burn the cut paper heart out of a man. She just has to learn how.

Nghi Vo’s debut novel, The Chosen and the Beautiful, reinvents this classic of the American canon as a coming-of-age story full of magic, mystery, and glittering excess, and introduces a major new literary voice.

SIX CRIMSON CRANES BY ELIZABETH LIM

Shiori’anma, the only princess of Kiata, has a secret. Forbidden magic runs through her veins. Normally she conceals it well, but on the morning of her betrothal ceremony, Shiori loses control. At first, her mistake seems like a stroke of luck, forestalling the wedding she never wanted. But it also catches the attention of Raikama, her stepmother.

A sorceress in her own right, Raikama banishes the young princess, turning her brothers into cranes. She warns Shiori that she must speak of it to no one: for with every word that escapes her lips, one of her brothers will die.

Penniless, voiceless, and alone, Shiori searches for her brothers, and uncovers a dark conspiracy to seize the throne. Only Shiori can set the kingdom to rights, but to do so she must place her trust in a paper bird, a mercurial dragon, and the very boy she fought so hard not to marry. And she must embrace the magic she’s been taught all her life to forswear–no matter what the cost.
 
Weaving together elements of The Wild Swans, Cinderella, the legend of Chang E, and the Tale of the Bamboo Cutter, Elizabeth Lim has crafted a fantasy like no other, and one that will stay with readers long after they’ve turned the last page.

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Book Review: The Last House on Needless Street by Catriona Ward

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Something strange is happening on the last house on Needless Street and Dee is going to find out….

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Publisher: Tor Nightfire

Price: $13.99 (hardback)

Release Date: September 28, 2021

PLOT SUMMARY:

In a boarded-up house on a dead-end street at the edge of the wild Washington woods lives a family of three.

A teenage girl who isn’t allowed outside, not after last time.
A man who drinks alone in front of his TV, trying to ignore the gaps in his memory.
And a house cat who loves napping and reading the Bible.

An unspeakable secret binds them together, but when a new neighbor moves in next door, what is buried out among the birch trees may come back to haunt them all.

GRADE: A

REVIEW:

This is one of those rare books that came with a TON OF HYPE and actually LIVED UP to the hype and then some! I really loved that this book started out in one direction and completely reeled you in another by the end!

Right from the very beginning, the reader knows there’s something very wrong the moment we dive into the story. This novel excels in creating this crescendo of dread and unease that by the time you’re hit with the climax, you’re questioning your own sanity.

Ted lives alone in a run-down home with his beautiful kitty Olivia while his daughter Lauren comes to visit him from time to time. When Dee moves next door to him, convinced that he had something to do with her little sister’s disappearance things really start to escalate into chaos for everyone involved. This thriller is a wild ride and one you won’t easily forget once you’re through with the final page.

I can’t recommend this book enough. Believe the hype, it’s worth reading!

*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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Book Review: Road of Bones by Christopher Golden

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Some ghosts don’t live only in your head….

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Release Date: January 25, 2022

Publisher: St. Martin’s Press

Price: $27.99 (hardcover)

PLOT SUMMARY:

Surrounded by barren trees in a snow-covered wilderness with a dim, dusky sky forever overhead, Siberia’s Kolyma Highway is 1200 miles of gravel packed permafrost within driving distance of the Arctic Circle. A narrow path where drivers face such challenging conditions as icy surfaces, limited visibility, and an average temperature of sixty degrees below zero, fatal car accidents are common.But motorists are not the only victims of the highway. Known as the Road of Bones, it is a massive graveyard for the former Soviet Union’s gulag prisoners. Hundreds of thousands of people worked to death and left where their bodies fell, consumed by the frozen elements and plowed beneath the permafrost road.Fascinated by the history, documentary producer Felix “Teig” Teigland is in Russia to drive the highway, envisioning a new series capturing Life and Death on the Road of Bones with a ride to the town of Akhust, “the coldest place on Earth”, collecting ghost stories and local legends along the way. Only, when Teig and his team reach their destination, they find an abandoned town, save one catatonic nine-year-old girl—and a pack of predatory wolves, faster and smarter than any wild animals should be. Pursued by the otherworldly beasts, Teig’s companions confront even more uncanny and inexplicable phenomena along the Road of Bones, as if the ghosts of Stalin’s victims were haunting them. It is a harrowing journey that will push Teig beyond endurance and force him to confront the sins of his past.

GRADE: A

REVIEW:

From the very first page, the reader is greeted with a bone-chilling cold that doesn’t let up for the entirety of the novel. The Road of Bones is the Kolyma Highway found in Russia where some of the coldest parts of the world outside of Antarctica exist. The road got its ominous name because prisoners forced to build the road under Stalin died during the construction, where an estimated 250,000-1,000,000 people lost their lives and were buried right into the road’s permafrost. If that doesn’t already make for a chilling horror, this novel also finds itself grappling with supernatural entities and the ghosts that haunt us even when they’re merely just a manifestation of our guilt.

The protagonist is Teig, a reality-show star that creates shows much like Ghost Adventures with his best friend Prentiss. The only issue is that his past few projects have bombed and he owes a lot of people money, including his best friend. Then he gets an idea, why not make a show about the Road of Bones? A place haunted by the past as well as the unflinching cold, where car trouble could have one dying within a matter of minutes from the extremely low temperatures.

I’m a total wimp when it comes to cold temperatures, so to have a supernatural thriller set in the cold, already has me both terrified and fascinated.

The mystery amps up when Teig, Prentiss, their Russian translator, and a hitchhiker they picked up on the way, finally arrive at their destination only to find every single home in that town empty. It looks as though the residents left their homes mid-dinner and disappeared. This is when things start getting weird and dangerous for the group.

This novel is very fast-paced and it mostly takes place in one night much like those survival horror movies do. This was a fun, freaky read and I really loved how well fleshed out the characters were. I recommend this novel for anyone who loves supernatural thrillers set in Siberia.

*Thank you so much to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Press for the digital copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!

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3 Books I’m Looking Forward to in 2022

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The Red Palace by June Hur

Joseon (Korea), 1758. There are few options available to illegitimate daughters in the capital city, but through hard work and study, eighteen-year-old Hyeon has earned a position as a palace nurse. All she wants is to keep her head down, do a good job, and perhaps finally win her estranged father’s approval.

But Hyeon is suddenly thrust into the dark and dangerous world of court politics when someone murders four women in a single night, and the prime suspect is Hyeon’s closest friend and mentor. Determined to prove her beloved teacher’s innocence, Hyeon launches her own secret investigation.

In her hunt for the truth, she encounters Eojin, a young police inspector also searching for the killer. When evidence begins to point to the Crown Prince himself as the murderer, Hyeon and Eojin must work together to search the darkest corners of the palace to uncover the deadly secrets behind the bloodshed.

The Drowning Summer by Christine Lynn Herman

Six years ago, three Long Island teenagers were murdered—their drowned bodies discovered with sand dollars placed over their eyes. The mystery of the drowning summer was never solved, but as far as the town’s concerned, Evelyn Mackenzie’s father did it. His charges were dropped only because Evelyn summoned a ghost to clear his name. She swore never to call a spirit again. She lied.

For generations, the family of Mina Zanetti, a former friend of Evelyn, has worked as mediums, using the ocean’s power to guide the dead to their final resting place. But as sea levels rise, the ghosts grow more dangerous and Mina has been shut out of the family business. When Evelyn performs another summoning that goes horribly wrong, the two girls must navigate their growing attraction to each other while solving the mystery of who was really behind the drowning summer…before the line between life and death dissolves for good.

Beautifully written and just the right amount witchy, The Drowning Summer is a deliciously eerie story perfect for reading under a full moon.

Nine Lives by Pete Swanson

Nine strangers receive a list with their names on it in the mail. Nothing else, just a list of names on a single sheet of paper. None of the nine people know or have ever met the others on the list. They dismiss it as junk mail, a fluke–until very, very bad things begin happening to people on the list.

First, a well-liked old man is drowned on a beach in the small town of Kennewick, Maine. Then, a father is shot in the back while running through his quiet neighborhood in suburban Massachusetts. A frightening pattern is emerging, but what do these nine people have in common? Their professions range from oncology nurse to aspiring actor, and they’re located all over the country. So why are they all on the list, and who sent it?

FBI agent Jessica Winslow, who is on the list herself, is determined to find out. Could there be some dark secret that binds them all together? Or is this the work of a murderous madman? As the mysterious sender stalks these nine strangers, they find themselves constantly looking over their shoulders, wondering who will be crossed off next… 

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3 Chilling Books to Dive Into This Spring

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If like me you’re fully vaccinated and eyeing the upcoming summer months as a means to finally escape the lockdown inferno we’ve all been living in – then you may have been wondering what books you should throw in your beach bag as you head off to the nearest beach or holiday. For horror fans – these three books are a perfect mixture of creepy and chilling. So slather on some sunscreen and pull out of these novels for a thrilling ride.

REDDER DAYS BY SUE RAINSFORD

Twins Anna and Adam live in an abandoned commune in a volatile landscape where they prepare for the world-ending event they believe is imminent. Adam keeps watch by day, Anna by night. They meet at dawn and dusk.

Their only companion is Koan, the commune’s former leader, who still exerts a malignant control over their daily rituals. But when one of the previous inhabitants returns, everything Anna and Adam thought they knew to be true is thrown into question.

THE UNWELCOME BY JACOB STEVEN MOHR

Kait’s volcanic temper has already scared most of her friends away, and a bad breakup with her college boyfriend Lutz has left her crippled by guilt and painful memories. So, when she learns that her best friend Alice is planning a three-day sabbatical in a secluded mountain cabin, Kait jumps at the chance to tag along, convinced that rekindling their fractured friendship is the key to fixing whatever’s breaking down inside of her. She should have known… Lutz would never let her go so easily. After a chance roadside meeting, Kait’s jealous ex-boyfriend pursues her into the foothills, revealing the monster under his skin for the first time: a body-snatching inhuman entity capable of assimilating and adopting the guise of any human host. Lutz is determined to prove his twisted love to Kait, even if it means carving his monument to his devotion in the pilfered flesh of her closest friends. Now, with miles of snow-hushed Appalachia between them and civilization, Kait must unite her friends against this horrifying threat, and learn to embrace her own inner monster, before the shadows of her past swallow up her life for good.

SUMMER SONS BY LEE MANDELA

Andrew and Eddie did everything together, best friends bonded more deeply than brothers, until Eddie left Andrew behind to start his graduate program at Vanderbilt. Six months later, only days before Andrew was to join him in Nashville, Eddie dies of an apparent suicide. He leaves Andrew a horrible inheritance: a roommate he doesn’t know, friends he never asked for, and a gruesome phantom that hungers for him.

As Andrew searches for the truth of Eddie’s death, he uncovers the lies and secrets left behind by the person he trusted most, discovering a family history soaked in blood and death. Whirling between the backstabbing academic world where Eddie spent his days and the circle of hot boys, fast cars, and hard drugs that ruled Eddie’s nights, the walls Andrew has built against the world begin to crumble.

And there is something awful lurking, waiting for those walls to fall.

Which of these books are you looking forward to read?

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