She was suddenly nothing more than a broken tree branch set adrift in whitewater rapids, a mere pebble tossed from the top of a waterfall.
PLOT SUMMARY:
Evil waits for the unsuspecting in the small town of Henley’s Edge, Connecticut after a recent string of unexplained disappearances.
Lives are interwoven and transformed forever when pacts are drawn, deals are made, and when hatred is left unrestrained.
Some will succumb to the darkness that lurks in the cellar of Mr. Heart Crowley’s home, others will resist, and some will face a truly remarkable being—creator of tides, vessel of infinity, eater of darkness.
GRADE: B
REVIEW:
I’ve read all of Eric LaRocca’s novellas and short story collections so far, and his debut novel doesn’t disappoint. It delivers on all the things we’ve come to love about his stories: lush, baroque writing, extreme gore and violence, and characters that you can’t help but root for. This novel opens with a banger – extreme violence and blood from the get-go and kind of sets the dark mood that hovers over the entirety of this novel. We follow two characters, Ghost – a recent widow, and Malik a Muslim gay policeman. Their destinies with intertwine in ways that they can’t imagine. Meanwhile, their disappearances are occurring in this small New England town, and violence prevails in ways that one would hope to never have to encounter. There were a lot of things that I enjoyed about this novel but it feels like not enough time was dedicated to those things that I found compelling (the mystery of the disappearances, what exactly happened between the Prologue and now the present, and who was the little ghost haunting Ghost?). Also, I wasn’t sure if character names were supposed to be homages to current horror authors (I couldn’t help but feel this way when Gemma, Hailey, and Piper were introduced and suddenly I made the connection to Gemma Amor and Hailey Piper. Was this intentional? Was it a coincidence? Maybe both? Who knows?). But my biggest gripe is the ending (yes, I do like that there was a “happy ending” of sorts) however, it felt kind of rushed and the proverbial “bad guy” was easily disposed of. I guess I was hoping for a lengthier and bloodier battle, but most of the horrific acts were actually committed by a human rather than a paranormal entity (and maybe there’s a lesson in that that humans are more monstrous than actual monsters?). What I will say, is that I did read this novel rather quickly, so I was invested in the story very much. Maybe because this book felt more like cosmic horror (which isn’t a sub-genre I generally like much) I didn’t enjoy the later portions of this novel as opposed to the first 75% of it. But if you do enjoy cosmic horror, then I can see you really liking this one as it does explore some interesting themes about creators, creations, and spirituality.
I recommend this to readers who love dual POV done well, small-town horror, cosmic horror, and novels that aren’t overwhelmingly long.
*Thank you so much to Clash Books and the author for the digital copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!
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“A sad woman is a blade hanging over the world, threatening to fall at any moment.”
PLOT SUMMARY:
Buried in debt due to his young daughter’s illness, his marriage at the brink, Mario reluctantly takes a job as a hitman, surprising himself with his proclivity for violence. After tragedy destroys the life he knew, Mario agrees to one final job: hijack a cartel’s cash shipment before it reaches Mexico. Along with an old friend and a cartel-insider named Juanca, Mario sets off on the near-suicidal mission, which will leave him with either a cool $200,000 or a bullet in the skull. But the path to reward or ruin is never as straight as it seems. As the three complicated men travel through the endless landscape of Texas, across the border and back, their hidden motivations are laid bare alongside nightmarish encounters that defy explanation. One thing is certain: even if Mario makes it out alive, he won’t return the same.
GRADE: A
REVIEW:
First things first, this book isn’t for the faint of heart, so proceed with caution. Having stated that this novel is one wild ride best described as Breaking Bad meets The Exorcist, although not even that description is 100% accurate of the darkness you will be met with once you take this journey with Mario. Mario is a man that has lost everything – his beloved daughter Anita to sickness and later death, and his wife Melisa because of the strain of both their daughter’s death and money issues. So when Mario’s ex-coworker and friend Brian tells him that there’s a chance for them to make lots of money – by stealing bags of money from a Cartel gang for a drug lord, he doesn’t hesitate to join him, because for someone who has lost everything, putting their life at risk doesn’t seem such a risk after all. So begins this wild ride that has us witnessing firsthand the brutality of the drug trafficking world as well as the darkness of the supernatural. To say this can easily be the book of the year for the crime horror genre is an understatement, especially after winning both a Shirley Jackson award and Stoker award. One thing is for certain, Iglesias weaves a tale of guilt and darkness infused with so much humanity that despite all the horrors we witness throughout Mario’s journey, we’re still rooting for a happy ending for him. But getting that happy ending isn’t easy – and it might just take every little bit of humanity one has to try to achieve it. Will this book give you nightmares? Probably yes. But will it be worth it? Also, yes.
Read this book if you love fast-paced adventure-based crime horror with serious moments of WTF darkness. Again, not a book for the faint of heart or the easily squeamish – you’ve been warned. But if you really want to read a book that packs a punch in every single page – then this is the one for you.
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Her brother’s words echo in Sam Montgomery’s ear as she turns onto the quiet North Carolina street where their mother lives alone.
She brushes the thought away as she climbs the front steps. Sam’s excited for this rare extended visit, and looking forward to nights with just the two of them, drinking boxed wine, watching murder mystery shows, and guessing who the killer is long before the characters figure it out.
But stepping inside, she quickly realizes home isn’t what it used to be. Gone is the warm, cluttered charm her mom is known for; now the walls are painted a sterile white. Her mom jumps at the smallest noises and looks over her shoulder even when she’s the only person in the room. And when Sam steps out back to clear her head, she finds a jar of teeth hidden beneath the magazine-worthy rose bushes, and vultures are circling the garden from above.
To find out what’s got her mom so frightened in her own home, Sam will go digging for the truth. But some secrets are better left buried.
GRADE: A
REVIEW:
This is the second book I’ve read from Kingfisher and I absolutely loved it. The protagonist Sam Montgomery is hilarious, so although the novel has very creepy and terrifying moments, her humor lightens the darkness. I love that the book explored generational trauma in ways that were very unexpected and new. Sam stays with her mother during a time when she’s currently not working and soon discovers that her mother’s actions and words are off from how she recalls her. In fact, she’s reminded more and more of her deceased Gran Mae. As Sam tries to make sense of what is happening to her mother, she soon discovers very dark family secrets and how those may also be the answer to saving her mother. I don’t want to say much else about the plot as it’ll be a treat for you to discover all the twists and turns, but rest assured that this is one hella fun novel that you can absolutely read at the beach or by the pool as it moves very quickly and the humor is very amusing.
I recommend this book to anyone that loves ghost-adjacent books and family secrets.
*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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Magdalena once told me she knew how to cure sadness. She read on that little phone of hers that we all need fifteen minutes of sun every day and without it, depression could set in. Those of us here on the peninsula barely get fifteen minutes a week. The fog comes in over the cliffs in the morning, creeping through town, shrouding all neighborhoods with a thick graveyard effect. We don’t have an actual graveyard, but the landslide all those years ago took enough lives and left enough ghosts behind to bring on that kind of fog. If it does lift around midmorning, a heavy cloud cover still stays most of the day, keeping things gray. I’d always thought my sadness came from the unfortunate things that happened in my life, but according to Magdalena, my gloom might simply be a lack of vitamin D.
From the day she got the phone, she stared into it constantly, seeking answers to all of her questions and even finding new questions she would have never thought of on her own. She fed on its information like meat.
“Mushrooms,” Magdalena said. “We need to eat mushrooms.” The girl was my only visitor. When she spoke, I hung onto her every word. “If we eat enough of them, we’ll get the vitamin D we’re missing from the sun.”
I didn’t question her. For weeks, I based all my meals around mushrooms. I made mushroom casseroles, salads, risotto, soups, but I’m not sure it changed me. I’m not sure it changed her. How many mushrooms would it take to replace the sun? I wish I could ask the girl, but she’s gone. Three weeks ago, I lost her for good.
I pull up my sleeves and roll up my pants. My arms and legs are so pale in this light. They look like white maps with long blue roads leading to nowhere. The lighting in my house is soft enough to disguise my pallor, but here in the rest home, the deficiency is glaring. I quickly lower my sleeves and pants again.
“Focus, Dottie.” My command is quiet.
I swallow down one of the tiny white pills and sit up straight in my chair. Pen in hand, I look around the dismal room I currently share with Mario. It is a holding cell for the dying. We aren’t dying like the old people in this nursing home. But our town is small. They had nowhere else to put my husband after the accident a decade ago. And they had nowhere else to put me after the devastating incident at my house last week. So now we live together again in room eleven with the beige walls, the brown and yellow floral comforters on our beds, and the slim, dark wood secretary desk beside the bathroom door. The old desk is where I currently sit as I tap my pen on the blank page, trying to gather my thoughts.
Now the cold distracts me. I pull a blanket from the bed and wrap it around me. The air conditioner is dreadfully high. They say it’s to keep germs down, but I sometimes wonder if they’re trying to weed out the weakest of us.
“Focus, Dottie, focus,” I say a little louder, closing my eyes.
“What do you need to focus on?” someone asks.
Startled, I tighten the blanket around me and turn toward the voice. There is a white-haired lady in a wheelchair at my door. Her face is all wrinkled up like fingertips after a long bath, and her lips seem to be growing inward around her teeth. Thick bifocals, wrapped around her head like goggles, magnify her wet and cloudy eyes. There are some really old people here, but she has to be the oldest.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she says, her ancient voice slowly rattling out the words. “I heard you from the hall.”
I wasn’t trying to be heard. I place my hand over my mouth to show her I’ve no interest in a conversation. I’m hoping my hand gesture will make her leave, but it doesn’t. Instead, she wheels through the small space between the two beds and parks next to me at the desk. Her nightgown is purple and far too big on her. She smells like leftover broccoli.
“I’m curious. What do you need to focus on?” she asks again.
It’s going to take some time getting used to this place. I’m not in the habit of answering to anyone, having lived alone for so long. “A letter,” I finally say. She’s so close now, there’s no escaping her. “I’m writing a letter. A story really. The rumors are terrible and—” I catch myself before it all comes flooding back. Their ugly words. All the lies. “I need to tell my story. It’s the only way to get the truth out.”
Her face lights up. “You must be Dottie,” she whispers. I nod. “I should have known.” Her eyes travel the length of me. “I heard about you, the young woman living in the old people’s home.” It sounds strange out loud but worse things have been said about me. “How old are you, dear?”
“Forty-three.”
“So young.” She shakes her head. “It’s just awful what happened to you. How long will you be staying with us?”
“Well.” I look over at Mario in his bed. His eyes are open, but there’s no telling what he’s thinking as he stares at the ceiling tiles. “The Sisters say I can stay with my husband as long as I need. I’ve nowhere else to go.” She leans over the side of her chair to get a closer look at him.
“Does he even remember who you are?” “I haven’t let a day go by without coming to see him.” “But with what happened to him, do you think he can remember?”
“Oh, he remembers me.” I won’t let anyone convince me otherwise.
“That’s nice.” Her smile is kind. “Sometimes I think I remember too much,” she says. “Some things I wish I could forget, but the pictures are there in my mind, clear as day.” She sets her bony hands in her lap, and the veins bulge like soft worms. She smiles. Her demeanor is pleasant; it’s just the broccoli smell that’s bothersome.
I notice a pin on her nightgown. It’s gold with blue letters spelling out centenarian. I point to it. “You’re a hundred?”
“A hundred and two.”
“That’s incredible,” I say, feeling a new respect for her. She’s not just an old lady—she’s National Geographic material.
“It’s a curse, old age. The lucky ones die young. Freed from these bodies, they can move on. Or, of course, they can stick around.” She raises the few hairs left of her eyebrows, as if I know something about this. I feel her words in my stomach. I don’t respond. She whispers, “The ghosts of Sam’s Town are persistent, aren’t they, Dottie?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my letter.”
“But we haven’t talked about what happened to the girl yet.” She laces her fingers together under her chin. “We need to talk about what really happened to Magdalena.”
Hearing her name almost makes me lose my breath. I close my eyes and indiscriminate memories resurface—her blue nail polish, those stolen sunglasses on her head, lemon juice dripping from her fingers, her blood on the linoleum.
“Do you know what happened?” the old woman asks. “I mean what really happened to her?” She’s staring at me, waiting for an answer. I reach for my pen, gripping it like a weapon. “Until I write it all down, I’m not talking about it to anyone.”
“You can trust me, Dottie.” She wheels closer.
“I don’t even know you,” I say.
She smiles. It’s a sad smile. “Then let’s get to know one another.” She glances toward my husband before leaning forward. The smell is strong, her voice is soft. “Is it true that the man,” she asks, “who started it all was your lover?”
I close my eyes again, to escape her question, but now there he is behind my eyelids—Benjamin. His hand creeps under my dress and he’s massaging my leg. I squeeze my eyes tighter.
“Go away!” I shout. “Go away!” I am talking to Benjamin, but when I open my eyes, the old lady in the wheelchair is hunched over, wheeling away as fast as her bony arms will take her. I should explain that I was not yelling at her. But I don’t. I stay quiet.
While I feel a bit guilty, I’m relieved to see her go. The poor woman looks so frail heading for the door, like her arms might snap. That’s the other effect of vitamin D deficiency—frail bones. This town is killing all of us.
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From celebrated author Agustina Bazterrica, this collection of nineteen brutal, darkly funny short stories takes into our deepest fears and through our most disturbing fantasies. Through stories about violence, alienation, and dystopia, Bazterrica’s vision of the human experience emerges in complex, unexpected ways—often unsettling, sometimes thrilling, and always profound. In “Roberto,” a girl claims to have a rabbit between her legs. A woman’s neighbor jumps to his death in “A Light, Swift, and Monstrous Sound,” and in “Candy Pink,” a woman fails to contend with a difficult breakup in five easy steps.
Written in Bazterrica’s signature clever, vivid style, these stories question love, friendship, family relationships, and unspeakable desires.
GRADE: A-
REVIEW:
Let me preface this by stating that I was absolutely blown away by Bazterrica’s novel Tender is the Flesh, so of course I was beyond excited when I received an ARC for this. I love short stories, but it’s also hard for me to read a whole collection in one go, so I took a break midway through it and then picked it back up recently. Now, as all short story collections, there are always going to be hit or miss ones, because that’s just the nature of short story collections, but overall, I really enjoyed this collection.
What I enjoyed the most is that with almost all of the stories, I didn’t quite know how they were going to end so that was a pleasant surprise.
One of my fave stories was A Light, Swift, and Monstrous Sound. I know some people don’t like the second person, but I really love the second person POV (maybe because a lot of Italian authors use this POV too?). It’s so descriptive and evocative in all its monstrous ways.
Another of my faves was Candy Pink (also in second person POV), but I love a good breakup story cause that’s when things get really unhinged.
The Solitary Ones is also in second-person POV, but it’s a story that sort of stuck with me, as it’s very creepy and atmospheric, and just the idea of being stuck in tunnels in the dark is very terrifying.
Overall, these twenty short stories range from different genres and POV’s. Some of them have stuck longer than others, but I would recommend this collection if you too love short stories and want to read a genre-bending author. I will say that I did enjoy the fact that these were indeed short stories and not mini-novellas disguised as short stories. This is the perfect beach read since you can finish a story and pick up the book again whenever you want.
*Thank you so much to NetGalley and Scribner for the digital copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!
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There was a tickle at the back of my neck as the woods stood still. Not a single sound was heard across the vast forest. I waited for my eyes to adjust, both curious and afraid of what may lie before me. Gooseflesh prickled my exposed arms, but all I could think about was the cake that would be waiting for me at home. Sweet sixteen. I hope it was red velvet with a heavy dose of cream cheese frosting. I wondered if my sister had made the special punch that I loved. But I couldn’t go home until I finished what I came here for.
I took another tentative step, well aware that only because I couldn’t see them didn’t mean that the red eyes weren’t watching, hidden behind brush or gnarled limbs. Again, I felt a tickle at the back of my neck. I stopped. Not yet. My fingers wrapped around the only weapon I had brought along with me.
Sometimes I despised my family’s eccentric traditions. This was one of them. Every Myrige daughter was tasked with crossing Ember Woods on their sixteenth birthday. It was a rite of passage. Why? I could only find out once I was on the other side. My ears perked for any sounds and when it was clear that there were none, I started to half jog down the worn path that now, after my eyes adjusted to the darkness, could see.
How many Myrige girls had walked blindly into the woods not knowing what would lie before them? When had the tradition begun and why were the origins such a huge secret whenever I tried to ponder?
Then I heard it.
Footsteps.
I stopped. There was a tickle at the back of my neck. Only this time it was different. This time teeth followed. I yelped quickly turning around to meet the offender.
“Drew!” I exclaimed when I caught sight of who had nipped me.
He laughed unable to contain himself. “You should’ve seen your face, Marlo!”
“I told you not to follow me!”
“I know, but when you said that I thought you were ditching me to see another boy.”
I rolled my eyes. “Please, I told you that I had a family affair that I needed to tend to.”
“Honestly, who isn’t allowed to spend their most important birthday with their boyfriend?”
“This girl,” I said and turned around. I continued walking, watching the moon slowly peek through the clouds. I clutched the weapon hidden in my letterman jacket. It’s almost time. Dread seized my chest, stifling it like a set of bricks.
“What’s the hurry?” Drew chuckled, grabbing hold of my free hand to spin me around to face him. “I’d almost say these creepy woods could be romantic,” and his lips grazed my own. I allowed myself to abandon in the kiss before I sunk the blade deep into his belly. Blood spilled from his parted lips. Confusion knitted his brows.
“I’m sorry,” I shrugged. “It’s a family tradition.”
Then the eyes came out from the woods and everyone was dressed in black robes.
“About time,” my mother stepped out. Then she knelt down and dipped her fingers into Drew’s wound and rose up to meet me.
“Happy birthday, now you’re a true Myrige witch,” she said carefully painting an upside-down cross on my forehead with Drew’s blood. Some of it trickled down to my lips and my tongue flickered at the metallic liquid.
“Tastes just like red velvet,” I smirked.
*This short story was recently made into a short film! I’ll share the video once it’s available.
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What lives in dark woods What emerges from depths What creeps within alleyways.
PLOT SUMMARY:
Cynthia Pelayo sings a song for the least of us, the victim we want to forget as soon as possible, the one who disappeared before ever really appearing. With a fairy tale gaze and a heart bigger than the world, her siren song insinuates itself past our defenses, past the hardened calluses and apathy we’ve erected to protect ourselves from the everyday horror of another missing girl.
Pelayo relates the familiar story, poem by poem; a body is found, a brutal crime investigated, clues take us in circles, and lead us nowhere. We are on an epic journey, the hero’s journey, and it must play out to the end in all its painful, ticking moments. Pelayo imbues her hero, Agent K, with the entirety of our dedication and that crumb of hope we’ve been hiding, saving for later. We will need to save for years, for decades, if we want to come out the other side. The job takes its toll, the answers are never complete and whys fracture, crack and spread. Still there is no turning away. We must bear witness, though it changes and contorts us.
GRADE: A+
REVIEW:
This poetry collection recently won the Bram Stoker for best poetry collection of 2022 and with good reason. But this isn’t your typical collection, as it reads more like an epic poem in the way one would read Homer’s classics like The Illiad or Gilgamesh. This collection opens with a horrific discovery of a body, and soon Agent K is tasked with trying to find the killer of the victim, and it’s a race against time. Each poem is titled as police report numbers, which packs a punch as a reminder that this isn’t just a story, this is real life. As we learn more about Agent K, we know that she had her own tragedy that sparked her reasoning to become a detective. Pelayo paints such detailed, dark imagery that stays with you long after you’ve reached the end. This is an excellent, heartbreaking tale, that sadly feels very close to many of the true crime stories we see time and time again, adding to the tragedy of how no matter how many victims there are, there never seems to be an end to this kind of story.
I absolutely recommend this if you love horror, true crime, and lyrical poetry with dark imagery.
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A reunion between two estranged sisters gets cut short by the rise of flesh-possessing demons, thrusting them into a primal battle for survival as they face the most nightmarish version of family imaginable.
Now streaming on MAX.
CLOCK
A woman enrolls in a clinical trial to try and fix her seemingly broken biological clock after friends, family, and society pressures her to have children.
Now streaming on Hulu.
WATCHER
As a serial killer stalks the city, a young actress who just moved to town with her boyfriend notices a mysterious stranger watching her from across the street.
Now streaming on Shudder.
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If I told you it wouldn’t be a secret, now would it?
PLOT SUMMARY:
For as long as she can remember, Belle has been insidiously obsessed with her skin and skincare videos. When her estranged mother Noelle mysteriously dies, Belle finds herself back in Southern California, dealing with her mother’s considerable debts and grappling with lingering questions about her death. The stakes escalate when a strange woman in red appears at the funeral, offering a tantalizing clue about her mother’s demise, followed by a cryptic video about a transformative spa experience. With the help of a pair of red shoes, Belle is lured into the barbed embrace of La Maison de Méduse, the same lavish, culty spa to which her mother was devoted. There, Belle discovers the frightening secret behind her (and her mother’s) obsession with the mirror—and the great shimmering depths (and demons) that lurk on the other side of the glass.
Snow White meets Eyes Wide Shut in this surreal descent into the dark side of beauty, envy, grief, and the complicated love between mothers and daughters. With black humor and seductive horror, Rouge explores the cult-like nature of the beauty industry—as well as the danger of internalizing its pitiless gaze. Brimming with California sunshine and blood-red rose petals, Rouge holds up a warped mirror to our relationship with mortality, our collective fixation with the surface, and the wondrous, deep longing that might lie beneath.
GRADE: A
REVIEW:
A fever dream, a fairytale, a nightmare. This book is all those things and more. As someone who is as skincare obsessed as Mirabelle, this novel resonated a lot with me. Awad writes some of the best mad, unhinged women in literature, and I’m absolutely here for it. When her mother unexpectedly dies in a tragic accident, and Mirabelle leaves Montreal for So-Cal, her descent to madness doesn’t take that long. Much like her previous books, Awad manages to capture the protagonist’s slip from reality in a way that is both poetic and terrifying. This novel is steeped with silent rage, mommy issues, and the color red. Often, as the reader, you can’t tell what is real and what is madness, a bit of an Alice in Wonderland moment, if you will. But one thing is certain, you can’t look away, and you continue down the proverbial rabbit hole along with Mirabelle, trying to make sense of the craziness as best as you can. This is one wild ride that explores our obsession with beauty and youth and to what lengths one might go to be beautiful.
*Thank you so much to NetGalley and S&S/Marysue Rucci Books for the digital copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!
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2023 Lambda Literary Award Finalist 2023 Bram Stoker Award Finalist for Superior Achievement in a Novel
Reluctant Immortals is a historical horror novel that looks at two men of classic literature, Dracula and Mr. Rochester, and the two women who survived them, Bertha and Lucy, who are now undead immortals residing in Los Angeles in 1967 when Dracula and Rochester make a shocking return in the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco.
Combining elements of historical and gothic fiction with a modern perspective, in a tale of love and betrayal and coercion, Reluctant Immortals is the lyrical and harrowing journey of two women from classic literature as they bravely claim their own destiny in a man’s world.
TO BE DEVOURED by SARA TANTLINGER
What does carrion taste like? Andi has to know. The vultures circling outside her home taunt and invite her to come understand the secrets hiding in their banquet of decay. Fascination morphs into an obsessive need to know what the vultures know. Andi turns to Dr. Fawning, but even the therapist cannot help her comprehend the secrets she’s buried beneath anger-induced blackouts.
Her girlfriend, Luna, tries to help Andi battle her inner darkness and infatuation with the vultures. However, the desire to taste dead flesh, to stitch together wings of her own and become one with the flock sends Andi down a twisted, unforgivable path. Once she understands the secrets the vultures conceal, she must decide between abandoning the birds of prey or risk turning her loved ones into nothing more than meals to be devoured.
Which is easier to believe—that killer mermaids exist, or that one person is worth risking everything for?
For fans of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo and Into the Drowning Deep comes a chilling horror story steeped in urban rumor.
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The Inkblotters 