Take a trip into terror beyond ‘The Border’ with Steve Stred


Since I reviewed Steve Stred for the first time back in early 2019 his star in the horror world has begun to shine very brightly and there a new release brings an exciting feeling of anticipation amongst ‘Stredheads’ everywhere regarding what this prolific Canadian author will unleash upon the horror world next. I count myself as a Stred veteran which began with The Girl Who Hid in the Trees and then The One That Knows No Fear which both made strong impression. Following that, and better still, I was blown away by The Window in the Ground which is both significantly meatier and more complex than those earlier works. If you are new to Stred he has a cool back-catalogue to explore, most of which is also available via Kindle Unlimited.


Although Stred’s new fiction is undoubtedly on a cool upward trajectory, I still enjoy occasional dips into his back-catalogue with his Wagon Buddy novellas being another impressive entry point. The amiable Canadian is astonishingly prolific and in 2021 he effortlessly moved into science fiction with The Future in the Sky, but I found his first release of 2022 Mastodon to be significantly more entertaining, rating this amongst his best work to date.  Sales backed this up, with Mastodon being both his biggest seller and a critical hit which took Stred’s work to much larger audiences and showed that he had the literary chops to mix with the indie horror big boys. If you like monsters with your horror Mastodon is unmissable. It is also seriously good fun and does not take itself too seriously.


After the success of Mastodon it must have been tempting to follow the same blueprint and deliver more monster mayhem. Instead, in the earlier stages Churn the Soil relies more heavily upon atmosphere, terrific setting and strong characterisation, whilst presenting creatures which are satisfyingly distinct from those in Mastodon. In usual Stred style, this is a quick and easy read, which is not particularly deep or demanding. It relies upon its swift pace, bloody action sequences and never strays very far from its b-movie style and pulp origins. If you are after something deep and meaningful look elsewhere, but if you want to get temporarily lost in a scary and frozen forest then Churn the Soil is a solid one-way ticket, with frostbite guaranteed (no extra charge).


The story is set two hundred miles north of the town of Basco, in a very remote location called ‘The Border’. This is a quiet, off-the-grid settlement, where the residents have developed a tentative and tense agreement with whatever lives on the other side of the clearing. However, should any wandering visitor or tourist be dumb enough to stray onto the other side they are rarely seen or heard of again and nobody asks any questions. This was a terrific and vividly drawn location, which felt like north Canada or Alaska. The settlement was the perfect location for a cult, which had its own weird routines for dealing with whatever else lived in the forest. The Border reminded me slightly of M. Night Shyamalan’s film The Village where an equally scared community are too fearful of entering the encroaching forest. In the first half of the story Stred provides plenty of details into how The Border ticked, but it was such a striking place it could have had even more layers of detail.

The main part of the story is set in the aftermath of a teenage girl being brutally murdered who looked like she had recently been in the forest. The action follows Basco PD officers Brown and Reynolds who try to find her killer, but the problem is the locals do not want them there (or their help) even though the answers clearly lie in the forest, where most of the second half takes place. The first half of Churn the Soil sets the scene nicely with a nice sense of mystery regarding what exactly lurks in the forest, whilst in the second Stred goes through the gears and the body count quickly mounts. The hunters soon become the hunted and as the search party find themselves in the middle of nowhere (or worse) the Canadian Mounties will not be coming to help anytime soon. And watch out for the cool police dog Bruiser, who I was cheering for all the way!

The villains in Churn the Soil were very cool and the atrocious weather adds an extra dimension of threat until the body horror kicks in. Of course, veteran readers of Steve Stred will know that nothing good ever comes out of venturing into the woods and encroaching forests, but the opportunity to partake in another nightmare trip is just too good to pass-up! A number of questions went unanswered, again more detail could have been provided, but this did not detract from the fun and the origins of the creatures is nicely explored.


Churn the Soil finds Steve Stred doing what he does best by seamlessly blending easy to read action sequences with supernatural horror with a remote and threatening setting. This author continues his seriously cool hot streak, following the superb The Window in the Ground and wild monster novel Mastodon with another page-turning blend of terror where death lurks around every corner. Stred is fast becoming a master of fun, fast-paced, punchy, and pulpy horror fiction which will have you hooked and speed reading in a matter of minutes.


Tony Jones

Diabolique by John Paul Fitch  

Publisher ‏ : ‎ Hybrid Sequence Media (11 Oct. 2022)
Language ‏ : ‎ English
Paperback ‏ : ‎ 295 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1513698605
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1513698601

A Horror Book Review by Sam Reader 

​The scariest thing about Diabolique, the debut collection from John Paul Fitch, is how precise and all-encompassing it is. Sure, Fitch has a gift for taking some familiar premises-- a monster as a school principal, cannibal sacrifice cults, a murderous presence haunting the punks of Glasgow-- and dragging them kicking and screaming into darker and far more twisted territory, but “extremity” is a tool just like any other. Fitch's real talent is in the way he uses that extremity in exactly the right manner and the surrounding atmosphere and universe he builds around that extremity, a universe where the odds are always long, the stakes are always fatal, and by the time whatever doom awaits is right around the corner, it's often far too late. It's a twisted and disturbing collection, to be sure, but it's that total package that makes Diabolique's stories unique, upsetting, and well worth the time you'll spend traveling down their dark paths.


There's something upsettingly natural about the horrors in Diabolique. Fitch's monsters are not ones that play by the “usual rules” or are swayed by the protagonists' morality, but seem offended or unconcerned with the idea that what they're doing is wrong. Many of the creatures, like the strange glowing man in “Esca Illicium” or the sickening were-creature in “Faces” are ancient, having been there longer than humans and their precious little morals even existed, and will (one assumes) be there long after humans have gone extinct. Even when the horrors aren't ancient creatures or weird cults, like in “Nip, Tuck, Zip, Pluck,” there's still a sense of order to the proceedings, that eventually the mad plastic surgeon's obsession would lead him to the grisly conclusion to the story. It makes things that much more disturbing, that Fitch created through his stories a universe where someone could walk down the wrong alley or talk to the wrong person and find themselves face to face with unspeakable, gruesome horrors, if those horrors haven't sought them out directly.


Similarly, there's a sense of inescapable doom to Fitch's stories. Whether that doom is the protagonists damning themselves in a number of ways by being too blinded by their own greed or obsession to realize the jaws closing around them, the horrifying specter of something that preys on the vulnerable or those without many options, or literal inescapable doom running for local government in “Frank Swettenham Is Not Human,” it's fairly clear that for many of the characters in Fitch's stories, it's far too late. That isn't to say there aren't narrative stakes—in several stories, there's a chance to turn away (however slim) even if the poor human bastards at the center of the tale can't or won't take it, and a desperate struggle still might actually bear out-- but the feeling that the odds are very long and the world itself has stacked the deck in favor of whatever nasty thing awaits the unsuspecting do wonders to make the stories feel that much darker. Fitch doesn't need to explore the concept of inevitable doom, he merely shows it and its consequences, whether personal (infidelity going terribly wrong in “Complex”) or existential (the sadistic force that preys on punks and the underprivileged in “The Outsider”) and then stands well back.


All of this atmospheric groundwork only serves to heighten Fitch's clear gift for emotional stakes, as well. With its sense of the inescapable and the idea of rules beyond those governing the human, “The Pandemonium Carnival” goes from a surreal story about a father and son visiting a carnival to a wistful but joyous tale about a father and son's last memory together, that inevitability just around the corner. “Frank Swettenham Is Not Human” becomes even more hilarious, not just due to the presence of a Lovecraftian deity, but to the sheer bafflement and resignation the characters (including the villains) express once some kind of natural order asserts itself. When “Faces” lays bare the twisted consequences for the antihero's actions and the rules he didn't realize he was playing by, it only underscores the awful images like a centenarian being breast-fed by a were-creature in the moonlight and the torture post said centenarian keeps in his backyard to tie women to, as if to rub the protagonist's face in it and go “where the hell did you think this was going?” Sure, there are shocking images aplenty in Diabolique, but it's the world they're presented in and the emotional impact that makes them disturbing.


John Paul Fitch certainly has a gift for the disturbing. While not drenched in the excess that usually comes with a title labeled “transgressive,” Diabolique contains snuff films, spectral serial murderers, eldritch BDSM porn queens, psychic anglerfish that communicate through brain tumors, and that's only scratching the surface. Rather than simply set everything to overload like some of his peers, Fitch prefers to wield his sickening talent in a more precise manner. The stories in Diabolique build in their disturbance, waiting until that inescapability and emotional stakes reach a peak before revealing something awful to slam the cathartic moment of horror home. This wouldn't work nearly as well without the scenes that hit that peak being drenched in viscera and disturbance, with a specific honorable mentions going to a snuff-film scene where the description of the victim in all their imperfections and vulnerabilities ups the pathos immensely, and the opening of “Feral,” where an eviscerated deer carcass beautifully foreshadows the awful things that happen further into the story, while letting enough time elapse that the key details take a moment to come rushing back.


There's a true art to creating a work of all-encompassing dread, something so precisely unnerving that even if it explores more comic or melancholic territory, or even veers into other genres, still manages to craft a level of unease. John Paul Fitch has mastered that art, through use of some wonderfully imaginative and disturbing spins on familiar stories, the construction of a hostile universe throughout his stories, and the pervasive sense (even when it's less true) of inescapable doom and insurmountable odds. Diabolique is a dark, malevolent, all-inclusive trip to some of the darkest places you'll find in horror, one that's absolutely essential for those who like to have their limits challenged and their boundaries pushed. If that includes you, or if the book even vaguely piques your interest, well, as Fitch's characters love to say about his menagerie of monsters, it's out there and waiting.


All you have to do is let it in.


​sam reader 

True to the old saying, family is the tie that binds. No matter how much we grow and change as individuals, from womb to tomb we are inescapably a part of that unchosen genetic lineage whether we like it or not. Often that blood bond is a beneficial boon--ideal families love us, raise us, teach us, but sometimes, for an endless variety of reasons, families don't get along, and over time disagreements, arguments and long-lingering animosities cause rifts that can be difficult, if not impossible to bridge. In any other social situation resolution could be achieved through a mutual (or forced) parting of ways, but if a relative becomes toxic to your life, then what? Is it ever possible to completely sever those hereditary links?

That's the core question in DarkLit Press' latest release, Caitlin Marceau's gripping novella, This Is Where We Talk Things Out, a postcard portrait of a fractured family. The narrative centers on Miller, thirty-four-years-old and living a content life in the city with her partner Florence, who becomes unhappily lured into spending a weekend at a remote Canadian cabin with her estranged mother, Sylvie. Having grown up at odds with Sylvie's smothering, controlling and manipulative behavior, and still emotionally raw from losing her father to Alzheimer’s, Miller has long since erased her mother from her life. But when Sylvie approaches with apparent olive leaves and a request that they try to mend fences one final time, Miller allows herself to be guilt-tripped into taking the drive against both Florence's advice and her own better judgment.

Sylvie's planned retreat takes an immediate turn for the strange when Miller discovers her mother's newly-bought cabin has been retrofitted to resemble her childhood home as closely as possible, from the furnishings, dishware and towels to a near-perfect recreation of Miller's teenage bedroom, right down to posters on the walls and the clothes in the drawer. With arguments already flaring over past hurts and Miller psychologically reeling from her surroundings, Sylvie's domineering personality progressively asserts itself in disquieting ways: she confiscates Miller's phone, intentionally destroys her modern garments and locks her daughter in the bedroom. When Miller suffers a horrendous accident out in the snow and a burgeoning blizzard conspires to trap the pair indefinitely within the cabin together afterwards, Miller realizes Sylvie has no intentions to ever let her leave. The only chance she has to survive the weekend, and her mother’s increasingly deranged behavior, is to plot her own escape, but with injuries that make walking difficult, can Miller overpower Sylvie, steal the car’s keys and make it back to civilization? And what’s the cause of that decomposing stench emanating from Sylvie’s own locked bedroom?

This Is Where We Talk Things Out is a horror fan's diabolical dream come true. The suspense is palpable, the mounting dread of Miller's situation laid out with prose that is smooth, fast and rapier-precise, and the lean, character-driven plot never falters with a single misplaced step. Miller and Sylvie are studies in contrast, and both women are so believably drawn that their fragmented relationship becomes instantly and realistically recognizable to anyone who’s ever dealt with a difficult parental figure. From the moment Miller places luggage in her mother’s car, Sylvie’s persnickety, overly-critical disposition reveals itself and the verbal jousting begins with pitch-perfect dialogue. Old wounds inflicted by each onto the other are exposed but, at least initially, Sylvie seems no more dangerous than any fussy, middle-aged mom until they reach the cabin. There her true insanity becomes evident, and Marceau cleverly unveils Sylvie’s mental instability in increments, at points even eliciting sympathy by insinuating she might be suffering from Alzheimer’s the same as her late husband.

Fans of Stephen King’s Misery will revel in This Is Where We Talk Things Out. The suffocating, claustrophobic atmosphere, the slowly escalating conflict and confined, isolated winter location, the physical incapacitation and entrapment--it’s the stuff from which nightmares are made. If there’s any let down, it would be in the too-easily surmised climactic revelation in Sylvie’s bedroom; to any horror fan familiar with Norman Bates the idea will be less shocking than to casual readers, but even guessing it beforehand does little to blunt the intended macabre impact. The novella’s briefness, too, is worth note; it’s short enough to be devoured in a single devoted sitting, but one becomes so embroiled in the circumstances, so attached to Miller’s plight, that the pages fly by far too quickly, leaving readers ravenous for more.
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Tense, terrifying and heartbreaking all at the same time, Marceau’s mini-masterpiece of modern horror has all the hallmarks of an unstoppable up-and-coming genre talent, and I heartily give This Is Where We Talk Things Out a well-deserved 4.5 (out of 5) on my Fang Scale. Hollywood, take note: this would make one hell of a good movie. HIGHLY recommended.

Exposed to the weird worlds of horror, sci-fi and comics as a boy, Damascus Mincemeyer was ruined for life. Now he spends his time doing lurid book cover illustrations and publishing fiction in various anthologies. He lives near St. Louis, Missouri, USA, and has one volume of short horror stories, Where The Last Light Dies, and a forthcoming horror novel, By Invitation Only, to his credit. He spends his spare time listening to music nobody else likes and wasting far too much time on Instagram @damascusundead666

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First off, my feelings towards this book are very mixed. A lot of the characters are downright arseholes, and not in a good way. The arseholes in this story are so awful that the story is hard to read in places. It seems that every character, except some of the wheelchair using kids are basically scum bags. I came very close to giving up on this story several times just because I didn’t want to read about the bullying and awful treatment of disabled kids anymore.
    
Also, for slasher fiction, there was far too much of a delay before the murders start. Most of which happen in the final part of the novel, when it all goes sort of Battle Royal, with that level of violence, bloodshed and plans going wrong. Another major flaw is that the narrative and the eventual reveal of the murderer just feel like they do not match up. The revealed murderer could have been made more believable without giving the twist away, but it wasn’t for unknown reasons. Also, I was disappointed by the final ending which I feel was a bit of a cop out and didn’t fit with the rest of the narrative.
    
What I think is great about this book, is that the wheelchair using kids feel like real teenagers and real people struggling with their role in a world not designed or fully adapted for them. One of the people I love is a wheelchair user who spent time in a special school, a lot of the feelings, frustrations and experiences of the campers fit with the experiences she has told me over the years. Also, as the narrative comes along, it gets more gripping and engrossing, and you get a deep sense of satisfaction from the unpredictable nature and the brutal deaths. You find yourselves rooting for the campers and hoping they will succeed in overcoming their tormentors.
   
​All said and done, this novel is worth your time as an ok, unusual read with all too few sparks of excellence.


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Sometimes the best possible way to go into any work of fiction, is to go in blind. It leaves little room for expectation and lets the story meet you on its own terms. While I have to admit that I did know the premise of this one, I basically went in blind. Essentially, all I knew was that it was an Encyclopocalypse audiobook (which never let me down), and that it was about a student veterinarian and conwoman becoming the target of a serial killer when she lures him into her honey trap.

Pru, the kickass female lead in this one, poses as an underage girl on dating apps to bait perverts into taking advantage of her. Usually, she turns the tide on them, takes their money, and escapes without harm. Unfortunately for her, one particular target, Calvin, is running the same kind of game. Only, he’s a lot meaner than she is. Calvin baits young girls and chops them into pieces. When their paths cross, Pru manages to escape her first encounter with Calvin, stealing some of his belongings as she flees.

As you can imagine, this one becomes a deadly game of cat and mouse for Pru. Calvin works his angles as he tries to recover the incriminating evidence Pru has taken from him, and Pru battles with her conscience as she decides whether to go into hiding or whether to seek justice for all of Calvin’s past victims.

With that kind of set-up, you’re going to know if this is the story for you, but what I’ll add is that this is a particularly well-told novel, and I’d love to see it adapted into a movie. There’s a great tradition of protagonists like Pru overcoming monsters like Calvin in cinema, and this would add to it. Seriously, if you dig films like Freeway and Promising Young Woman, you’re probably going to love this book.

Of course, Duncan’s character-work is what really makes this book so good. Pru is a genuinely likeable character. She’s flawed and she’s damaged by her past, but ultimately, she’s a hero you can get behind. She cares for injured animals, and while she’s trying to set herself up for a great future, she’s relying on the less conventional skills she has to earn enough to keep her animals going and to get herself through her studies.

By the same token, Duncan’s characterisation of Calvin as the classic traditional father in a God-fearing family and a serial-killing freak with serious perversions is just as effective. He’s created a truly terrifying character, and with his proclivities pitted against Pru’s wiles, this story is a tense and suspenseful affair.

Throughout the course of the novel, Duncan delivers enough moments of heartbreak, splatter, and genuine breathtaking tension to ensure his story grips you tight and keeps you holding your breath until the thrilling climax and unexpected twist. It’s great stuff.

When all of that combines with the high production values delivered by Encyclopocalypse Publications team of producers and narrators, you end up with an audiobook that’s guaranteed to hold you in its thrall. Felicity Day and Sean Duregger handle the perspectives of Pru and Calvin respectively, and they breathe so much life into the characters—thanks to Duncan’s excellent groundwork—that you might even forget you’re listening to character actors.
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To sum it all up, I can offer no better praise than this: I listened to this audio as I travelled to work, and on two separate occasions, I was so engrossed, I forgot to drink my coffee.

In the August, 1928 issue of seminal pulp fiction publication Weird Tales (the same magazine responsible for first popularizing the material of cosmic horror pioneer H.P. Lovecraft), a story by legendary Conan creator Robert E. Howard appeared featuring a  somber and gloomy 17th century Puritan wanderer whose sole motivation was the destruction of evil in all its unearthly forms. Solomon Kane's inaugurate adventure, 'Red Shadows', set the tone for much of the character's later excursions⎯deeply religious, Kane sported all-black attire and boldly confronted his infernal enemies with rapier, dirk and a brace of flintlock pistols. Readers of the era lapped it up, and multiple stories in the series were released before Howard's tragic and untimely death.

Nearly a century later, Solomon Kane's two-fisted spirit lives in an army of movies and television shows. From Hammer Films' katana-wielding Captain Kronos, to Blade, Buffy and Dylan Dog, The Witcher, the Winchester brothers and Ash Vs The Evil Dead, to Exorcist Vengeance, Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter and everything in between, the never-ending war on the forces of darkness continues unabated. Yet in its medium of origin that same combative essence has waned through the decades. Now Crucifixion Press has brought blood-pumping pulp intensity back to prose with their new multi-author anthology, Shoot The Devil. Subtitled as 'Ten Double-Barreled Tales of Humanity Defeating the Demonic', editor Eric Postma has successfully assembled a roster of top-tier indie talent who revel in giving the horned one his long due defeat.

Though its specific genre is debatable (Weird Western? Steampunk?), N.R. LaPoint's 'Phantom Ridge: From The Case Files of Virgil Everness', unleashes an unquestionable amount of thrilling mayhem as a husband-and-wife duo comes face-to-fang with an invading force of galactic beasts. 'Who Rules The World?', by L. Jagi Lamplighter gives readers a behind-the-scenes glimpse into the lives of Cornelius, the blind leader of the all-powerful Illuminati, and Ida, the woman who loves him despite her secret vow to crush his clandestine organization. An indisputable horror-western, James Pyle's gripping 'Wolf In The Wind' focuses on a haunted lawman who reluctantly pairs with a spiritualist to stalk a most unusual lycanthrope.

Fiery angelic swords, elf lords, teleportation and yetis (yes, yetis), figure into Russell Newquist's 'Game Warden: A Tale of Peter Bishop', an amusing romp that heralds the book's second half and whose unconventional titular hero happily skews every 'Chosen One' trope when he must protect a group of Boy Scouts from some decidedly high-fantasy poachers. That's followed immediately thereafter by Steven G. Johnson's similarly magical 'The Silver String Job', a taut tale that paints elementals and wizardry with glistening noir polish. 'Last Chance Lane', Michael Gallagher's wry yarn about a demonically-infected plot of ground and the childhood friends who battle the fiend responsible for it, showcases the author's trademark humor and rapid-fire wit to electric effect. And a practitioner of the black arts who's traded everything for a pair of spectral spectacles looses part of his sight but regains his soul once he crosses paths with the Divine in Corey Comstock's redemptive 'Eye Hath Not Seen'.

As a complete work Shoot The Devil is more than the sum of its many parts; it's fun, entertaining and robust with memorable characters. There are, however, minor pitfalls. As with most anthologies, not every story will satisfy themselves among all audiences; given the singular theme an understandable repetition exists among the chosen tales, and irksome times arise when certain entries feel less like fiction than proselytizing sermons or poorly disguised political screeds. Any trifling complaints, though, are quickly forgotten amid the pulse-pounding fury of these pages: fisticuffs, gunplay, sword fights, sorcery and psionics⎯there's rarely a dull moment, and at times the reader must step back just to catch their breath. But that crackling kinetic energy is exactly what sets this compilation apart from the current crop of terror-tale tomes; these aren't woe-begotten stories wallowing in existentialist misery, nor nihilistic exercises in brutal torture porn excess⎯this is about re-establishing the genre's endangered Good-Triumphs-Over-Evil motif, and to that end three efforts within Shoot The Devil deserve outstanding mention above their peers.

Tense from first line to last, the volume's very opener, Daniel Humphrey's 'An Exorcism For The Demon', kicks the anthology off on a strong note as a paranormal investigator with a commanding psychic ability called the push is summoned to purge ghosts haunting the house of a man who might be a serial killer. And ripping action highlights Declan Finn's wonderfully clever 'To Catch A Monster', whose mysterious-yet-vaguely-familiar demon slayer may have been more monstrous than any devil in his day.

But of all the tales, none is more worthy of unabashed praise than John C. Wright's chill-inducing masterpiece, 'Fell Beasts'. Digging deep into his characters' psyche, this simple yet powerful narrative straddles the thin line examining precisely what it means to be alive, dead, and undead, then deconstructs that overdone vampiric archetype into something genuinely new, thought-provoking and frightening. Wholly unique, 'Fell Beasts' is not only the valedictorian of Shoot The Devil, but one of the most original pieces of vampire fiction in recent memory.

With its congress of kick-ass leads intent on delivering a bullet to the skull of Satan's many earthly minions, Shoot The Devil will undoubtedly provide readers hours of vicarious demon-dispatching enjoyment and allow the faithful soul of Solomon Kane to exist well into the new millennium.
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I hereby bestow Shoot The Devil a well-earned 4 (out of 5) on my Fang Scale. Will Crucifixion Press reload their literary six-guns to Shoot The Devil again with a sequel? I wouldn't be surprised if the answer is yes.

Exposed to the weird worlds of horror, sci-fi and comics as a boy, Damascus Mincemeyer was ruined for life. Now he spends his time doing lurid book cover illustrations and publishing fiction in various anthologies. He lives near St. Louis, Missouri, USA, and has one volume of short horror stories, Where The Last Light Dies, and a forthcoming horror novel, By Invitation Only, to his credit. He spends his spare time listening to music nobody else likes and wasting far too much time on Instagram @damascusundead666

So how far WOULD you go to get what you wanted, to achieve the success and adoration that you think you deserve? Would you step over friends, family, and colleagues to get what you want? Would you hold them back while you got ahead?
Or would you kill for it?

In the second book from Lizzie Fry, Cat Crawford goes a little further than just asking the question. Initially befriended by Erin, the woman she idolises at work, the shining example of what she wants her career to be, a silly misunderstanding leads to revenge, murder and promotion!

Lizzie's second book is a fun thriller exploring just how far people will go to get what they want. It's a tale of obsession and misunderstanding; Fatal Attraction without the sex and rabbits, although who knows where things might end up with Cat!

Lizzie's writing is clear and unfussy, taking you straight into the heart of the story and pulling you through the pages, wasting no time in keeping the story flowing. The book switches from first person for chapters dealing with Erin's perspective and then to third person for Cat's sections. This is a fantastic way of portraying a story that is really Erin’s, but which actually has two leads. It works really well and, while I know some people have an issue with first person prose, I don't, and Lizzie uses it well in Kill For It. It may even suggest that Erin is telling the whole story from her perspective, filling in the gaps around Cat's story after the fact; just like the reporter she is. I have no idea if that is the case, but it does potentially raise questions about Erin's reliability as narrator if she is reporting her own version of a story in which she is not entirely blameless. However, you will have to read the book to decide whether I am an unrecognised genius or talking out of my arse. (And, when you have read Kill For It, please don't feel obliged to tell me which you think it is! 😁)

The story unfolds in a fairly predictable way as the first few chapters introduce us to our leads as they drift into each other's worlds. However, once things are set up and the ball is rolling, it very soon spins out of control and there are plenty of twists and turns to keep everyone guessing; I definitely didn't see them all coming, and the book certainly didn't end quite the way I expected.

And that is definitely a good thing!

Kill For It is a great follow-up to The Coven from Lizzie. While the two books have vastly different storylines and worlds (office politics v witches) they both focus on issues faced by women on a daily basis, the forces that conspire to hold them back and the lack of value placed on them by society.

I know that is going to put some people off because it sounds 'woke,' or you don't want feminism shoved down your throats. Well, that's your loss. While the message is clear, it is not heavy-handed and, to be honest, if it makes you uncomfortable, then you are probably part of the problem.

At the end of the day, Kill for It is a tight thriller that will keep you second-guessing Cat's next move and, ultimately, ready for more from Lizzie.

Buy it now from Amazon!

Lizzie Fry is a debut author of high concept thriller The Coven (published by Sphere books), but you might know her better as LV Hay. LV’s books previous books were crime fiction: The Other Twin, Do No Harm (Orenda Books) and Never Have I Ever (Hodder). The Other Twin is currently being adapted for the screen by Agatha Raisin producers Free@Last TV.

Enter the Darkness by Sarah Budd

Publisher ‏ : ‎ Brigids Gate Press, LLC (6 Nov. 2022)
Language ‏ : ‎ English
Paperback ‏ : ‎ 202 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1957537108
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1957537108
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A Horror Book  Review by Yvonne Miller

Enter the Darkness sucked me in from page one. Darkly claustrophobic, it takes your deepest fears and makes them a reality. Spooky season may be over but you’re going to want to get your buy now finger at ready!

Claustrophobia has always been a key factor in my nightmares. Wandering aimlessly in a place that resembles a maze is terrifying. The darkness, the air running low, and the silence would have my body gearing up to enter survival mode. Enter the Darkness is a story that enters the void with the ricochet of a bullet, you need to stay alert to the potential of being hit at any time. Sarah Budd draws a large red line between realism and fiction; jumping between the two is hazardous but oh-so-fun!

I am a complete sucker for horror novellas – give me the dilemma between the human condition and the things that are not easily explained and I’m a happy reader BUT…

Enter the Darkness is different from other horror novellas,
Enter the Darkness is unlike anything I’ve read in the genre.
Enter the Darkness forges its own way, its own path, albeit dark and abandoned, but you find yourself blindly feeling your way, unaware of what will be awaiting you at the end.

It’s not a big surprise to find out that I freaking loved this story.

I’ve always enjoyed Sarah Budd’s work. Her short stories rival some of the best. Her ability to put the reader into the centre of the story is unrivaled. She knows how to slide into her reader’s minds and set up home there. Inhaling their worst fears and translating them into her specific brand of horror. The story is fantastic but that’s only one part of the package – Sarah Budd’s immeasureable skill ensures that Enter the Darkness is the whole damn show!

How many times have you wandered over the streets of London and wondered just what lay beneath your feet? Well, for me it’s never because I’ve never been to London (I’m a small-town girl at heart) BUT I can appreciate the vast amounts of history that we are walking on. This is the beauty of Enter the Darkness; the history is at the character's fingertips, but a far more ancient evil is lurking in the shadows.

Four characters go into the cave system under the Pavements of London. Garth – a newly hired tour guide of the caves who’s willing to do anything to save the girl he has his eye on. Cassie – a girl who plans to use the cave system for her own emotive gain. Bill – Garth’s boss with more than a few skeletons in the closet and makes it his mission to save Cassie and Garth. Sienna – a girl whose conniving ways have finally taken a trip down karma alley and finds herself as a sacrifice. Each of the characters have their why for being down there and Budd really excels at writing morally grey characters. It’s her examination of the human condition that draws you in – the intricate and slippery ways of human behaviour in times of stress that had me enthralled.

Get prepared for the similarities between As Above so Below (which is one of my favourite horror movies, so I was delighted.) The action was just as jumpy and blood-pumping as the movie and I was on the edge of my seat during scenes. The pages got turned and soon time escaped me. I enjoyed Cassie’s character the most, she wore her emotions like armor, and I could feel her hurt and grief pouring through the pages. She’s lost someone extremely close to her and experiencing those relationships made me think and made me make a phone call. The blame she puts upon herself is what anyone with a conscience would do and it just made her more human. More relatable. I look forward to more work by Sarah Budd. She brings the horror and the human into a concoction of ratcheting tension.