Like any epic worth its salt, Melinda West: Monster Gunslinger begins in medias res, right in the heart of the battle: Melinda never missed, not in her twenty-eight years of gunslinging. But then again, she had never dealt with giant, flying scorpions before. KC Grifant’s horror western hits the road at top speed and never takes its foot off the accelerator, making the book a perfect fit for readers who like their horror weird and their action plentiful.

Grifant’s heroine is a delicious amalgamation of Ash Williams in wise-cracking bravado and Ellen Ripley in triumphant fearlessness, two creature-battling icons who would feel right at home in West’s world. Here, “edge creatures,” mutant versions of our everyday baddies (such as rats, centipedes, and hornets) plague humankind, poisoning their victims with their venom and in some cases, stealing their very souls. After taking out a nest, Melinda and her faithful sidekick Lance bunk at an old friend’s house but are ambushed by a swarm of particularly gruesome arachnids. Believing herself responsible for a serious injury that befalls one of her companions, Melinda sets off to retrieve the soul that the creatures snatch, setting in motion an even more dangerous quest.

One of the most difficult tasks a speculative fiction author undertakes is creating a world that is simultaneously believable and escapist by balancing the realm of the fantastic with the mesmerism required to make a reader believe it to be true. Grifant does this in spades, allowing her prose to flow as easily as a hot knife through butter, and it’s difficult not to become attached to Melinda and invested in the adventure from the get go:

Melinda kept her pistol trained at Eloise’s chest and leaned to the right. Lance went behind her to the left so they’d both have a clear shot. Something about Eloise giving up was too easy. Maybe another bluff.

“Awful calm for someone who’s going to jail for a long time,” Lance called from behind Melinda.

Eloise smiled, her eyes calculating despite her cocky shrug. “What can I say? Even the best have to face the music sometime.”

“Stop, outlaw!” A voice shouted behind them.

Before Melinda could turn, a noise exploded, making them instinctively duck.
A gun shot.

They weren’t alone.

It’s the author’s smart pacing that keeps the reader cemented to the page; I found myself putting off going to sleep each night just so I could continue on to the next chapter.
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Grifant, known for her shape-shifting skills beneath the speculative fiction umbrella—she’s previously penned winners in feminist dark fiction, gothic horror, Lovecraftian fantasy, and science fiction, masters the hybrid of shoot ‘em up Western and creature feature like an old pro. I went into Monster Gunslinger already an ardent fan of the author’s writing style but not an aficionado of the Weird West, but Grifant quickly warmed me to the genre. Demons, take heed: there’s a new boomstick in town, and something tells me we haven’t seen the last of her.

I love coming-of-age novels and Tim McGregor’s superb Wasps in the Ice Cream ranks amongst the absolute best of them. It took me right back to being bored and sixteen, living in a small town where there was not much to do, with episodes of underage drinking, video games, loud music, sporadic acts of violence and unobtainable visions of the opposite sex. I grew up in the north of Scotland and although this novel is set in Canada, the feelings of alienation and disaffection are identical, with Tim McGregor absolutely nailing what it was like to be sixteen and not giving a f**k what your parents and teachers say.


Although the excellent Raw Dog Screaming Press are undoubtedly promoting Wasps in the Ice Cream as an adult novel it had a vibrant and convincing Young Adult (YA) feel to it. The protagonist is sixteen and has issues with his dad and stepmother and since it is narrated in the first person by Mark Prewitt it becomes even more teen driven. Mark’s developing infatuation for the enigmatic Georgina (known as George) Farrow was pure YA and I found the scenes around their developing friendship/relationship to be perfectly pitched. There was a scene near the end of the book where the cult science fiction Robocop was showing on the cinema that almost had me in tears it was so powerful. Mark, you bastard. If that moment had been captured in an eighties teen John Hughes movie it would have had a very different outcome! I will most certainly be buying this book for my own school library as I am certain it will find an audience amongst genuine teen readers.


Wasps in the Ice Cream is set during the long hot summer of 1987 and I guess another reason I loved the book so much was the fact that I was about sixteen in the same year and also saw Robocop on the big screen! But I had to blag my way in, as it was rated ‘18’ in the UK! The eighties name dropping of films, pop culture and raiding the local video-shop for gory and gaudily boxed horror films was also spot on, as was the obsession with what was going to appear at the cinema the following week. As their fleapit only showed reruns, their long and frustrating wait for the appearance of Robocop for really funny, as in those days it really did take a year or longer for films to appear on home video.


Ultimately Wasps in the Ice Cream is about what happens when you fall for the girl everyone hates (or at least don’t understand) and the weird peer-pressures teens feel around standing out, with the story taking its time getting around to introducing the spiky George Farrow. Mark has had the same best friends for years, Eric and Kevin, and he is no longer sure he even likes them anymore. He works two parttime jobs and is in a rut, whilst trying to save enough cash to restore an old car he has sitting in the garage. He spends his time fooling around with Eric and Kevin, doing a combination of dumb stuff and rewatching their favourite films whilst trying to stay out of the way of his dad who has married a much younger woman whom Mark is dismissive of and unpleasant to, even if he has no real reason to be so.


In small towns everybody knows everybody else’s business and rumours are known to get blown out of all proportion, none more so than the stories surrounding the three Farrow sisters. The Farrow family live in a dilapidated house outside of town and if the rumours are true are down on their luck after losing money at some stage in the past. The girls were withdrawn from the local school after the suspicious death of a fourth elder sister and there are idle and unfound rumours that the family dabble in witchcraft. Although the Satanic Panic phenomenon is never mentioned, this story is set during a period were many Americans (okay, this is set in Canada) believed Devil worshippers walked amongst us in plain sight.


Through the bored troublemaking of Mark and his two friends Eric and Kevin he eventually meets George, at which point a very good story becomes a truly excellent one. Mark is totally torn, as he cannot let his friends know he is interested in a girl who is effectively a pariah in the small town where he lives. The story cleverly explores these internal conflicts, taking in lust, infatuation and the lengths he will go to keep his dream girl a secret. How he keeps this hidden from both his friends and family is both a key and important part of the story and anybody who has ever sneaked a girl or boy into their family home will feel and identify with Mark’s pain.


The support characters were drawn outstandingly well and how they interacted with Mark, I particularly liked his stepmother and his unfound casual unpleasantness towards her. Also, how his two best friends reacted to change and the possibility that Mark might have a life beyond them and rewatching the same old flicks or playing the same arcade machines to death. And in the background we have the largely symbolic wasp nest close to the ice cream parlour where Mark works and his casual obsession with the gorgeous older girl who works in the cinema kiosk across the road. All these factors contributed to a beautifully drawn small town and the relatable characters who inhabited it.


You might ask what makes Wasps in the Ice Cream a horror novel rather than a nostalgic coming-of-age drama? The use of the supernatural is used very subtlety and is beautifully restrained, you will have to read the novel yourself to decide whether it exists at all. I adored the manner in which ambiguity was used by the Farrow sisters and their interactions with each other. George makes witch-bottles (and Mark helps) to keep their property safe and she also believes the ghost of her dead sister is not so far away and not such a fan of Mark. I loved this part of the story and it naturally flowed with the development of their relationship.


I have read Tim McGregor before, but Wasps in the Ice Cream is significantly better than everything else I have come across, this powerful story impressed me so much I have already cued Taboo in Four Colors on my kindle and am going to take a closer look at his back catalogue. Mark does some crappy things, but his voice is so authentic I guarantee you will forgive him. The ending was also both outstanding and reflective and not dissimilar to any of us looking back upon a pivotal part of our own teenage years. Simply outstanding and sure to be one of the books of 2023.


We all have a George in our past, whom we probably think about more than we would care to admit.


Tony Jones

​What happens when you fall for the girl everyone hates?


Summer 1987: Mark Prewitt's only priority is to avoid his dad's new wife and waste time with his friends, but idle nights are the devil's playground. When his friends decide to pull a cruel prank on the reclusive and strange Farrow sisters, Mark regrets caving in to peer pressure.


Wanting to make amends, Mark is drawn into the mysterious world of the Farrow girls, finding a kindred spirit in the middle sister, George. She is unlike anyone he's ever known; a practicing witch who uses folk magic to protect her family. They bond over books, loneliness, and homemade spells. She even invites Mark to join a séance to contact her dead sister, who died under mysterious circumstances.


Keeping their relationship secret, Mark learns that living a double life in a town this small is impossible. When the secret is exposed, and his friends plot to punish the witch sisters for stealing one of their own, Mark is forced to choose between these two worlds.


"Filled with evocative and captivating scenes, strong female characters, and an engaging narration, readers will become engrossed immediately, while the threat and fear at the heart of this story, satisfyingly, sneaks up on them." -Booklist, starred

The House at the End of the World by Dean Koontz

Soon no one on Earth will have a place to hide in this novel about fears known and unknown by #1 New York Times bestselling master of suspense Dean Koontz.

Publisher ‏ : ‎ Thomas & Mercer (24 Jan. 2023)
Language ‏ : ‎ English
Hardcover ‏ : ‎ 416 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1662500440
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1662500442


A Horror Book Review by Yvonne Miller 
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It’s been so long since I’ve had the delight of reading a Dean Koontz novel and when the opportunity arose to read his new release hitting the shelves in January 2023, to say I jumped would be an understatement. I like what this author consistently brings to the table – original plots, memorable characters, and a writing style that doesn’t fail to draw you in with a few words. I didn’t think that his brand of storytelling could get much better, but The House at the End of the World exceeded all my expectations.

Have you ever found yourself wanting to escape from life? I know I have. Sometimes it all just gets a bit too much, doesn’t it? The daily grind of work, sleep, cooking, and cleaning – it’s all so predictable that you just want to do something spontaneous. This is exactly what Katie does after something catastrophic happens in her life. She has a promise to keep, and she fully intends to do just that. She buys the Island known as Jacob’s Ladder, it’s a haven, and she’s completely isolated from everything and everyone. It’s exactly what she needs, the wildlife and the vista doesn’t exactly bring her back to life, but it certainly helps calm her.

The neighbouring island of Ringrock harbours a secret – a life-altering and destructive government research facility that if their true intention were to be leaked would impact the islands, the continent perhaps even the world. A concept that unleashed upon the residents would be a nightmarish hellfire. This isn’t usually my immediate go-to genre, but it left me feeling unseated and questioning what goes on these little islands that are scattered around the world.

If I was to try and sum up The House at the End of the World it would be – You might want to shut your eyes, but Koontz prises it open with hooks, and the terror is forced upon you without any escape plan.

The story dips in and out of Katie’s past and the event that shaped her becomes clear. It’s more than any person should have to deal with. It would kill the strongest of people and yet she’s still standing albeit with a metaphorical hitch in her step. It’s the worst kind of reality check but she won’t ever be a vulnerable victim again. Katie believed that Jacob’s Ladder would be her opportunity to hide away but what if she was more at risk on the island than she ever was on the mainland?

I loved Katie’s character. She’s a badass that is determined to get to the bottom of the suspicious goings-on Ringrock. She’s angry that her peace is being shattered and has the means to protect herself and her property if push came to shove. A strong and resilient character that has the will to see through her intentions.

As always with a Koontz novel, he writes animals so incredibly well. You fall in love with them – Michael J. was one of them (had more than one chuckle with the aptly named fox). The story is served with a pacing that immediately has you engaging the seatbelt and doing three hail marys. The narrative is as sharp as a rough-cut diamond, ready to tear apart the wearer. An incredible exploration of grief, secrecy, and redemption.

Hi there, I’m Yvonne. Book Reviewer/ General all-round Nerd
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Well, what can i say about me? I’m a 32 year old married woman and mum to 3 crazy boys, aged 12,5 and 3. My eldest has a genetic condition that causes a visual impairment so as you can imagine life can be very chaotic and provides many challenges along the way but I would 100% never change any of them. They fulfil my life beyond measure.
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I Adore Books – I adore shouting about books! I’m a reviewer of all genres, whether that be Epic Fantasy, Gothic Horror, a historical romance or a race-to-the-end thriller. I will read them all.

Since appearing on the scene in the mid-nineties Christopher Golden has been incredible prolific with a wide range of fiction which confidently crosses the genres. Although I have read a relatively small selection of these, I was a fan of his Ben Walker trilogy, in particular Ararat (2017) and Red Hands (2020) and also thoroughly enjoyed his previous novel, Road of Bones (2022). If you have never read Golden these recent releases are terrific places to start, with All Hallows being another absolute beauty which had me on the hook from page one to the last.


I do not know how many horror novels take place entirely on Halloween night (probably hundreds), and that is exactly what occurs in All Hallows, with the terrifying events playing out deliciously over a twelve-hour period. However, I was surprised by the lack of concrete examples my brief session of brainstorming uncovered, Something Wicked This Way Comes, by Ray Bradbury is set in the runup, Scott Thomas’s Kill Creek takes place on the big night and two cool examples, and there are hundreds of short stories which use the spooky season as inspiration. Coming from the UK, I always enjoy the extravagant manner in which the USA goes so far over the top for 31st October, and All Hallows captures this exuberant mood beautifully. It really comes across as a huge deal and perhaps I should put ‘celebrating Halloween in the States’ on my horror bucket list!


Considering events play out over a single evening Golden goes to town with a substantial cast of characters, some of which have more considerably page time than others who are little more than bit players. In the mix, we have: Tony Barbosa, Vanessa Montez, Barb Sweeney, Charlie Sweeney, Rick Barbosa, Alice Barbosa, Julia Sweeney, Zack Burgess, Ruth Burgess, Donnie Sweeney, Billie Suarez, Sarah Jane, Chloe Barbosa, Brian Sweeney and Steve Koenig. Fifteen is a hefty number of points of view, but it never feels cumbersome and helps present a panoramic view of how things go down on this special 1984 night, in the small Massachusetts town of Coventry. Even before we get to the supernatural element of the story, a couple of complex family dramas convincingly playout, giving an authentic slice of behind-the-curtains small-town life. The supernatural spin concerning ‘The Cunning Man’ is kept on the backburner until the second half of the story and this pacing is balanced nicely with the family drama and atmosphere of the big night.


The fifteen different characters and their plots (which overlap in both small and large ways) are wide ranging and include a LGBTQIA+ teen story, marriage infidelity, marriage breakups, small-town gossip, possible child abduction, local feuds, trick-or-treaters, teen partying, underage drinking, and at the centre of it all, the local Halloween attraction ‘The Haunted Wood.’ This is gleefully staged every year by one of the families, but due to various problems they intend to make 1984 their last blast and go out in style. As they prepare their attractions there is a certain level of melancholy that change is in the air and that things will never be the same again. How right they were, but not in the manner they were expecting.


Like Richard Chizmar and his Chasing the Boogieman, Christopher Golden beautifully recreates an authentic eighties smalltown and his Halloween descriptions are so rich they can almost be touched and smelled. Things start out as you might expect with the trick or treaters having fun knocking on doors before things begin to go down south. Even though this happens, the manner in which the breakdown occurs over a single evening was a gripping read, as it takes an age for anybody to join the dots due to the fragmented nature of Halloween and the fact that nobody sees the big picture until it was much too late made it all the more convincing.


I do not want to say much about The Cunning Man part of the plot which is barely hinted at in the first half of the book, expect that when it begins to motor is terrific fun. Mixed in with the trick-or-treaters of all ages, four children who nobody recognises as locals are walking door to door, merging with the kids of Parmenter Road. Children in vintage costumes with faded, eerie makeup and strange mannerisms. They seem terrified, and beg the neighbourhood kids to hide them away, but they have their own hidden motives. As things moved on Christopher Golden brings everything together nicely and the mythology he creates for The Cunning Man was very well thought out and cleverly tied to Halloween. Neither would I call this a feel-good Halloween novel as he is brutal to several of the major characters and pulls no punches.


It is too bad All Hallows is being released in January as it is seriously out of season! However, it is such an entertaining page-turner it will be enjoyed at any time of the year. If you are after some eighties nostalgia and want something significantly more ambitious than another film featuring Michael Myers then All Hallows does not disappoint and ensures you can enjoy Halloween more than once a year and well out of season.
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Tony Jones

​Perfect for fans of Stephen King and the 1980s nostalgia of Stranger Things. A gripping suburban nightmare from the New York Times-bestselling, Bram-Stoker Award-winning master of horror fiction.

It’s Halloween night, 1984, in Coventry, Massachusetts, and two families are unravelling. The Barbosas have opened their annual Haunted Woods attraction in the forest behind their house―the house they’re about to lose. The Sweeneys are fighting about alcoholism and infidelity on their front lawn. Up the street, high-school senior Vanessa Montez is about to have her secrets exposed during the violent end to the neighbourhood’s block party, while down the street, the truth about Ruth and Zack Burgess turns out to be even more horrifying than the rumours ever were.

And all the while, mixed in with the trick-or-treaters of all ages, four children who do not belong are walking door to door, merging with the kids of Parmenter Road. Children in vintage costumes with faded, eerie makeup. Children who seem terrified, and who beg the neighbourhood kids to hide them away, to keep them safe from The Cunning Man. There’s a small clearing in the woods now that was never there before, and a blackthorn tree that doesn’t belong at all. These odd children claim that The Cunning Man is coming for them...and they want the local kids to protect them. But with families falling apart and the community splintered by bitterness, who will save the children of Parmenter Road?
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New York Times bestselling, Bram Stoker Award-winning author Christopher Golden is best known for his supernatural thrillers set in deadly, distant locales...but in this suburban Halloween drama, Golden brings the horror home.

In 1968, a minor television commercial director helmed a low-budget black-and-white production in the pastoral American barrens outside Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania and irrevocably altered the course of entertainment history. George A. Romero’s seminal Night of the Living Dead--with its stark survivalist plot, graphic gore and uncompromising ending--was unlike anything seen on the silver screen and became the forbearer of a wave of socially relevant horror untethered from the old-world monsters of previous generations. The undead gut-munchers assailing that backwoods farmhouse weren’t suave vampiric counts from some far-off land or melancholy noblemen afflicted by a loathsome lycanthrope curse--they were us, humanity reduced to its ravenous primordial impulses, a mindless mass, capable of crushing our fragile civilization with the sheer weight of their ghastly numbers. Indeed, the driving idea behind Night’s continued importance--the ‘zombie apocalypse’, has become a creative cottage industry in its own right, begetting innumerable cinematic iterations, television shows, video games, books and graphic novels; the notion of an undead overthrow has permeated contemporary culture even to its uppermost echelons: no less a force than the U.S. Department of Defense has a contingency plan for the spread of an actual zombie contagion. And while some would argue the subgenre has reached its saturation point, like any good revenant, just when you think the creature has perished it rises hungrier than ever.
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One of the most successful modern interpretations of an undead end times scenario is Danny Boyle’s 2002 tour de force, 28 Days Later. Romero-esque in essence yet featuring a far more realistic threat in the form of ‘infected’ individuals rather than actual reanimated ghouls, it popularized the concept of a zombie outbreak spreading via viral contamination, a set-up that clearly influenced authors Denver Grenell and Ian J. Middleton with their recent collaborative Beware The Moon literary release, Red Ruin.

Like Boyle's celluloid counterpart, the novel begins with a prologue detailing the animal origin of a curious rapid-onset affliction that causes extreme homicidal aggression in its victims that extends post-mortem. The plot focuses thereafter on twenty-something Carla Gallo, freshly fired from her cushy cruise ship job, as she begrudgingly returns to her hometown of Christchurch, New Zealand. Having left prior to the 2011 earthquake that devastated the city, Carla feels adrift amid the rebuilt metropolis, and after a somewhat disappointing reunion with her brother Antonio (‘Ants’ to those near and dear), Carla feels the reawakening doomy pall that initiated her departure years earlier.  
           
Carla’s humdrum anxieties about job stability and reuniting with her parents, however, end once an injured Ants, having been attacked on his way home from work by a crazed homeless man, quickly mutates into a blood-drooling engine of destruction. After he's put down (twice) by law enforcement, Carla’s existence becomes one of pure self-preservation: escaping the city just as the new plague destabilizes civil order, she wanders the countryside until coming upon a farmhouse occupied by a no-nonsense father willing to defend his kin at all costs…

While epic in scope, the world-building in Red Ruin wisely never overshadows the main narrative; throughout the novel, we earn snatches of what's happening around the rest of the country, but unlike Max Brooks' equally impressive undead-Armageddon classic, World War Z, the emphasis here is less on global calamity or the ramifications of societal collapse. At its heart this is a personal tale, spotlighting characters, their motivations, thoughts and inner drives. Until arriving at the farmhouse, the storyline feels purposefully disjointed; reeling from the transformation and subsequent death of Ants leaves Carla with recurring post-traumatic stress; far from being some cookie-cutter action star, she is instead portrayed as a real person with faults and unique disadvantages (unused to navigating without the internet, she struggles to read regular paper maps), and her city-girl attitude sharply contrasts (and conflicts) with the rural clan who eventually grant her shelter.

As the other primary protagonists, that family--hard-nosed patriarch Phil, Maori wife Ana, teenaged Tia and younger daughter Manaia--are as tight and self-sufficient a unit as can be. Like with Carla, Grenell and Middleton spend much careful time crafting each relative into fully-realized, three dimensional figures; Phil, for instance, initially portrayed as gruff, authoritarian and unyielding, is revealed later to be loving, friendly and as uncertain about his choices as anyone else. Similarly, Ana, seen early on as little more than a frightened housewife, soon takes her place in the story as Phil's equal, just as outspoken Tia sides with Carla to upset her father's often stubborn outlook regarding their new situation.

While both writers possess considerable individual skill (Grenell’s previous short fiction collection, The Burning Boy and Other Stories, and Middleton’s evocative sci-fi horror novel Ghosts of Gion are equally entertaining reads), Red Ruin thrives mightily on their collaboration. Unlike many co-authored works, a cohesion exists that renders each storyteller’s separate footprints invisible; Grenell and Middleton’s minds are enthusiastically conjoined, and their combined energy propels the narrative with a viciously vivid velocity. Fast, hypnotic prose bolsters furious set pieces--the sequence detailing the family's exodus from their barricaded abode is both riveting and flawlessly thought-out--yet they never trade characterization for gratuitous violence. As the novel progresses and the circumstances becomes bleaker and the stakes of failure higher, it's that strong emotional depth that snares a reader’s attention: we care, and deeply so, about the fate of Carla, Phil and his family, which ratchets up the tension during displays of menace.

If there’s any weakness to Red Ruin, it’s a sense of overfamiliarity. One consequence of the subgenre’s zeitgeist overload is that so many permutations of Romero’s initial premise now exist that innovation has become increasingly difficult, if not impossible. Like the aforementioned 28 Days Later--itself steeped in homage to 1979’s Dawn of the Dead--the structure of Red Ruin will be recognizable to anyone even casually acquainted with zombies: the bewilderment at the first infections, Carla’s flight to the countryside, being trapped with strangers at an isolated locale, finding sanctuary only to have it ultimately overrun. On the whole, however, this isn’t the fatal setback one might assume; many a modern rock band has been inspired by The Beatles, but does that make the efforts of those current musicians any less enjoyable? The same logic applies here: Red Ruin may revel in its influences and hit some expected story beats, but the overall delight remains undiluted. Buttressed by those powerful characterizations and an unstoppable intensity, Grenell and Middleton have created one of the best zombie outings yet written. The setting itself offers a singular strength; wielding the backdrop, customs and slang of New Zealand with rapier precision, the native-born Grenell and longtime Welsh expat Middleton lend a distinct Kiwi flavor to the shenanigans that unabashedly sets this novel apart from both its predecessors and other ghoul-centric fare.

Exciting, thought-provoking, expertly written and dangerously addictive, Red Ruin earns the full 5 (out of 5) stars on my Fang Scale. Highly recommended for those horror fans needing a fix of pure adrenaline. And the best part? A sequel is already in the works. May there be many more!

Kia Kaha. Stay Strong. Two simple words that together are worth more than the sum of their parts. Forever entwined with the New Zealand city of Christchurch, they meant little to Carla Gallo, until now.As one chapter of her life closes, Carla reluctantly returns to Christchurch to find a city she doesn’t remember, filled with more strangers than friends. Estranged from her parents, and a brother who is more drinking buddy than sibling, she once again has to make it on her own.When a sudden and violent outbreak sweeps through the country, she finds herself running for her life, and fighting to survive against a sleepless, merciless threat that turns its victims into savage killers. Taking refuge with a family living on the outskirts of the city, her priorities become tested as they’re forced to trust each other in this cruel new world.A terrifying, emotional, and at times brutal journey that sends Carla across the vast Canterbury Plains and deep into the New Zealand backcountry, where she must come to understand who she really is, if she is to see the last thing she holds dear ever again.Stay Strong. Stay Alive.

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

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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