Nothing Felt Wrong at First — That’s What Made It Terrifying

Short introduction
Come Closer is a psychological horror novel about possession, but not in the dramatic, spinning-head, holy-water kind of way. It’s quiet, modern, and very close to real life. The book follows a woman named Amanda as something slowly starts going wrong with her thoughts, her behavior, and her sense of self. It’s short, simple, and written in a very direct voice — which is exactly why it works.

The review
This book doesn’t start with anything scary. That’s the first thing that stood out to me. No warning signs, no creepy atmosphere right away. It just feels like someone talking about their life. Normal job. Normal marriage. Normal thoughts. And honestly, for the first few pages, I kept waiting for the “horror” to show up.

Instead, what you get are tiny changes.

Amanda starts noticing small things about herself that feel… off. Nothing huge. Just little shifts in her thoughts. Moments where she reacts differently than she normally would. Slight irritations. Strange impulses. And the scary part is how easy it is to brush those things aside — because that’s exactly what we do in real life.

At first, it feels almost relatable. Like stress. Like burnout. Like those phases where you don’t recognize yourself but assume it’ll pass. The book captures that feeling really well — that uncomfortable in-between where you know something isn’t right, but you don’t have proof yet.

What makes Come Closer unsettling is the voice. The entire story is told from Amanda’s perspective, and it feels very personal, almost confessional. She’s not dramatic. She’s not panicking. She’s just describing what’s happening as honestly as she can. And because she doesn’t sound scared at first, you don’t feel scared either. You just feel uneasy.

As the story goes on, the changes become harder to ignore. Her thoughts get darker. Her actions get colder. There’s a growing sense of detachment, like she’s watching herself from a distance but can’t quite stop what’s happening. And the worst part is how calm the narration stays even when things clearly aren’t okay.

This isn’t a book full of jump scares. It’s a slow, sinking feeling. Like realizing you’re drifting further from shore but still telling yourself you can swim back.

The possession element is handled in a really interesting way. There’s no immediate explanation, no dramatic reveal. The book lets you sit in uncertainty for a long time. Is this supernatural? Is it psychological? Is Amanda losing control, or is she simply becoming someone she didn’t know she could be?

And honestly, that ambiguity makes it scarier.

There are moments where Amanda says or does things that are disturbing, but they’re written so casually that you almost don’t react right away. Then a second later, it hits you. You reread a sentence and think, wait… that’s not normal. That delayed reaction is one of the strongest parts of the book.

The relationships in the story also feel painfully realistic. Her marriage doesn’t collapse overnight. It erodes slowly. Conversations feel slightly off. Emotional distance creeps in. You can feel how isolation grows — not because people abandon her, but because she becomes harder to reach.

What I really appreciated is how the book doesn’t romanticize what’s happening. Amanda isn’t suddenly powerful or mysterious in a cool way. She’s uncomfortable. She’s losing control. She’s becoming someone she doesn’t fully understand, and that loss of agency is what makes the story genuinely disturbing.

The writing style is very clean and simple. Short chapters. Straightforward sentences. No unnecessary description. It almost feels like reading a diary, which makes the whole thing feel uncomfortably intimate. You’re inside her head the entire time, and there’s no escape from that perspective.
By the time the story reaches its later stages, things escalate — but even then, the book avoids being loud. There’s no big showdown. No dramatic rescue. Just a sense of inevitability. Like watching something slowly lock into place and realizing it was always heading there.

When I finished Come Closer, I didn’t feel shocked. I felt unsettled in a quiet way. The kind that makes you pay more attention to your own thoughts for a while. The kind that makes you wonder how well you really know yourself, and how much control you actually have over who you are.

This is not a book I’d recommend if you want fast-paced horror or lots of action. But if you like psychological horror, unreliable narration, and stories that feel uncomfortably close to real life, this one is absolutely worth reading.

It’s short, sharp, and deeply unsettling — not because of what happens, but because of how calmly it happens.