book reviews
Book reviews for horror fans; weather a sleepless night with literary accounts of hauntings, possessions, zombies, vampires and beyond.
The Real Story of Grandpa’s the Spirit, Parts 1 and 2
Mateja Klaric posted an invitation for participants in a writers’ group on LinkedIn to share anecdotes about the oddest things that have occurred to them. Well, I’ve seen a great deal of unusual things, but this has to be the only one that delves into the area of the paranormal. At the time it occurred, I accepted what I saw as a ghost; today, as a somewhat more skeptical adult, I maintain that I have no explanation for what I witnessed. In any case, it remains a really unique memory. Here’s the story:
By QuirkTalesabout a year ago in Horror
The Blood Tree: The Curse That Consumed David
Do you hear them? The scientists, the -ologists of every stripe, proclaiming their reason, their ethics, their goodness? Show them the annals of their profession, and you will find that for every Carl Sagan or Marie Curie, there are ten Unit 731s, electroshock clinics, Ahnenerbes, Tuskegees, and every manner of secret pervert, sadist, and psychopath lurking beneath the veneer of progress. Show them how the AIs they’ve birthed serve the grey parasites of corporate Olympus, devouring what remains of our humanity. Show them how their drugs treat only symptoms, lining their pockets while the soul withers. And yet, many of them will shrug and tell you that an ethics board is all humanity needs to stride into the future, that “reason” and “the scientific method” are the sole arbiters of truth—even as they publish papers riddled with p-hacking and devoid of control groups. They know nothing of what lies beyond. No philosophy, no vision can rival the dogmas they dare call nonreligious. Nothing compares to the bureaucratic ecstasy of a calculated, curated list of ways to avoid ever touching a woman. They will stuff a man into a machine or weave a child from networks and crown themselves new Outer Gods because the wretched thing is “alive” and screaming for death.
By Pedro Wilsonabout a year ago in Horror
Shadows Under the White Sun
Two years ago, I found myself gazing into the lifeless eyes of a little girl. She lay sprawled across a desolate highway, deep in what was once the heart of the Midwest. Her eyes, clouded and fermenting, seemed to stare through me, past me, and upward into the vast, sun-bleached sky.
By Pedro Wilsonabout a year ago in Horror
Shadows of the Family: A Secret That Will Never Die
My parents, as you might imagine, were not mere ordinary figures in this world. They were among those who walked in the shadows, wielding power and wealth with an unrelenting grip. Their canopies stretched like colossal trees, roots digging deep into the earth, branches blotting out the sun. And in their world, marriage was not a union of hearts but an alliance of interests, a transaction calculated with precision. This, my friend, would later prove to be of great significance.
By Pedro Wilsonabout a year ago in Horror
Beyond the Trees: The Unforgettable Whispers of the Forest
Do not venture into those woods after dark. It was one of those admonitions you grew up hearing, whispered by everyone in this town, as though it were a sacred truth passed down through generations. A warning etched into the very fabric of our childhoods, like the old tales of monsters under the bed or the dangers of swimming too soon after eating. Stories you eventually outgrew, realizing they were little more than tools to keep you safe, to keep you in line when you were too young to understand the world’s true dangers.
By Pedro Wilsonabout a year ago in Horror
The Nightly Reaping: When Shadows Come for Our Souls
I was but fifteen years old when my father and I sought refuge in that ancient trailer nestled deep within the valley. It was a wretched place, barely functional, where the bathroom doubled as the kitchen, and there was no shower to speak of. In the winter, the pipes would freeze, and the tiny room we shared was scarcely warmed by a feeble space heater.
By Pedro Wilsonabout a year ago in Horror
The Shadow of Adeline: A Journey Between Love, Death, and Memories That Never Die
The girl in the graveyard is your dearest companion, and thus, you bear her homeward. The night lies between you like a bruise, a stain of crimson in the window of the passenger seat—a hue akin to fruit left to fester and decay. Her fingers, cold and lifeless, fumble with the seatbelt—one, then two.
By Pedro Wilsonabout a year ago in Horror
