The Haar: A Fog That Hides More Than You Want to See

Short introduction

The Haar is a short horror novel set in a quiet Scottish coastal town. It mixes folklore, grief, body horror, and revenge in a way that feels both strange and oddly emotional. On the surface, it looks like a creature feature. But once you start reading, you realize it’s really about loneliness, loss, and what happens when someone finally decides they’ve had enough of being stepped on.

The review

I didn’t pick up The Haar because I was in the mood for something deep. I just wanted something short and creepy, something I could finish quickly without thinking too hard. And for a while, it really does feel like that kind of book. Quiet town, old woman living alone, sea fog rolling in. Nothing dramatic. Just that uncomfortable feeling that something isn’t right.

Muriel is old, lonely, and tired in a way that feels very real. Not the poetic kind of loneliness you read about in novels, but the kind where days blur together and no one really listens to you anymore. Her town is falling apart, and on top of that, people with money and power are trying to push her out of her home. Everyone talks at her, not to her. And you can feel how invisible she’s become.

Before the horror even starts, the book already feels unfair. And that’s important, because once things do start going wrong, it doesn’t feel random. It feels earned.

After that, the fog comes in. The haar. Thick, wet, heavy, the kind that makes everything feel smaller. And with it, something else. The book doesn’t rush to explain what it is, which I liked. It doesn’t give you a name or a rulebook. It’s just there, moving in the background, watching, learning. At first, it almost feels curious rather than dangerous, which somehow makes it worse.

What surprised me is how the story slowly turns into something emotional instead of just scary. The creature doesn’t feel completely separate from Muriel. It feels connected to her in a way that’s hard to explain without spoiling things. Her grief, her anger, her exhaustion with being pushed around—it all seeps into the story. You start realizing that the monster isn’t the main problem. It’s more like a reaction.

And yeah, the book gets violent. There’s no gentle way to say that. Bones break, bodies change, and things get very physical, very fast. If you’re sensitive to body horror, this is not the book to casually pick up before bed. But weirdly, the gore didn’t feel there just for shock value. It felt angry. Like the book itself was fed up.

There’s also this undercurrent of rage running through the whole story. Rage at developers, at money, at people who talk about “progress” while quietly destroying lives. Muriel has spent years being polite, quiet, patient. Watching her finally stop doing that is uncomfortable, but also kind of understandable. At some point, the story stops asking you to judge her choices and just asks you to sit with them.

The setting really helps sell everything. This town feels damp, grey, and tired. Like it’s been waiting to die for a long time. The fog isn’t just atmosphere—it feels like a wall between Muriel and the rest of the world. Once it rolls in, everything feels closed off, like no one’s coming to help even if things get bad. Especially if things get bad.

The writing stays simple the whole way through. No long speeches. No pretty descriptions trying to soften what’s happening. It moves fast, almost too fast at times, like the story knows it doesn’t need to linger. Things escalate quickly toward the end, and once they do, there’s no pulling back. The book fully commits to what it’s becoming, even when it gets messy and uncomfortable.

By the final section, The Haar stops pretending to be subtle. It’s strange, violent, and honestly a little unhinged. But somehow, it still feels grounded in Muriel. Everything comes back to her—her losses, her anger, her refusal to disappear quietly. That’s what makes it work. Without her, it would just be another monster story. With her, it feels personal.

When I finished the book, I didn’t feel scared in the usual way. I felt weirdly calm. Like I’d just watched something ugly but honest. It’s not a book I’d recommend to everyone, and I wouldn’t call it “fun.” But if you like horror that’s emotional, rough around the edges, and not interested in being polite, The Haar is worth reading.
It’s short, bitter, fog-soaked, and angry. And it doesn’t apologize for any of it.