The October Film Haunt by Michael Wehunt is “it’s going right back in my TBR so I can read it again” good. It’s scary, funny, the characters are so real, you feel like you’re right there with them, maybe you were even part of the original October Film Haunt because you, too, always assume that you’re living in a horror movie where you don’t take your eyes off the doll as it could come to life at any moment, you do not say Bloody Mary or Candyman in the mirror because you’re no dummy, and you make a wide berth around that that tree because it could be the Pine Arch Creature.

The Witch of Willow Sound by Vanessa F. Penney is an unexpectedly sad, sweet, and at times funny, feminist gothic novel complete with witches, ghosts, and asylums.

The book opens with a dark, disturbing, almost grotesque prologue involving a nameless ole woman trying to cover up a death (murder?) by destroying a body by fire.

Spit Back the Bones by Teagan Olivia King is an eerie, American gothic horror romance with family curses, bog monsters, passionate love, deep-seated jealously, and hunger for power.

Body of Water by Adam Godfrey brings to mind some of my favorite Stephen King short stories like The Mist, Trucks, and The Raft, as Godfrey’s characters are trapped in a diner by something in or of the water. But there are other “bottle” horror stories out there, so it’s not just this similarity that brings the King to mind. 

Saltcrop by Yume Kitasei is a sci-fi, dystopian, eco-thriller -  and a domestic drama about three sisters with absent fathers raised by their grandmother after their mother commits suicide - and I am here for all of it. 

Some have humorous or nostalgic moments like when John Langan reminded me of how afraid we all were of quicksand when we were kids. And others nearly moved me to tears (“I’m not crying, you’re crying!”) such as when Cynthia Pelayo talked about the importance of breaking cycles of abuse. Others touched on shared experiences like when Clay Chapman mentioned the Challenger explosion; I was already inhaling every Stephen King book I could get my hands on at the time at 12, but that moment of real life horror is an indelible part of my brain chemistry.

Veil by Jonathan Janz is a fast-paced sci-fi action novel about family, what makes a family, and the expectations they have of us and we have of ourselves for them - oh, and about invisible somethings taking people right off the street or out of the park or even right out of their own freakin’ backyard to who knows where for who knows what purpose?

By page 3 of Uncharmed by Lucy Jane Wood, I was not only charmed, I was regretting being unarmed with tasty pastries. 

I read a lot of horror, and reading this cozy, witchy romance was a sweet treat - but it was not completely free of drama. 

Galloway’s Gospel by Sam Rebelein is clever, funny, sweet, sad, strange, and, most of all, scary, in both the immediate visceral and existential horrific senses. 

I wish I could have read Teenage Girls Can Be Demons by Hailey Piper when I was a teenage girl. This collection is a teenage girl rage trifecta - all at once a lesson in, an homage to, and permission for expressing righteous rage.

No Rest for the Wicked by Rachel Louise Adams is a thrilling mystery full of unresolved trauma, family issues, and small-town drama.

Like Josh Malerman himself, Watching Evil Dead: Unearthing the Radiant Artist Within cannot be easily defined or categorized (Good luck to the bookstores trying to decide where to shelve this.)

Bless Your Heart by Lindy Ryan is not a book for rushing to the end; it’s the kind of book that invites you to come in and stay for a while. It may invite you  to have a seat on the porch and ask you if you want some cornbread and buttermilk, and you'll say no you don't like buttermilk but could you have it with regular milk, and it'll look at you,  shake its head a little bit, but it'll get you regular milk - whole milk, none of this skim milk that’s basically water, and definitely not oat milk or almond milk or any other tree milk, and it’s no use saying, but, I’m vegan because you know that cornbread was made in a cast iron skillet seasoned with lard. 

Exiles by Mason Coile (pseudonym of the late Andrew Pyper) drops us in the deep end by outlining the harsh realities of space travel that usually get skimmed over (which, tbh, is fine with me, but that’s because blood is about the only bodily fluid or excretion that doesn’t gross me out. I know. That level of TMI is probably on par with what I’m getting from the first pages of Exiles). 

The Belles by Lacey N. Dunham is an atmospheric Southern gothic novel that shines a light on the dark side of tradition, privilege, and the desire to belong. 

The stories in Roots of My Fears (edited by the talented Gemma Amor) , although fiction, read like deeply personal horrors, and, though quite distinct from one another, the feeling of voyeurism into the protagonists’ and, by proxy, the writers’ darkest minds and hearts carried throughout the collection - so much so that at times, I felt discomfort and dread which bordered on fear - and may have once or twice tipped over. 

How to Survive a Slasher by Justine Pucella Winans is a sweet coming of age story masquerading as a self-aware teen slasher novel - and it’s a solid read for both. 

The Bog Wife almost reads like a fairy tale, with its rich mythology and casual disregard for what we might consider "reality", but it's also a tale full of heart as the siblings - all characters with whom it is impossible not to empathize thanks to Chronister's care in developing them as the most "real" part of the book and fully three-dimensional - wrestle with their loyalty to each other, their parents, the land, and themselves when those loyalties are at odds.

I definitely recommend this for anyone who enjoys a teen slasher with diverse characters, humor, and a satisfying conclusion. 

Acquired Taste is Clay McLeod Chapman’s most nefarious work yet. He’s telling us right in the title what his diabolical plan is. We may not like that first sip of - I was going to say “beer”, but when you see his opening sentence, it’s something more like a dirty gin martini - but by the end of 25 stories, we’ll be slurring “shaken, not stirred” with the best of them, even though by then, we’ll know you want to stir it for better flavor.