Sometimes ordinary mundane reality can be much scarier than supernatural beings. It's the knowledge that, for example, murderers aren't figments of imagination, but any one of us can get involved with them or foster them in our families.

What if the murderer is a child? Rhoda Penmark is a completely psychotic little twit, but has perfected her imitation of normal human behavior and emotions so well that most people are completely unaware of her true nature. Until her mother, Christine, begins to understand the situation. The ostensibly conventional 1950s milieu never seems idyllic, but has plenty of dark undertones and is soon engulfed completely by questions of hereditary sociopathy/pscyhopathy, Rhoda's antics, and Christine's slow mental deterioration. The tragedy culminates in a chilling ending that is much more effective than the tacked on compromise in the 1956 movie.