Teague House is a creepy family estate that’s giving major "skeletons in the closet" vibes… except, you know, they’re actual skeletons in the backyard. Let’s dive in, shall we?

The Rawlins siblings—Jon, Sandra, and Robby—reunite at their gloomy Oregon childhood home, Teague House, after their aloof mother, Val, kicks the bucket. I was so here for the gothic vibes: creaky floors, foggy woods, and a family so dysfunctional they make my holiday dinners look like a Hallmark movie. Then, bam! They find a fresh grave in the backyard, followed by a whole cemetery of older ones. Cue Whoopi Goldberg, “You in danger, girl!” 

Johns paints Teague House like it’s auditioning for a horror flick. The woods feel alive, whispering secrets, and every room in that house is stuffed with grief and old grudges. I could practically smell the musty curtains and hear the wind rattling the windows. The multiple POVs—siblings, their aunt Phil, and a PI named Maddie Reed—kept me on my toes, like I was piecing together a juicy puzzle. Maddie, oh my gosh, she’s my kind of girl: tough, haunted, and chasing a killer who might tie to her own past. I was rooting for her. 

But, okay, let’s get real for a sec. The pacing? It’s like Johns invited me to a fabulous party but forgot to serve snacks for the first hour. The start drags, with too much family bickering before the bodies pop up. I was ready to yell, “Get to the good stuff!” And when the reveals finally hit, they’re juicy, but some felt like they were pulled out of a hat. I wanted more breadcrumbs, more “aha!” moments that made me feel clever, not just shocked. The ending, bless its heart, tries to tie every loose end into a bow, but it’s more like a hasty knot. 

Still, I enjoyed reading about Sandra’s repressed memories or Robby’s shady vibe that had me side-eyeing him from page one. Johns nails the messy, human side of family trauma—like, I texted my sister after reading to make sure we don’t have any buried secrets (jury’s still out, even though we already found out about the killer uncle—true story). The characters are flawed and gray, and I was living for it. Aunt Phil’s flashbacks? Chef’s kiss for adding spice to the past.

So, What Remains of Teague House is a moody, twisty debut that’s perfect for anyone who loves a thriller with a side of family drama. I’m already daydreaming about Johns’ next book, because if this is her first swing, I’m obsessed with what’s coming.