The latest book I’m taking on in this series is A Collection of Dreamscapes by Christina Sng.  this book is broken up into five different sections, each one containing its own personality and character which stand to set it apart from the others. There is the smallest amount of overlap, but it almost reads more as five separate collections.

The Love Song of Allegra – I’m so happy that this portion of the book was selected to kick things off. we get a series of 17 poems that all work back to back to tell an epic story in the tradition of, well, an epic poem. Think The Odyssey.

It lays out the story of Allegra, a warrior who takes the lead in this fantasy.  as I mentioned before, all of the poems work together to tell a complete story, but just like a novel might have a chapter that sticks in your memory, I absolutely adored the vivid imagery and brutality present in The King Who Became a Sycophant.

Fairy Tales – I treasured my time spent with this section. I thought it was the strongest in the book. It’s mostly made up of fairytales that we know well, and Sng gives them a twist, usually in a morbid or modern sense. Some are contained within a single poem, other span two or three to tell different aspects of a well-known story.

Sng does include some more obscure tales to mix it up as well, such as Girl on Fire. My favorites were the modern day take on Rapunzel from Rapunzel and The Girl From the Tower as well as the new spin on Hansel and Gretel.

All the Monsters in the World – As you might suspect, The section tells separate tales of monsters, both real and human. The monstrous ones are good and chill-inducing, but the human element is where the author truly shines.

Violation is probably one of the best examples in this book at taking a snapshot of raw emotion. And there’s so much implied, but left unsaid.

The Capacity of Violence – The poems here tend to be very visceral. One of my favorites, Mortal Life, contains this stanza, and I’m a little ashamed to admit it made me smile.

“You’ve always told me that I warm your heart. I throw it in the fire, now that’s a start.”

One of the coolest parts about this section is the way the two poems, The Joy of Sewing and A Capacity for Violence, book end the experience.

Myths and Dreamscapes – Another favorite section. I am a sucker for authors who work around and incorporate established mythologies into their work. Greek is the most prominent, but it’s seamlessly interwoven with our worldly tales and Sng’s own creativity.

The origins of Easter Island told in The Giants of Easter Island is intriguing. This section also contains my favorite poem in the entire book, When the Earth was Young. It’s short, simple, and gorgeous. Not a wasted word to paint the picture and I’ve been back to visit a few times since I first read it.

I feel very confident saying that this collection has something for everyone. I enjoyed every section on its own merits, and if I asked to pull 10 favorite poems from the finished product, I have no doubt that each section would be represented at least once. I highly recommend this book and I’ll be moving Sng’s other collection, A Collection of Nightmares, a bit up my list. 

I received a copy of this book from the publisher for review consideration.

Who doesn’t love a novel that spans 300 pages but only feels like half that? Dark Choir by Paul Melhuish, a new-to-me author, begins with Dan Hepworth returning to his hometown of Scarsdale following the death of his mother. Melhuish establishes upfront that Dan left for London out of necessity to escape the town that is essentially run by a pastor who more closely resembles a gangster. Dan also left behind a traumatic relationship with his mother as well as his sister, Lindsey, who has cerebral palsy and is a very central aspect of the story.

2019 had quite a few memorable villains, my personal favorite being Levi from John Boden’s Walk the Darkness Down. Pastor Widdowson is my first nominee for the best villain of 2020. Melhuish does a fantastic job of creating that archetype of a pastor who clearly doesn’t give a shit for what they preach and simply uses their position to influence and corrupt the people who need them. Widdowson has about half the town brainwashed and the other half blackmailed. He therefore says what goes and what does not in Scarsdale.

The crux of the story revolves around the abuse of disabled patients at the hands of their caregivers, and the cover-up involved. Treating this subject with respect is something that’s very important to me. I have no trouble knocking points off when an author doesn’t properly research and writes in a disrespectful manner. Thankfully, Melhuish writes these characters with appropriate empathy, and when I read the author’s bio I wasn’t surprised to find that he worked as an occupational therapist.

On the surface there are a lot of tropes pertaining to small town secrets and asylum horror, however I found this novel to be refreshingly original. Dan was not a perfect character but his arc and development are extremely satisfying. The pages pretty much turn themselves in Dark Choir and the horrifying surprises are plentiful around every corner. While not strictly a ghost story, fans of that will find a lot to like here. Same with fans of asylum and small town terror.


I was given an e-copy by the publisher for review consideration.

Michael Clark’s The Patience of a Dead Man was a creepy, atmospheric haunted house novel. By the time it was over, Clark let us know it wasn’t really over. It leaves the reader ready for Dead Woman Scorned which you might assume is just round 2. The biggest strength of this novel is that the journey you’re taken on is completely unexpected.

 The first half of the book deals with the origin story, So to speak, of Mildred Wells. While Clark makes it clear in book one that she’s not your run-of-the-mill ghost, the hundred plus years telling how she grew up and then developed her powers adds in necessary bit of backstory. There is a tightrope act here that the author walks carefully making Mildred a sympathetic character but also a rage-filled monster. Not an easy balance to maintain.

At first, I found myself questioning if we really needed more than 200 pages of exposition, but by the time we return to 1971(the time period from book one), the reader realizes that it’s not filler, but essential lore, which will unquestionably figure into the rest of the story. 

When we do return to 1971, there are some issues for Tim that don’t tie directly into the supernatural, but are equally compelling. A little taste of crime writing in a paranormal novel. We are introduced to new characters, such as Andrew Vaughn, and follow their narrative as it unfolds, engaged and trying to guess how it’s eventually going to weave back in to the story we’ve become invested in. The final pages set up book three in a shocking, maybe I should’ve seen that coming but I did not, kind of way.

One of the only issues I had with book one was the development of character relationships, and that was largely gone from book two. The budding relationship between Tim and Holly can be cheesy at times, intentionally so, but paints a much more realistic picture this time around, of a man finding love again after a bad divorce.

As in book one, there are a few technical glitches that can be written off to this being Clark’s first series of novels. I don’t believe for a second that they take away anything from the reader’s ability to immerse themselves. Michael Clark is a masterful story teller whose pacing and plotting made the story come alive and forced me to read the last 200 pages of Dead Woman Scorned in one sitting.

I’ll be starting book three, Anger is an Acid, the moment it knocks at my door, and I can’t wait to see what other stories this author has up his sleeve.

I was given a paperback copy by the author for review consideration.

Steve Stred is an author I was familiar with before taking on his poetry. His novella Ritual was a bleak journey into the heart of darkness. I can’t even imagine what the sick son of a gun has planned for it’s follow-ups. Knowing the places Stred’s mind was capable of going, I was excited to see what he could do with the stripped down and raw snapshot that poetry offers.

Steve claims that he writes bleak, dark, horrible stuff, and you’d be hard pressed to argue with that. A lot of the works here depict a battle with depression and anxiety, not to mention a writer quite close to the edge, and the potential outcome that would occur with letting himself slip. The language is very straightforward and Stred doesn’t mince words. In the afterword, he says that in order to keep the darkness at bay, he feels a need to put it down on the page. This notion goes a way toward establishing the feeling that Stred is using poetry to capture a moment in time.

One of the first things I noticed was how lyrical Stred’s poetry is, so it was not much of a surprise to find out that some of the poems here are actually adapted song lyrics. Even some of the pieces that were not adapted for this quality. The refrains in Dim the Sun and The Harpy come to mind. While many of the pieces depict very real battles, there are also some, like Darkness and Under Moon, The Huntress that showcase a fantastical element but still retain the atmosphere that Steve’s fiction has the tendency to create

Going in to April, I had some preconceived notions of what I might be reading. Oddly enough, this book comes the closest to that expectation. Truthfully, I’m not positive I would have had the same appreciation for it if I had read it a month ago. To understand and appreciate what’s happening on the page, I had to develop a better understanding of why it was going on the page in the first place. I won’t pretend to have anything more than a very foundational view of dark poetry, but there’s enough to encourage me to continue building the house.


I received an e-copy off this book from the author for review consideration.

The latest re-issue from Poltergeist Press is the story collection Black Bubbles, from author Kelli Owen. The book contains 21 stories, all complete with author notes, and if you’ve read my thoughts on collections/anthologies, you’ll know author’s notes at the end of a story have a way of winning me over. Usually Kelli’s are a few thoughtful words, a couple paragraphs at most, about the genesis of the story. Some are just fun, others gave a nice insight and enhanced my enjoyment of a particular piece. If you are someone who prefers to read a story and develop your interpretation, I will defend your right to do so, but I like to get inside the author’s head.

One could argue that inside the head of Kelli Owen is a scary place to be. No doubt, packed with information on serial killers, zombies, and a myriad of other nightmares, both human and not, that fill the pages of Black Bubbles. Like the majority of collections, there were stories that I enjoyed, whose cleverness left me with a smirk. There were some that didn’t resonate with me, but were written with the same flair present throughout, and just may be your cup of tea. There were others that will stick with me, long after this book nestles into its new home on my shelf.

Allow me to highlight a few stand-outs. The Tin Box is a solid choice for an opener, and it goes in a direction that I didn’t expect. That being said, after reading the other twenty stories, I might have been more prepared if it came later on in the collection. Brian Made Me Do It is a fun, fourth-wall breaking flash fiction piece, only enhanced by the story notes. Well worth the time of anyone complicit in this thing we call the horror community. Dig the Hole is a terrific story about domestic abuse and revenge. It’s also added a new phrase to my vernacular. How’s That Make You Feel? is Kelli Owen writing inside the mind of serial killers, a place that she seems to feel, if not comfortable, at least well-versed. No implications here.

Two stories stuck with me above all others, however. Spell is a tough one to read as a parent. Hell, I would imagine it’s tough to read not being a parent. Like in the recent work of Andrew Cull in Remains, the mixture of grief and horror is beautifully blended and captured in this story.

The final and titular story, Black Bubbles, is infinitely creative. The moment I recognized what was going on in the story, that twinge of jealousy that can only come from wishing you had thought of this idea, hit home. It’s dark, scary, semi-cosmic, it’s got brilliant social commentary regarding children and medication, and it’s oddly plausible.

This book was a pleasure to spread out over the course of a few weeks, reading a story or so a day. In order for a story collection to be able to unfold in this manner, every story has to have some redeeming value. Even the ones that aren’t up my alley are still written in a way that begs you to try the next one. There’s likely to be something that invites you in, or keeps you up at night. Why not both?

I was given an e-copy by the publisher for review consideration.

Survivors of a plane crash are stranded on an island and systematically picked off by the local wildlife i.e. mutant koala bears. Any contestants that cause problems are “helped along” by the organizers. This is exactly the kind of fare that works best when you know you’re picking up a book in the Rewind or Die series.
Ashford grabs the reader’s attention right in the prologue and doesn’t really relent at any point in the story. The book is fast-paced, and at 140 pages doesn’t have time for expositional fat. What you see is what you get. American readers may have to look into what a drop-bear is, I know I did. In short, it’s a large, aggressive carnivorous koala that appears in Australian folklore, but mainly serves to mess with tourists. These drop-bears come to life are vicious and brutal, occasionally traveling in packs and leaving no characters unharmed.
Speaking of characters, this is the type of novella that primarily introduces a sizable cast of characters in order for some to be bear, or maybe marsupial, fodder. Given the name of the book, the reader assumes there will be one person left standing, but who it might be is up for grabs. Though the antagonist is made clear, no one person really feels like the main character we’re actively supposed to be rooting for.
While the fast pace and straightforward nature of the story does help deliver a B-movie landscape, I would have liked to learn a little bit more about the organization that put this reality show from hell together. It almost seems as though there could be more stories to be told involving them. If you’re up for some down under inspired carnage that doesn’t go too deep, this just may be the read for you.

Food Fright is not necessarily a book I might have come upon if not for the Rewind or Die series, but the campy, over-the-top gore makes for a perfect fit. I’m not sure exactly what I expected from food horror, but witchcraft was not it. Although we jump to the viewpoints of various characters throughout the story, our main focus is Cassie. She gets roped into a prank that goes just about as wrong as a prank could go, and the repercussions are dire.
Chapter one contains one of the most grotesque scenes so far in the seven books present in the series. You might read it and think, well how the hell is this going to be fun? What exactly has Brennan been smoking? This could definitely have gone a couple ways. This could have been a supernatural revenge story thriller with tension galore. Instead, Nico Bell says nah, we’ve seen that. Know what we haven’t seen? A giant, french, talking, killer croissant. Have you read any stories with murderous clouds of cotton candy lately? No, me neither.
The I know what you did last summer-type vibe is still present, but there are outrageous set pieces littered throughout as the characters head toward a resolution. There are parts that border on cartoonish, but Bell still manages to inject poignant coming-of-age type development into the story.
Simply put, this is a fun story. If that’s the intent you have when you open up Food Fright, I bet it meets your expectations.

As I try desperately to catch up with the back catalog of Alan Baxter, I was really excited to get my hands on this release. Golden Fortune, Dragon Jade is a bit of a departure from what I’ve come to expect from this author, but still retains some of what makes his work unique.
For one, many of Baxter’s books and stories contain a sense of magic and his horror tends to embrace the fantastic. In the forward, Baxter presents this story as his version of a kung fu epic, showcasing a lifelong love of martial arts with both care and enthusiasm.
It’s a family friendly affair, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it pulls any punches. Action scenes, and particularly fight scenes, are a speciality for this author. Alan exhibits an unparalleled sense of control over any scene in question, and the end result is written clearly but worth a consistently exciting pace.
The two main characters, cousins Li Yong Fa and Li Zi Yi are instantly likable and have special talents that necessitate they work together to retrieve the item stolen from their home village. They encounter an awful lot of obstacles for such a short novella along the way. Without going into spoiler territory, there were elements that could have come off as silly, but were handled well, bookended by scenes of drama and tension, and integral to the journey forward, without necessarily acting as a deus ex machina.
Should Alan Baxter decide to set more stories in this world he’s created, expanding the mythology and paying a visit to some well-loved characters, I’ll be there for the ride.

The Wise Friend served as my introduction to Ramsey Campbell. As such I have no other works to hold up in comparison, simply the legendary author’s name standing behind this title. Combine that with the Flame Tree label on the book and I went in sight unseen. The plot is intriguing. We live inside the head of Patrick, who with the help of his son, Roy, uses a journal to investigate certain locations associated with the occult. The journal belonged to Patrick’s Aunt Thelma, who killed herself under mysterious circumstances.
I have read horror novels a plenty that I would categorize as slow-burn, but none fit the term quite so well as this one. The Wise Friend moves at a purposefully plodding pace, reveling in exposing the cracks in the relationships between the main characters; Patrick, his ex-wife Julia, Roy, and Roy’s girlfriend, Bella. The underlying obsession with learning more about Aunt Thelma and her work lies at the root of all the interactions in this book.
I had trouble finding any of the characters involved particularly compelling. I was not overly invested in Patrick’s relationship with his son, nor with anyone else. What kept me reading, and I did consider putting this novel away more than once, was the way Campbell moved the narrative forward. There is a constant feeling, an atmosphere, that something big is going to happen, that it’s right around the corner. In the end, we’re not let down. There is a place it’s all leading to and it is legitimately horrifying.
While I don’t believe this novel is for everyone, I really do have to commend the author for the way he leads the reader along down the story’s path, getting them to wonder what happens next. My reading preference is for a character-driven story, but I can’t argue against someone who writes in such an engaging way that I need to find out where the story goes even though I don’t care where the characters end up. If you like slow-burn occult horror, or are just a lifelong Ramsey Campbell fan, you may want to get wrapped up in The Wise Friend.

I received a copy from the publisher for review consideration.