Well, it was inevitable. Jonathan Janz has paid a visit to pretty much every sub-genre of horror literature imaginable. Eventually he would have to hit post-apocalyptic. As soon as I got a few chapters in, The Raven made me say, Boy I wish I’d thought of that. Janz sets the table for a post-apocalyptic wasteland based on an act of terrorism (seemingly a staple of the genre) that unleashes monsters from folklore all over the world (less of a staple). Don’t worry, I didn’t spoil much, I left the part I wish I’d thought of for you, future Raven reader, to discover for yourself.

The main character, a perfectly normal human being awash in a sea of horrifying beasts, is Dez McClane. There are parts where he comes across as almost superhuman in areas like weapons training, fighting, planning, but it’s competently explained that in this new world, any latent (normal human) that makes mistakes, doesn’t survive. Dez’s motivations are clear enough, searching for his lost wife, kidnapped by Keaton, the main antagonist. Such clear-cut reasoning allows the reader to back off when Dez does something like enter a bar full of horrific creatures. While it might seem like it goes against the careful character who has somehow survived in this world, it also speaks of a man who is desperate to get back the only person left making it worth staying alive.

There is an aspect to this book that I can see not working for some people. An unwritten rule states that a post-apocalyptic book should be sprawling and epic. It should span 500 plus pages and even something thinner, like The Road, should explore a variety of different locales. By comparison, The Raven is relatively self-contained. Not counting some flashback scenes, we spend a very short period of time exploring about three different locations, all in close proximity to each other.

Forgive the minor spoiler, but the way this novel ends sets up future stories to be told in this world. The argument could be made here that exploring just this small corner of the newfound world actually contributes to Janz’s world-building. Let me explain. The exposition at the beginning names some of the more common creatures the narrator has had to contend with. Some of these characters make up a large part of the story, some make brief appearances, others are never heard from at all. Add to that, Dez discovers new monsters alongside the reader. My point is The Raven shows us the potential this world holds and leaves up to our imagination what some of the other corners might look like. I, for one, can’t wait to see what Dez does the first time he encounters Satyrs with us along for the ride.

I’m throwing in here for good measure that while Dez’s motivations served his actions and portion of story in this book well, readers will need to go deeper to see what makes him tick in future installments. It’s going to be vital for investment in the character. That being said, I can’t imagine Jonathan Janz allowing a main character to fester in one-dimension land.

I enjoyed the story told here, but admittedly might feel unsatisfied if this were the extent of the world Janz created as opposed to the tip of the iceberg. I would recommend this novel not necessarily to fans of typical post-apocalyptic faire, but to fans of folklore, Janz’s work with werewolves, or even just Janz fans in general. I have my favorites when it comes to his books, but I have yet to find a novel of his that doesn’t leave me satisfied when all is said and done.

I was given a copy by the publisher for review consideration.

Dark Peninsula Press greets the indie horror scene with an anthology of survival horror. If, like me, you have a vague idea of what that could mean, but aren’t quite sure what you’re getting yourself into, editor Aric Sundquist pens a not-to-be-missed introduction on the subject. This introduction details how the main inspiration is taken from video games such as Silent Hill and Resident Evil, to name just a couple, the themes are present throughout the history of horror literature and film. For those still on the fence, I’ll paraphrase Sundquist. Survival horror usually focuses on the story’s protagonist in an unknown environment facing down an unfamiliar evil, typically making use of elements in their environment.
The isolation necessary for stories of survival horror to work is evident on the cover artwork, done by Mikio Murakami, and it really sets the tone for what you’re about to read. This anthology could’ve contained a myriad of stories that were so similar in tone or substance that the reader taps out a little ways in. Sundquist did a stellar job of curating the table of contents, giving the reader a variety of settings, monsters, types of protagonists, and even varying story lengths to keep the reader coming back for more.
Some stories work well, others didn’t ring the bell for me, so allow me to share some favorites I discovered in Negative Space:
“Luminescence” by Scotty Milder - Kudos to this one for two reasons. Allowing this story to bat leadoff assures the reader that this collection is going to contain the unexpected. Reason number two - I have never before, nor do I ever expect to again, read a story where the main antagonists are cuttlefish.
“The Collectors” by Michelle Tang - I’m not a big video game person, but I felt as though this story really captured the aesthetic the book was going for. It’s written in a way that feels like you’re trailing just behind the character as they advance down dark hallways, unsure of what might jump out at them from around the next corner.
“Black Tongue” by Richard Beauchamp - I’ve mentioned before that this anthology does a good job of splitting up familiar tropes. That being said, survival horror leaves itself open to a lot of zombie stories. This was my personal favorite in the bunch, incorporating elements of Native American lore and ritual magic.
“The Whale Hunts” by P.L. McMillan - I’m not sure why, but I didn’t expect to like this one. Maybe it’s the distant future, sci-fi elements, but either way, I was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed this cosmic version of Moby Dick.
“Midnight, Off Arkansas River Trail” by Eric J. Guignard - I’m a sucker for that whole idea of some kind of entity jumping from body to body, so the characters are never entirely sure who to trust and who not to. Going the length of the story not sure if you’re going to have to turn on a friend, or have them turn on you is unsettling at best, and makes for great tension. Add Guignard’s dialogue to the mix, and I’m sold.
I’m loving the way Dark Peninsula seems to be putting their focus on quality themed anthologies, one at a time in order to produce the best possible product for horror readers. The next offering, though no release date is available yet, will be Violent Vixens: An Homage to Grindhouse Horror. The care that went into the packaging and contents and curation of Negative Space tells me this is a press whose anthologies will need a home on my shelf.

I received a copy from the publisher for review consideration.

Okay, I’m intrigued by this. I love my end-of-the-world doorstops a la Swan Song or The Stand, and recently there have been some seriously cool apocalyptic series - Taff’s The Fearing and Daniel Barnett’s Nightmareland. While Monstre leans a little closer to the latter, Volume one weighs in at over 450 pages. The other element that makes this interesting is that we have no idea what Swan has in store for us. Are we looking at a 1,000 page trilogy? Are we set to do a Dark Tower-esque sprawling epic? The only guess I feel good about making is that it will be more than two. Book one packs a lot into these pages, but when the last page turns, there’s a sense that we’ve really only laid the groundwork.

The story is told, essentially, in two parts. The book opens up on the events that kick everything into gear - a mysterious, and supposedly impossible, accident at CERN (European Organization for Nuclear Research) sending toxic smoke into the air. A cloud of death that just keeps spreading. The storytelling device is tough to describe here, because as much as I want to use the word “flashback” that’s just not accurate. Throughout the runtime of the book, there are multiple sections taking place on Day Zero, Day One, Day Two, etc. 

The second part takes place approximately three months later, dealing with not only the spread of the cloud, but the survivors and their plight. Even though these events take place months apart, the book runs them parallel to each other. I can’t think of any other stories I’ve read that operate in quite this manner.

I don’t want to take anything away from the monsters, or “monstres” that Swan gives our characters to contend with. They are truly nightmarish abominations, described in vivid detail that’ll make your skin crawl, and make you thankful they aren’t part of 2020’s apocalypse plans - not yet, anyway. There’s also a theory presented by one character as fact as to the origins of these beasts that leaves the reader wondering whether to accept this at face value or not. Like I said, there’s still a lot of story left.

When I said I don’t want to take anything away from the monster the author creates, it probably read like a caveat. And that’s because it is. The monsters are great, but Duncan Swan revels in exploring the  “people are the real monsters” trope. Not just in the creation of vile characters, of which there are plenty, but there are long spans of the book whether the actions and conflicts are directly related to interpersonal relations and the post-apocalyptic setting is temporarily put aside. Truth be told, these are some of the best sequences of the book and largely make the third act successful.

CW: Many readers may not care about this, and if that’s you, no worries. Skip to the last paragraph. I’m not a huge fan of books, modern ones, using the R-word, especially when it happens during narration and prose as opposed to  in dialogue. I realize it may not bother some readers, but I wanted to include this as some semblance of a content warning. I’d also add that it doesn’t happen frequently, but there are multiple occurrences throughout the book. 

Swan has the engine running on a new sprawling, epic apocalyptic story, and the most impressive thing to me, is that he’s managing to do something different here. I don’t know if I’m completely sold yet, but I am unquestionably intrigued enough to check out Volume 2 in Winter 2021. I would recommend this book to fans of world-ending doorstops, be they complete or serialized, as well as fans of survival horror - something this story pulls off quite well. The last thing I’ll say is I hope you like cliffhangers, because… 


I received a copy from the publicist for review consideration.

I’ve mentioned this before, so please forgive the repetition, but I believe short fiction collections are the best way to get to know a new-to-me author. Emphasis on new-to-me because as a Zebra Horror veteran, it’s hard to label Ronald Kelly as new. The guy’s been churning out quality horror since I was born. This just happens to be my first foray into this territory.
If you are a habitual introduction skipper, do yourself a favor and don’t skip this one, for two reasons. First, Kelly has this way of writing an intro that uses alliteration and creative turns of phrase almost reminiscent of the way we begin an episode of Tales From the Crypt. Second, and potentially more important, because Kelly details what you’re about the read. Many of the stories in this book fit nicely under the umbrella of splatterpunk and Kelly lets us know they were written in an effort to go over the top. And that is exactly where they go.
The Essential Sick Stuff is divided into three sections, two of which were previously released - Sick Stuff, More Sick Stuff, and Even Sicker Stuff. While my go-to way of reviewing a collection tends to be highlighting all my favorite stories, that would take up quite a bit of space, so allow me to highlight just a few favorites from each section.
The Sick Stuff: If the introduction doesn’t prepare you for the worst of the worst, “Diary” will quickly show you what you’re in for. “Housewarming” is a rough read if you don’t like spiders, but whether or not that makes your skin crawl, don’t skip this one. “Pins and Needles” may be the most viscerally disturbing in the bunch. Just try reading about the cake and keeping it together. This portion closes out with “Mojo Mama”, a dark fantasy-esque story revolving around a cursed family whose individual afflictions make for some rough reading.
More Sick Stuff: “Consumption” offers some squirm inducing parasite horror that hangs in and delivers all the way to the last line. “The Day UPS Brought Zombies” is just all-out fun and features a cameo from another big voice in the horror scene. Sure, there’s gore, but you’ll have a blast reading this one. “Snakehandler” features some religious zealotry and highlights one way a con-man could pull the wool over the eyes of an unsuspecting congregation. “Cell Number Nine” proves that Kelly does creepy crawlies super well, and without having to resort to the same tricks.
Even Sicker Stuff: The shortest of the three sections doesn’t let up on the reader at all. “The Nipples in Dad’s Toolbox” is one of my favorite stories in the whole book, and has a little more depth to it than the title might suggest while also remaining grisly. “Miss Abigail’s Delicate Condition” draws the reader in with a bit of mystery and then lets you have it if you stick around long enough. The final story “Quetzalcoatl’s Revenge” wraps the collection up with some comeuppance-related body horror, assuring the reader that Kelly’s not going to run out of ways to make you feel a bit queasy.
The stories in Essential Sick Stuff are not for the faint of heart or the sensitive of stomach. There are some hard things to read, though Kelly doesn’t rely on rape/sexual assault to increase shock factor. That he has this many stories collected that seek to push the limits, but don’t rely on that sexual exploitation is commendable. It’s a memorable collection to be sure, and a great introduction if you’ve never read Ronald Kelly’s work before.

I received a copy from the publisher for review consideration.

This is our season, people. The time of year where spooky stuff is everywhere and the type of things we celebrate year-round become socially acceptable, at least temporarily. That said, I have mixed feelings on these types of collections. Sometimes it can feel a bit opportunistic, and seasonally themed stories read like the holiday element was an afterthought in the story’s plot.
Ronald Kelly’s The Halloween Store doesn’t suffer from this. Quite the opposite. Something that stuck with me was how Kelly used the introduction as well as a couple essays at the end to wax poetic about his lifelong love of Halloween. The reader is transported back to the days of late September trips to the drug store - bins full of grotesque rubber masks and costumes in spades, presenting the opportunity to become anything for just one night. Then there’s the magic of the night itself. But I’m allowing a book review to turn into a nostalgia session here.
The Halloween Store collects seven stories with the aforementioned essays together. The titular story reflects and builds on the idea of being able to transform into your favorite monster for one night. We see the magic, the excitement, while also examining the horrifying consequences that would result from such an ability.
Some of the stories collected maintain a more traditional short story length, hitting fast and hard as I’ve discovered Kelly is wont to do. “Blood Suede Shoes”, “Clown Treats”, “The Cistern”, and “The Amazing and Totally Awesome Fright Creature!” all detail accounts that transpire on Halloween nights, but stray from the carefree fun you remember from childhood. Of these, “Clown Treats” is the probably the most deranged, and therefore obviously, my favorite.
The other stories have a little more length to them, and benefit from that added word count. “The Halloween Store” and “Mister Mack is Back in Town” are in that mold, but perhaps it works best in the almost novelette length “Pretty Little Lanterns”. Taking place in the 1920’s. This story is a fun, intriguing combination of murder mystery and slasher bringing in Jack the Ripper lore to craft something really memorable. Certainly my favorite offering in an already stellar collection.
At 150 pages, The Halloween Store is a quick read, and even though some stories are better than others, there are no clunkers. This may be a collection I revisit every year when the leaves begin to fall off the trees.

I received a copy from the author for review consideration.

Look, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to tell you anything new here. I’ve seen nothing but positive acclaim for this title, and I’m going to be adding my voice to the din momentarily. 

The elevator pitch for We Need To Do Something: a family of four shelters in a bathroom on page one to avoid a severe storm warning. Booth sets out to do something pretty unique and extraordinary here, asking himself, “Can I set an entire 150-page book in one small room and make it interesting?” The answer is yes, you magnificent bastard.

The story is intriguing, but not much actually happens for the first half. Rather we spend this time getting to know the characters. Melissa is an angsty teen who, despite the first-person writing, manages to keep some secrets from the reader, gradually doling them out as the pages turn. In the interest of show, don’t tell, Booth does a fantastic job of showing us Melissa’s love for (most of) her family. Bobby is either the little brother you had, or the little brother one of your friends had. Hell, maybe he was you. Anyone who complains about the overabundant usage of words like “butt” and “fart” needs to meet a little boy.

Melissa’s parents are…let’s say nuanced. Dad is instantly recognizable, and definitely on Facebook. Mom is imbued with a quiet strength, and although flawed, the last remaining bit of glue holding the family together. As a beginning writer, I kept my eyes wide for how to make a book like this novella-length, and a relatively long novella at that. The answer: build characters, establish conflict, and compelling dialogue. Simple on the surface, but not so easy to pull off as to talk about.


The last thirty to forty pages are what puts this book irretrievably into five-star territory for me. Booth sets the anxiety dial on ten, and then slowly turns it up for the rest of the book, a crescendo into chaos if you will. Christopher Nolan has this technique he uses in a lot of his movie trailers, notably Dunkirk, where he takes a piece of Hans Zimmer’s score that focuses on sustained tone and just increases volume and dissonance throughout the run time. The end of We Need To Do Something felt like this was happening, and there were times when it felt like too much. When I hit page 150 and the story was over, I found that my stomach physically hurt.

This book will stick with me, and as I said at the beginning, a lot of you might already know that, but if you haven’t gotten around to it yet, move it up the list. If you were going to skip it, don’t. Simple as that. My highest recommendation if you want to a story that will get under your skin in the best way.

S.H. Cooper is the epitome of that author I want to get to so bad and I just never seem to get to. Seriously, I’ve moved The Festering Ones to the front of my Kindle so many times only to not quite get to it. I’ve got The Corpse Garden withering away there too. Thankfully, All That’s Fair is the book that simultaneously lets me know what a mistake I’ve made up to this point and prompts me to un-fornicate that immediately. Side note: I actually did start reading The Festering Ones between wrapping up this brilliant collection of stories and writing this review.

The theme of this book is twenty-two stories revolving around women. Every single one of them acts as a short nightmare, fantastically addictive in their execution. The tales are like a certain brand of potato chips where you can’t have just one, because holy hell, what else could Cooper possibly dream up to keep you and sleep from meeting up late at night. 

Many of the stories, such as “The Limping Woman”, “Twelve Hands”, “La Mere Blafarde”, and “The Shy Lady” embrace the style of an urban legend, a storytelling device that Cooper pulls off expertly and aides her in defying comparison.

Other stories craft unforgettable monsters that don’t pull from folklore and classic horror, but are seemingly born in the twisted mind of the author. “Whatever Happened to Lavinia Cartwright?” offers up some of the most shudder-inducing imagery of the whole collection while exploring a more gothic style of storytelling. “And Miyoko Waited” is a brutal and timely message for all the not-so-nice guys out there, “Middle Child Syndrome” explores a truly interesting concept and introduces a creature I simply can’t shake from my psyche.

All That’s Fair is that rare collection with no ‘skip’ stories. Every single one has something unique to offer. I’d highly recommend every single one mentioned thus far and I haven’t even gotten to the point where I share my favorites yet! “The O’Sullivan Song” is an excellent addition that flips a semi-familiar creature from folklore on its head and adds to its mythology, tugging on the heartstrings a bit as it goes. “The Crone’s Wood” was easily identifiable as a top three story with a fair bit of book still to go. The less said about the story, the better for the reader’s experience, but this is a can’t-miss tale. Finally, I loved to the center of my very being, the story “So Much Filler”. This is another heartstring tugger and a little nugget of beauty tucked within had me a bit misty by the end.

While trying my best to point out all the reasons a reader should check out this collection, I had to bypass so many stories that I think you’re going to love, just so the review isn’t longer than the book. I believe it’s worth repeating that Cooper doesn’t waste a page here and I enjoyed every moment. If you’ve read her fiction before, you probably know that. If you haven’t gotten to it yet, see paragraph one and procrastinate no longer.

This is write-up number ten for a book in Unnerving’s Rewind or Die series, and my excitement to pick one of these little ditties up has not diminished in the slightest. Kudos to Eddie Generous for, among other things, rounding up such a vast array of tropes in the process of introducing horror readers to so many new and wonderful authors. I realize now that Renee Miller has multiple books out, but this is the first I’ve had the pleasure of picking up. Blood Lake Monster follows up the aquatic horror in The Kelping, by Jan Stinchcomb, with a dose of swampy, land-locked lake creature.

Some of the titles in this series deliver exactly what they advertise - a VHS B-movie, popcorn munching good time. Some go a bit deeper, and this is arguably one of those. Maribel Daniel is treated not-so-nice by a lot of the locals, boys especially, mainly for being different - not acting like a giddy, flirtatious high school student. Not to mention having no fear of verbally cutting them down to size. Luke and his friends take this as a personal affront and when the boys try and teach her a lesson (how absolutely dare she!) things go awry. 

Blood Lake Monster actually puts the focus more on Anya, Maribel’s younger sister, ten years after the inciting incident. Thirteen years old when everything happens, and having had lots of time alone with her thoughts to process the events, she returns to the trailer park where she spent her formative years, intent on proving her sister’s death was a murder and that Luke was behind it. The story deals heavily with revenge, and although you get gross-out half-fish swamp monster with razor sharp claws, blood, guts, and gore, the tale is accompanied by ethical dilemmas and discussion a plenty.

Unnerving continues the tradition of putting out phenomenal women authors who all have original stories to tell. Miller’s book stands up alongside Hailey Piper, V Castro, Jessica Guess, Jessica Quigley, and more in a series that celebrates marginalized voices and has, not remotely as a coincidence, put some of the best fun, horror fiction of 2020.

What an interesting case Malorie is. Bird Box has been one of my favorite books, and while the ending didn't shut the door on a sequel, it didn't come off as a necessity either. Listening to Malerman speak about the genesis of this book, the reader is assured that this isn't a cash grab, it's not an easy way to write a book that will sell. Malerman's not exactly running short on ideas. No, this book was written because of Malerman's sincere love of this character.

So how does one write a sequel to one of the most tension-filled original books in the horror scene? Like this, I guess. Malorie plays familiar notes, assuring us that the author has painstakingly recrafted the same world from the previous book, but a decade later. We're presented with the way the world has changed, the perception of the creatures has changed, and the way humanity reacts to them has changed. This is the running line for the story, and what helps it feel fresh.

I've mentioned the tension that Malerman wrote into the first book, and while Malorie doesn't quite grab those levels, it's more from a sense of not trying to play that hit twice than swinging and missing. The reader commiserates a bit more this time with Malorie's sense of self preservation, as well as her attempts to keep her children safe. The lore in this world is expanded upon, and Malerman once again leaves the door open to more stories written in this world.

Malorie didn't resonate with me quite as much as Bird Box did, but that's okay. I'd rather read a story set in this world that goes to new places and tries new things, rather than something that tries to rehash the lightning captured in a bottle before. Malorie does this nicely.

I’ve listened to Michael David Wilson on This is Horror since my introduction to the indie horror community. He’s been a formative part of my fiction-related education as it pertains to all things spooky. A debut novella from a trusted publisher that had garnered fantastic early reviews was a no-brainer. Getting to it in a timely fashion was a little tougher, though.

Thankfully, I eventually found the time to move this slim volume to the top of the pile, and it was a treat. Wilson takes full advantage of the cinematic type of storytelling that novellas seems to be the perfect vehicle before. The book jumps in, wheels turning, and the reader is not allowed to stop for a rest until the last page has been turned.

The book follows Freddie, a teacher who receives an odd bit of Spam, that he’s understandably intrigued by. A girl in a Hello Kitty mask acting… unusually. The pervasion of all things technological and social media-based by the titular girl in the video begins to dominate Freddie’s headspace and curiosity turns to paranoia turns to fear.

To say more is to wander unashamedly into spoiler territory, and that’s no good because this review is going to wind up with my whole-hearted recommendation to go buy. The pacing is exciting, relentless. The story is unsettling and Wilson conveys that deep sense of unease to the reader. The ending is unforgettable, and leaves some aspects, not so much to the reader’s imagination, but unresolved in a nod to the way the real world works.

Between The Girl and the Video and the upcoming They’re Watching, co-written with Bob Pastorella, Wilson has added his name to my list of insta-buy authors.