Big exhale. This is my first experience with an Aaron Dries book, and it’s… a lot. The story opens with a rescue effort for young Amity Collins, who is lost in the wilderness. The results are equal parts tragic and life-altering leaving Amity deaf and fatherless. Fast forward thirteen years, and Amity, alongside her brother Caleb, decide they’ve had enough of Evans Head, Australia, and decide to travel, ending up in Thailand. A series of events sends them, alongside a few other characters that the reader head hops along to an island called Koh Mai Phaaw to see a local primate-centered tourist attraction.

Once they arrive at the island, everything goes bad. Not pretty bad. Not relatively bad. Real, real bad. What follows is a no-holds barred, ultra-violent(borrowed from the back cover) extravaganza where no character is safe, and Dries doesn’t allow you to look away while he eviscerates and mutilates. Despite the warning the synopsis on the back provides, I found myself ill-prepared for just how gory things would get. There’s a hint given the events of chapter one, but the island visit is truly on another level.

My only complaint comes with the final act of the book. Up until about page 250 or so, the story is enthralling and relatively straightforward. There are hints and subtle elements of the supernatural, but around the third act, things get weird, things get trippy, and for me, things got incomprehensible. Readers who are smarter than I am may find a lot to like here, but there were some things that went over my head.

Something that stands out almost as soon as you open the book is the prose of Aaron Dries. His writing is vivid and even though his descriptions can be downright unsettling, there’s an air of beauty to everything he writes. It didn’t surprise me to learn that Dries works/has worked in nursing and social work. A Place For Sinners would be at home being labeled splatterpunk, but there’s a humanity in the atmosphere throughout the story that doesn’t always show up in comparable works.

While A Place For Sinners didn’t work for me quite as much as I’ve seen it work for others, the writing style Dries employs has me intrigued. This is an author whose other books I’ll be looking out for. Notably, Cut To Care - Dries’ short story collection set to be released next year. A Place For Sinners is now available through Beneath Hell Publishing.

I’m not a big play reader, but Briana Morgan’s name kept popping up all over social media and with it, her play Unboxed. This play tells the story of a paranormal vlogger seeking his name in the stars, or at least one million subscribers. We join Greg Zipper as he tries to find the next big thing that will push his channel over the top. Typically at the expense of paying attention to his girlfriend Alice. Greg settles on ordering a dark web mystery box to draw in more viewers, and as one might expect, things begin to go wrong.

Briana does a great job of telling the story through dialogue, leaving descriptions sparse and up to the imagination of either the reader or the director. The Boxer makes for a mysterious antagonist and Morgan masterfully makes the reader question his motivations, his abilities, and even his humanity. A phenomenal job of keeping the villain draped in shadow so that knowing too much about them doesn’t spoil the intrigue.

The premise is a nice look into more modern horror. A situation that could only come about due to a 2020-type occupation. Paranormal vlogger is not exactly something that could have supported a story twenty years ago. Morgan is able to convey immediacy and gravity to how much hinges on the success of Greg’s channel. Where a story revolving around a channel he ran as a hobby wouldn’t hold the same weight, we immediately understand that this is the way they pay the mortgage, the way they pay the bills. If we understand the stakes, the lengths become easier to wrap our heads around.

I’m hopeful that we’ll be able to see this performed as a play at some point, maybe even made into a movie. Don’t let the fact that this is a play drive you away. A talented storyteller, like Briana Morgan, is able to do it across mediums. The horror novel reader is going to find a lot to like in the dread, obsession, and almost urban legend-like quality on display here.

Blacktop Wasteland went very quickly from a book I’d never heard of before it came out to a book I had to have once the initial reviews began pouring in. How rare is it for a story like that to live up to the hype? But that’s exactly what Cosby’s book does.

If one were forced to pigeonhole the book, you might say it’s a heist novel, but it goes far deeper than that. Characterization is at the forefront for Cosby, and the book centers around one of the most complex characters you’ll find in the crime genre. Beauregard “Bug” Montage is kind of a badass, but where some authors quell the character development there, Cosby digs quite a bit deeper. Bug leads a dual-life, a man of violence, or maybe more aptly a man of doing what needs to be done to get by. He’s also a family, demonstrating from the first appearance of Kia and his children, his devotion and willingness to take care of them at the cost of everything else.

You take the action, the fight scenes, the pulse-pounding driving scenes, and the tension out of this story and you still have the story of a flawed character doing the best he can with the cards life has dealt. But why on earth would want to take those other things away when they’re so well done? The driving scenes are written with a cinematic flare and genuine thrill. Just try reading them from anywhere but the edge of your seat.

The setting is a massive contributor to the overall feel of the story. So many plot points stem from money issues, which stem from the difficulties of being a black-owned mechanic in a town where the cookie-cutter assembly line type of mechanic shop opens up. Seeking opportunities to better your situation, but society seems to be doing everything in its power to hold you down. I’ve already written at length about Bug’s character development, but this picture of rural black America lends a great deal of credibility and authenticity to Cosby’s portrayal.

Blacktop Wasteland is equal parts compelling, thrilling, and surprising. It’s a rare book that keeps me drawn to every page, unable to let my reading attention jump stories. I swallowed this thing up in two days, and only wish I could experience it again for the first time. With one book, Cosby has cemented himself as a must-buy author and I’ll be picking up his next offering, Razorblade Tears, on day one.

Scott Moses was kind enough to send me a copy of his debut collection, Hunger Pangs, for review. And I’m so glad he did. I’d seen his name around the twittersphere and had the book on my radar, but there’s just so much out there and it’s easy enough to get lost. Inside the front cover, Scott signed it “To understanding one another.” An apt inscription if I ever saw one.

Moses’ writing is good. A simple sentence, I know. I’m sorry, but I found myself drawn in immediately and unable to pin down exactly what it was. Part of it, I believe, is his writer’s voice. It reads like an author from a bygone era. An old and kind soul, guiding you through troubled waters. Sensory description is another piece that Moses uses to his advantage frequently. The door never opens. A rusty creaks cuts the silence of the room as the door swings inward. Moses employs sight and sound, but is sure to include lesser used senses like smell, frequently as well. One other potential reason for my love of this collection might be the innate beauty with which Moses writes. No matter what terrible thing is happening, you can’t help but be held in awe at the way you’re watching it play out.

As with any collection, not every story was for me, but I found a takeaway in every piece, an example of something that I believed would appeal to some reader out there.

I’m a sucker for a well-planned collection, where I can tell the author/editor put a lot of time and care into the placement of stories. “Nowhere, Lousiana”, especially in retrospect, was the only choice for the opener. An atmospheric story that puts on display the type of horror writing that Moses excels at.

“Questioning the Professor” is a gorgeous, open-ended story that allows me to pinpoint one more thing I enjoyed about Hunger Pangs. The author’s notes that precede each story hold nothing back, Moses baring his soul and creating a deeper understanding between author and reader. There’s that word again.

“What’s in your Name” is a special story that will stick with me for a long time. The strongest story in the collection, it’s powerful, poignant piece that’s charged with emotion and takes a look at real, inexplicable evil. Stories where the character must make an impossible choice and we see the aftermath of the consequence will always hit me hard, and this one pulled it off masterfully.

“Hunger Pangs”, the titular story, is as perfect a choice for the final story as “Nowhere, LA” was for the opening. Moses tells us it has a history of rejection - being too horror for the literary crowd and too literary for the horror crowd. Maybe it didn’t find a good fit in any particular anthology, but it’s a terrific example of Moses’ style. Mixing horror with literary.

The collection worked for me. I feel like I’ve been pretty clear on that. I could, however, see some readers looking for more straightforward and gritty horror not connecting fully here. That’s not say Moses can’t or doesn’t bring the violence. It’s there, but it’s not always the focal point. If you like your horror with a bit of depth, soul, and a hint of poetry, even in the pieces that aren’t poetry, there’s a lot to like in this collection.


I received a copy from the author for review consideration

I’m not sure if quiet horror is quite the label I’m looking for here. It’s not even really overtly horror. Dystopian fiction would be accurate. When I say The Sound of Distant Engines isn’t exactly horror, I say in the same way that I might say Ray Bradbury wasn’t known exclusively as a horror writer. The elements are there, but the focus is elsewhere. The storytelling on display does have a bit that Bradburian quality to it, arguably a little bit of Richard Matheson influence in there as well. Hence (I’m assuming here) the homage in the name of the main character.

The plot centers around a photo of Colin Matheson, taken years ago. The photo depicts Matheson making a killshot during war in the Middle East. Our story picks up in modern day in a future where church and state have become inseparable, a good setup for dystopia since it’s not far fetched. The church wants to use the photo as propaganda, and Matheson decides this is the straw that’s going to break the camel’s back. Enough is enough in other words.

The idea of church control over all aspects of life is the horror here, and its well executed. Subtle. This is where the Bradbury comparison comes in. The idea is presented, we’re given the details we need, and then the story plays out. There are no instances of overexplaining and overcomplicating. Dunn lets the idea speak for itself.

Matheson is an interesting enough character, more of an archetype than a nuanced individual. The addition of being haunted by the ghosts of his past is a good one, especially the visual of the red glow from a cigarette coming from the backseat of the car.

The Sound of Distant Engines offers up a bit of different fare compared to other things being released right now. A breath of fresh air. I would have liked a few more pages to wrap things up, or at least give a more clear idea of where the world was headed following culminating events, but as a big fan of letting the reader come to their own conclusions, I can understand the author’s choices here. If you like dystopian fiction where the main characters puts their foot down and says “no more”, The Sound of Distant Engines might just be for you.


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

Tired of zombie stories? They’re all the same and no one has anything new to say in that particular sub-genre? I get it. I’ve read two books in recent memory that had something new to say and didn’t just involve hordes of mindless brain-munchers overwhelming a gritty group of survivors. One of those books was River of Souls by T.L.Bodine. and this is the other - the brainchild of authors Mark Allan Gunnells and Aaron Dries.

What really separates Where the Dead Go to Die from other zombie lit is that it’s not really about the zombies. It’s a story that takes place post-apocalypse and sure, zombies are involved, but the main focus is on the people. Especially those working in the care ward where, well, I guess where the dead go to die. A type of hospice care to help future zombies transition from infected to undead with dignity and love.

Dries and Gunnells craft a world where zealots gather outside the hospice, protesting and resisting empathy, not trying to hide the resemblance to pro-lifers gathered outside a family planning clinic. In this bleak world - I mean it’s the zombie apocalypse, and this is the best thing you have to do? - the story focuses on the people who pass the protestors every day to bring a bit of humanity to the newly infected and doomed people living there.

The story focuses on Emily, a new nurse on the ward and a transplant from warmer climes, but for me, and seemingly blatant by the authors, it’s Robby we immediately invest in. The back cover doesn’t tell you why, so I won’t go into it either, but suffice it to say if you become emotionally invested in your horror when children are involved, this one knows precisely which buttons to push.

To my great shame, I haven’t read enough Gunnells to know how much of his style makes its way into this book, but Dries is certainly on display here. Situations and plot themes that are far from surface level, as well as shocking gore when might least expect it point an accusatory finger at the Aussie author. Despite my lack of expertise of Gunnells’ style, there are no points in the story where changes of voice or style are jarring. Rather the story flows seamlessly all the way through.

Emotionally charged with depth and a lot to say, Where the Dead Go to Die is a poignant piece of holiday horror that doesn’t need to be read in December. I’m putting it here to keep myself honest, I’ll be checking out more of Mark Allan Gunnells’ work.

One night, Drew and Eve Lowery receive a polaroid of their daughter, tied up and murdered. The only problem is, their daughter is upstairs in bed. The back cover synopsis (you can click down below for it) gives a little more detail, but honestly this is all you need. From the beginning I got the vibe I got from Stephen King’s The Outsider in its’ first half, my favorite part. The vibe where the reader is thrown into a situation that can’t possibly exist and has to try and make heads or tails of it.
There are a lot of sub-genres that could be assigned here. Psychological thriller would fit well. Slasher could be loosely applied. Perhaps even science fiction if you dig deep enough, but I prefer to think of this as a mystery. What drew me in and held me was trying to guess where the story was going and what was going to be revealed next. Sometimes I would be close, but Tim Meyer always had a bit more to throw at me, consistently keeping me guessing and surprising me.
This may just be my experience, but I felt like a lot of the success of the book hinged on the first person narration. Drew is likable and we want to base our assumptions on his observations and experiences, but Meyer plants just the littlest seeds of doubt as to whether or not we can fully trust him. It adds another layer to taking the ride with the character because the reader is not just making assumptions based on things that are clearly presented to us. There are some elements to this character that were left ambiguous, or at least not fully filled in, and I would have liked a bit more, but as a fan of ‘draw-your-own conclusion’ style character development, I suppose I can’t complain too much.
While I would say suspense is the biggest selling point that Dead Daughters carries, there is enough violence and mayhem, especially in the third act to satiate the most rabid horror fans. Tim Meyer clearly made it a point with this novel to craft a story that would leave the reader guessing, and never quite comfortable that what they are seeing would be what they’ll get. Dead Daughters is out on April 16th from Poltergeist Press.


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

Calling back to the first entry in the Rewind or Die series, The Midnight Exhibit Vol. 1, Dead and Breakfast is a short story collection hiding within a novella. Eddie and Banksy arrive at a Bed and Breakfast after getting a flat tire, where everything seems just a bit...off. The proprietor entices them with a series of strange and increasingly more terrifying stories.

The strength in this quartet of stories is the range they span. The first story, “Cords”, is a tale that could fit neatly into Science Fiction, telling the tale of a dystopian future. “The Brace” uses a bit of surrealism to distort an abusive father-son relationship. An emotionally complex story that might be the strongest in the collection.

“The Weight of Nostalgia” sets up an unsettling feeling, keeping the reader a bit off kilter. It succeeds in the Twilight Zone-esque atmosphere, but didn’t work for me. “The Greyfriars Transcript” is another favorite from the collection, heavier with an atmosphere of dread than any other. It’s creepy and makes great use of sensory description.

Rather than a thin thread that links these stories, the overlying narrative gives us an intro, a few pages between each story, and a truly creepy culmination. Eddie and Banksy, who we check in on periodically, have their stories properly wrapped up rather than just being casual observers to the stories being told to the readers. This wasn’t my favorite entry in this series, but credit where credit is due. It took a concept, ran with it, and had some fun with it.

I’ve really come to be a big fan of the mosaic novel, looking at it almost as a cross between a themed short-story collection and a more traditionally linear novel. Gabino Iglesias’ Coyote Songs caught my attention earlier this year, David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas is an all-timer, and now Alan Baxter offers his take on the form. In contrast to the others mentioned, Baxter focuses in on a single locale. Specifically, the small harbor town of Gulpepper in Australia, known by residents as the Gulp.

A series of five very vaguely connected novellas make up the almost 300 pages of the novel. A few characters appear in multiple books, a few people wander through the background a few times - their stories yet to be told, and some locations and businesses are visited repeatedly.

“Out on a Rim” is a great introduction to the town and the theme. We spend the story behind the eyes of Rich, a new trucker who doesn’t listen to his seasoned counterpart. The reader sees Rich’s point, because George, the veteran trucker, isn’t rolling in compelling arguments. The Gulp is weird enough by day and you wouldn’t want to be caught out after dark being the long and short. The two men are put in a position where they get stuck in town overnight. George heeds his own advice, Rich doesn’t. Shit ensues. Rich travelling through town gives us the types of sights and people we can expect to come across going forward.

“Mother in Bloom” borders on body horror as two siblings try and cover up the death of their mother. Her remains take on a life of their own, and the two find out how far they’ll go to move on and find a sense of normalcy. This one isn’t for the faint of stomach.

“The Band Plays On” introduces legendary band Blind Eye Moon, although only legendary in this area. After an unforgettable show, four travelers are invited to come stay at the band’s home for a few days. The introduction of the nightmare sequences here are top notch, and one of my favorite parts of the book.

“48 To Go” is Baxter at his best. Tension driven, a character tries to come up with a substantial sum of money in just 48 hours. The lengths he goes to and the outlandish obstacles Baxter dreamed up made this by favorite story of the bunch.

I was on the fence with ‘Mother in Bloom”, but “Rock Fisher” is definitely body horror. A rock fisher catches something a bit strange and it takes over every aspect of his life. This story does a phenomenal job of bringing the book together.

Baxter leaves us in a spot where this feels like The Gulp Volume One. It’s not so much that he leaves loose ends as he leaves opportunities for further exploration. If you enjoyed last year’s Served Cold, you’ll love this one too. Baxter weaves through different tropes and sub-genres to paint a picture of just how messed up this place is. I, for one, hope I get to visit again.



I received a copy from the author for review consideration.