I want you to picture for a moment the characters of your favorite childhood novel. Do you have a good grasp of that in your mind? Now imagine that they are real, live, breathing things that you see and touch. Wouldn't that be incredible? That's exactly how Winterset Hollow begins. Eamon, Caroline, and Mark take a sabbatical to the home of their favorite author to see the place where it all began. To see where the creation of the one thing that molded their very beings occurred. They practically have a hero complex constructed of the author. Why wouldn't they—as the story and characters gave them a reprieve from their own lives and stressors?

It's difficult to remember while riding the wonderment of the opening pages that this is a dark fantasy. As the awe slowly starts to fade, trepidation and a feeling of wrongness slowly start bleeding in—bringing a wave of unease. The moment it all changes is palpable. From there, it's a veritable sea of crashing confrontations and revelations. The tension is high and once it begins, it doesn't let up until the very end.

Durham's prose is certainly on the more literary side. Interspersed with poetry taken from Addington's version of Winterset Hollow, the verbiage is resinous and thick. The expansive depictions elevated the novel from what could have been a simple slash and hack. I found the language selections meticulous and beautiful. I think a lot of readers might consider it is overreaching and perhaps even pretentious but it worked so well for me.

I truly did not expect the emotional rawness of Winterset Hollow. The wonderment of the beginning when they are meeting the characters, the shock when it all goes south, the fear and anxiety, and in the end, the bitterness of heartache. This was a completely unanticipated emotional rollercoaster of a book. There's no succor as the reader is ricocheted from one blow to another, whether physical, emotional, or mental. Was I happy with the ending? Honestly, I couldn't imagine a more flawless conclusion. It was like the sun setting on the perfect day—Barley Day.


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Shea has a knack for producing raw, emotionally driven horror with imperfect, broken characters. His novel Creature broke my heart with its flawed characters and poignant storytelling and Faithless is no different.

Faithless starts with anxiety-fueled adrenaline as Father Raul Figeuroa drives home one rainy night only to hear his family cry out as they are attacked and killed. He makes it home minutes too late. The police have no leads and the loss sends Raul reeling. He retreats to his late aunt's farm where he spent time growing up, truly hoping to drink himself stupid. And he does.

After the first few pages, Faithless loses its momentum but I wouldn't expect any novel to hold such a frenetic pace. It's a slow burn as we cycle through the anguish and heartbreak that Raul experiences, even as he tries to drown his sorrows. Shea has created this character that your heart can't help but bleed for as he mourns his family. The loss is so profound that his faith, which has carried him for so long, suddenly can't be maintained. It's a thought that any person grieving might think: Why does God let these things happen? Only Raul's loss has completely ripped away his faith and in turn, his sense of self. It's heartbreaking and raw and Shea leaves us drifting away completely with Raul, unsure of his faith and his sanity.

Strange things start happening in the house. He hears the voice of his wife coming through the vents and the laughter and footsteps of his children overhead. Is it just the grief or is he truly haunted by the restless spirits of his family? The appearance of his old friend Felix can't even shock Raul out of his stupor, though Felix offers what the police can't—a possible unmasking and potential retribution. Felix at least breaths some life into the story during a long period of drinking, pill-popping, and wallowing. He leaves the farm to go find answers and it's a much-needed break from the stagnation at the farm.

Then we truly go down the rabbit hole. This ending is so far-fetched I can't even. It's gory and action-packed but it's out there. Ghosts, cults, attack cats. The eschewing of predestination being more powerful than the battle of good vs. evil. I don't know where I expected Faithless to go, but this was not it. I loved the setup but not the follow-through. Oh, and Bruiser. Always have to love the cat.


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Blood Rite Horror has released a trilogy of anthologies: Bitter Chills, a composition of winter themed horror; Parasite Gods, tales of gods and monsters; and now Wild Violence with its nature and wildlife motif. Of course, in all anthologies there are stories that resonate more than others with certain readers. My favorites:

Spencer Hamilton's "The Overnight Forest" was a brutal way of kicking off this anthology with its censure of the Catholic Church's sins.

"Islands of Trees" by Aiden Merchant follows a man and his dog through a post-apocalyptical landscape of monstrous plants and animals. I'm always a sucker for a dog but the world building was so intriguing I wanted more.

In "Furry Skins" by L. Pine, hunter Jack Shaw is up against an unknown creature. Jack's a stereotypical macho type so I was rooting for the beast from the start.

Carla Eliot's "In the Beginning" tackled religion as well, in the form of the Garden of Eden and Adam and Eve.

Bloody and ferocious, this was a solid anthology with a great range of topics and themes.


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This collection of 14 short stories by S. H. Cooper was a treat. There's no hesitation or false starts as the author places the reader directly into the meat of the story. Her narrative is deliberate and eerie as she weaves her characters in dark and twisty ways, bestowing an almost campfire tale feel on all her stories. Her narrators are varied and distinct from each other. I l enjoyed all the stories but the extra shivery ones were:

In "The Way The Shadows Whisper" a little girl tells her new psychiatrist about the Shadows. Little kids are always creepy so this one was chilling.

A new house comes with an odd visitor in the form of a crow in “Murder In My Backyard”. I love how the Crow (named Poe of course) helps to solve a mystery. It's clever and sinister all at the same time.

“I Buried My Fiancé On Our Wedding Day” has a unexpected but extremely satisfying ending.

A grandson inherits an inn in “Whitemoore House” that comes with a long list of rules that must be obeyed. Haunting and bleak, this one was easy to imagine.

I haven't read such a singular compilations of short stories in a long time. There wasn't a single dud in the bunch.


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