When did escape rooms make their grand debut, and what sparked their meteoric rise in popularity? Since their inception, the concept has permeated our cultural consciousness, giving rise to a plethora of books and films featuring escape room plots. Take The Escape Room by Megan Goldin, for instance—a title that blatantly gives away its premise, yet somehow, I managed to overlook that little detail. I’ll admit it: I snagged this book from Dollar Tree based solely on its cover, completely ignoring the blurb. In my warped imagination, I envisioned a tale of someone stepping into a forbidden room within a decrepit mansion or an ancient castle. Spoiler alert: I couldn’t have been more wrong. Lesson learned, folks: read the blurb before you buy.

Here’s my version of the blurb for reference. Picture this: in the cutthroat world of finance, Vincent, Jules, Sylvie, and Sam are the crème de la crème, masters of the boardroom, reveling in a lifestyle of lavish excess—their success as intoxicating as champagne on New Year’s Eve. But remember, every indulgence comes at a price.

Invited to a team-building escape room challenge, the fiercely competitive group squeezes into an elevator of a high-rise, buzzing with anticipation. But when the lights flicker and the doors stubbornly refuse to open, they soon realize they’ve stepped into a sinister contest: a deadly game of survival of the fittest.

Key Takeaways

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Industrial workplaces face numerous air quality challenges that can pose a significant risk to worker health and safety. One common but often under-addressed hazard is airborne dust, which can spark severe respiratory issues, compromised equipment, and even workplace explosions. Ensuring optimal air quality through advanced solutions is crucial, and this is where smart dust collection systems play a key role. By working closely with an insulation contractor, businesses can seamlessly integrate smart dust collectors that offer continuous monitoring, thus making work environments healthier and more compliant.

Unlike traditional systems, smart dust collectors leverage sensors and IoT capabilities that adapt to changing environmental conditions within production and processing areas. This real-time monitoring transforms passive protection into active, adaptive safety management. The adoption of smart technology not only addresses ecological compliance head-on, but it also brings significant boosts in energy efficiency, predictive maintenance, and operational cost savings.

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

Here I am, cutting it close once again... No excuses this time. I watched the film right on schedule, but then, well, I just got lazy. So, here I sit with today’s Midnight Horror pick: the Mexican flick Here Comes the Devil, a title that I’m sure every horror aficionado has already added to their watchlist. Released back in 2012 and available on free streaming sites, this one had been lurking in the shadows of my mind until I finally gave in and watched it last night.

Written and directed by Adrián García Bogliano, the film spins a chilling tale centered around a couple’s son and daughter, who disappear without a trace on a desolate, cave-riddled mountainside. When the kids suddenly reappear after a night gone awry, they're not quite the same; a haunting change in their demeanor raises alarm bells for their parents. In a gripping twist, the worried mother and father delve into local legends, only to discover that their children might have become prey to something far more sinister—an inescapable evil that seems to have shadowed them home.

Now, if you take a gander at the DVD cover, you might think you’re in for some gory zombie escapade—but let me tell you, I was dead wrong. Instead, what unfolded was a bizarre concoction of revenge and doppelgänger melodrama, peppered with a handful of unsettling scenes. The film opens with a blurry to focused shot of two women making love, an opening that is, unfortunately, fleeting—these characters are short-lived, serving merely to establish a legend with shock value rather than any real depth.

The real meat of the story kicks off when the kids go missing while Dad is busy “playing” a rather dubious game with Mom in the car—yes, that actually happens. After a night filled with suspense, when the children mysteriously reappear, they begin to exhibit strange, erratic behavior that leads the parents down a dark path of suspicion. Believing a local miscreant might be to blame, they take matters into their own hands in a gruesome scene that could crawl right out of your nightmares. And speaking of discomfort, the couple decides to shower together afterward to scrub away the remnants of their little… adventure. Fair warning: there’s a hefty dose of uncomfortable nudity in this film, just in case that wasn’t on your bingo card.

You know, it would really save a lot of us a headache if publishers would make it clear on the cover when a book is the third installment in a series. I’ve found myself in this frustrating situation far too many times—like that one time I stumbled upon Wendi Corsi Staub's The Butcher's Daughter at Dollar General, picking it for a mere $3, probably more than a year or two ago. I remembered reading a few of her books ages ago and figured, “Why not?” I’m cursed with this habit of picking up series midway through, whether it’s book two or three. It’s almost a talent, if you consider my knack for blind optimism in picking these up.

Now, while The Butcher's Daughter can somewhat stand alone, there are enough subplots lurking in the shadows from the previous books—trust me, I can feel them crawling at the back of my mind, silently judging my choice to jump in at this point. Nevertheless, I managed to fill in the gaps as best I could and devoured the book in a single sitting, which, for me, is a feat akin to a marathon runner breaking the tape at the finish line—if only that marathon hadn’t felt a bit more like trudging through molasses.

The story revolves around Amelia Crenshaw, an investigative genealogist who has made a career out of piecing together the scattered fragments of her clients' family histories while her own remains a puzzle wrapped in layers of mystery. In a bizarre twist, she suspects the key to unraveling her birth parents' identities might be locked in a connection to a stranger who hires her to locate his long-lost daughter. Just when she thinks she’s in for a straightforward genealogical adventure, she’s blindsided by a deadly threat that ramps up the stakes in ways she couldn’t have anticipated.

Then there’s NYPD Detective Stockton Barnes, a man who walked away from his own child in what he believed to be her best interest. As he and Amelia race against time to uncover the truth, they stumble into dangerous territory where someone else has already made a move, and she’s a femme fatale with a vendetta. Their shared history uncovers a lineage entwined with one of history's most notorious killers—which, let’s face it, is just a little too on the nose, don’t you think? The apple certainly doesn’t fall far from the tree, and in this case, it rolls down a hill into a pit of trouble.

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

I know, I know—I'm a day late on my reviews, but hang in there with me; life has its way of throwing curveballs. Anyway, let's talk about my next Midnight Horror pick: Cruel Peter, a sinister gem from 2019 that crossed the pond to the USA in March 2020, right as the world began to spiral into chaos. This unsettling Italian film is penned by Christian Bisceglia, who co-directed alongside Ascanio Malgarini, featuring a cast that includes Henry Douthwaite, Katia Greco, Rosie Fellner, Aaran Bevan, and Zoe Nochi.

Set against the backdrop of a chilling Christmas Eve in 1908 in Messina—one of the Mediterranean's wealthiest merchant cities—our tale begins with Peter, a 13-year-old boy from an affluent English family. But don’t let his status fool you; he’s a notorious little tyrant, exuding cruelty towards anyone weaker, from children to animals and even the servants underfoot. One fateful night, his reign of terror backfires spectacularly when he finds himself ambushed and wakes up buried alive in a coffin beneath the city's Gothic cemetery, all thanks to a vengeful servant boy from his mother’s estate. As fate would have it, a powerful earthquake then razes Messina, sealing Peter’s grave—and his malicious legacy—in dust and darkness.

Fast forward a century, and we meet Norman, an English archaeologist, and his daughter Bianca, who arrive in the now-forgotten city. Fresh from the shattering loss of her mother, Bianca seeks solace by attempting to contact her spirit. Little does she realize that her heartfelt endeavor unwittingly summons Peter back from the abyss—a 13-year-old specter whose life was steeped in violence and evil, who now seeks to unleash terror from beyond the grave. It’s a race against time as Norman must uncover the truth to save his daughter from succumbing to the curse born of Peter’s twisted past.

In a world overflowing with detective stories, it often feels like the genre has been dipped in a monotonous gray, devoid of the vibrant flair that once set the greats apart. Let's face it—most modern-day detective novels are little more than factory-produced fluff, relying on formulas as tired as a well-worn trench coat. If you stripped the authors' names from the covers, you’d be hard-pressed to distinguish one from another. Enter Mason Cross’s Presumed Dead, the fifth installment in the Carter Blake series—an intriguing thriller in a genre that could use a little resuscitating. My copy, a well-loved relic from an Arizona library, found its way into my hands at a thrift store in the heart of Missouri, leaving behind traces of the countless readers who came before me.

The narrative unfolds like a slow burn, lit by tragedy: Adeline Connor, once a bright flame of life, meets her gruesome end at the hands of the notorious Devil Mountain Killer. With her murder, a dark chapter seemingly closed—until the brother's desperate belief in her survival ignites a fresh quest. Enter Carter Blake, a man adept at hunting down the living, but now entrusted with the grim task of searching for a ghost. However, this small town harbors secrets, clutching its past like a favorite weapon, and it becomes increasingly evident that the shadows of history are more alive than anyone expected.

Cross’s writing echoes Lee Child’s style—streamlined and straightforward, reading more like an action-packed film than a work of literary artistry. It’s almost like someone took great literature, threw it in a blender, and poured out a cocktail meant to keep you turning pages quicker than you can say “plot twist.” There’s a comforting simplicity to it; it’s designed not to invoke the profound but to keep you engaged, driving you to the final, climactic page.

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I'm not one to sip on spirits, but a splash of liquid courage might have smoothed the jagged edges of my Midnight Horror marathon. Oh yes, some of these cinematic misadventures were so cringeworthy that I nearly reached for a drink. Today's featured horror gem is The Killing House, a flick that you can probably stumble upon streaming for free in the murkiest corners of the internet.

Written by Cheng Peng and helmed by Ding Wang, this film presents a simplistic narrative. Picture this: three near-strangers—Chi, Christine, and Reino, played by Duojie Suonan, Chloe Mercedes, and Picardy Jean-Pierre—find themselves inexplicably imprisoned in a mansion. Here, they are coerced into participating in a deadly game that no one signed up for, a contest where only the most ruthless can escape. The stakes? They have to eliminate each other until one victor stands tall, drenched in the metaphorical blood of their former allies.

Marketed as a horror flick, The Killing House serves up just one truly terrifying experience: the realization that you’ve sacrificed precious moments of your life to watch what feels like a low-budget student film, desperately trying to grasp at sci-fi and action elements. Where's the hero when you need them? It’s more drama wrapped in confusion than spine-tingling terror. I sat there, scratching my head in bewilderment. Am I watching a VR game gone awry? Has someone pulled me into a chaotic alternate reality? I half-expected a clumsy homage to Sliders with its half-baked CGI wormhole effects—if only those wormholes could slide me right out of there. And that villain! He looked like a rejected character sketch from a low-rent superhero comic. Seriously, was the mask budget trimmed to dimes?

Sometimes covers can be misleading—take, for instance, the paperback cover of She Was the Quiet One by Michelle Campbell. I stumbled upon it at a Dollar General for a mere $3, lured in by the tagline: "The guilty one is never who you think..." My heart raced at the thought of a pulse-pounding thriller. Even after reading the blurb, I felt a twinge of intrigue I couldn't resist. Yet, as often happens in the literary world, the cover and blurb proved to be a deceptive siren call, leading me into a narrative that was far from what I had hoped.

The plot unfolds as Sarah Donovan and her husband, Heath, seize what seems to be their golden opportunity as the new dorm heads of Moreland Hall at the prestigious Odell Academy. After years of scraping by as underappreciated teachers, they dream of stability and a brighter future for their two small children. But their hope quickly spirals into chaos with the arrival of the Enright twins, Bel and Rose, who plunge into their lives like a wicked storm.

These twins are total opposites, yet they both crave attention like moths to a flame. Smart and resourceful Rose finds solace in Sarah’s guidance, while the more vulnerable Bel becomes entangled with Heath, sparking up a relationship that raises countless red flags. Is Heath genuinely trying to help her navigate the treacherous waters of their wealthy cohort, or is he merely preying on her naivety? As Sarah tries to step in, the tension mounts, and it becomes chillingly clear that a precarious chain of events has begun—one that could culminate in murder. Beneath the veneer of privilege and enticement, the narrative thickens, revealing that not everyone will have the chance to tell their side of the story.

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

You’d think a horror film that snagged a flurry of festival awards would at least manage to be somewhat entertaining, right? Well, think again. Dear Diary (also known as “Wake Up”) is a low-budget supernatural snooze that I regrettably forced myself to endure for today’s Midnight Horror segment, and let me tell you, it’s a ghastly experience that leaves you questioning your life choices.

Co-written and directed by Joe Nowland, the plot unravels like a bad dream: A psychiatrist named Phillip Tanner ventures into the twisted world of a young girl's diary, searching for answers about why she brutally slaughtered her family. As he reads, he begins to spiral into the same insomnia and madness that haunted her. But instead of gripping tension or spine-tingling horror, this film delivers a tangled mess of incoherence that made me wish I had a diary to record my own suffering.

It’s hard to fathom how someone on Amazon could describe it as having “Talented Actors in a Breathtaking Plot.” Perhaps that reviewer is involved in the production, related to someone who is, or simply must have watched it through a haze of intoxication. Trust me, after enduring this cinematic dumpster fire, I’m convinced that they must have been in a stupor. The entire cast delivers performances that could be mistaken for a class on how to act stiffly while grimacing at nothing. Was it the actors’ inexperience, a director who couldn’t coax a spark from them, or a script that should’ve been left in a drawer? My bet is on a trifecta of failure.

Has anyone else waded into the twisted waters of Ted Dekker's thrillers? This "Christian" author is a curious blend of horror and suspense, crafting narratives that often dance on the edge of the supernatural and the psychological. I’ve dabbled in a few of his works, like House—beware, there's another book with the same title from Bentley Little that gives a far more visceral horror experience. I’ve been chewing on my feelings about Dekker; while he dabbles in themes that may not adhere strictly to Christian doctrine, he sometimes misses the mark when it comes to delivering true horror. Still, I decided to take a bite out of Thr3e.

Originally published in 2003 and later sliced into a film in 2006—one I’ve yet to lay my eyes upon—the plot kicks off with Kevin, our beleaguered protagonist, driving home from graduate school. Suddenly, his peaceful commute shatters when a mysterious voice—Slater—calls, demanding confessions of sin within three tense minutes, or he’ll turn Kevin's car into a fiery tomb. What follows is a dark, spiraling descent into dread, as Kevin narrowly escapes the fate of becoming roadkill and finds himself wrapped in an escalating game of cat and mouse with Slater. Each call brings with it a riddle, a penalty, and just three minutes to tame his own demons, revealing a deeper complexity to Kevin's character—or perhaps a frustrating lack thereof, depending on how you read it.

Welcome to the Book Blogger Hop!

This Week's Prompt:

Will AI ultimately benefit or harm the book industry?

My Answer:

AI can be a good tool for spellchecking, grammar checking, and overall editing when wielded with care. However, lurking in the shadows is a nagging fear: what if AI steals your unique voice? After all, these models are honed on an unsettling buffet of books, sparking a whole legal tempest over copyright that I won't get into just yet. It's a bit like watching a carnival of "authors" tossing hastily generated plots onto Kindle, flooding the market with works that may or may not even pass as literature. I've yet to plummet down that rabbit hole myself, but the grapevine whispers that many of these books are more akin to lifeless husks than stories. And as if that weren't absurd enough, real authors are being fingered as AI users, all because some faceless algorithm couldn’t tell the difference. 

You see, the problem lies in our own human tendency to write like automatons at times, while AI absorbs our styles like a sponge, turning the art of storytelling into a cryptic guessing game. Who’s human, and who’s the product of a CPU overlord? It's becoming increasingly hard to tell, like playing literary detective in a world of indistinguishable voices. 

Once the government finally shakes off its slumber and reopens the doors of bureaucracy, we desperately need some strict guidelines on how AI ought to be used. We need a balance—after all, the last thing we want is for the landscape of creativity to be reduced to a machine's echo. It’s a fine line we tread, but isn't that what great storytelling is all about?

〜B.J. Burgess

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

I can't quite put my finger on why I found myself plopping down a dollar for Pledges on DVD. Maybe it was the hilariously bad cover art or the promise of cheerleaders that, spoiler alert, never actually show up in the film. Seriously, there are zero cheerleaders in this supposed horror flick. It's more of a horror-infused slapstick comedy, if you can even call it that, stretched thin on a shoestring budget.

Written by Zack Weiner, directed by Daniel Robbins, and produced by Mark Rapaport and Keaton Heinrichs, this film features a cast of unknowns that I couldn't bother to look up.

Here’s the premise: Six hapless college pledges find themselves bound, blindfolded, and stripped down to their underwear, abandoned in the woods as part of a ridiculous “HELL WEEK” initiation. Splitting into two teams—boys versus girls—they’re hurled into a gauntlet of extreme hazing rituals orchestrated by unseen hosts, who watch their every bumbling move through some pretty high-tech, camera-equipped glasses.

But here’s the kicker: what begins as a cringe-inducing comedy soon spirals into chaos when a mysterious force lurking in the shadows of the forest decides to pick off the participants one by one. What exactly this entity is—a ghost, an alien, or maybe just a really angry tree—is as unclear as the movie's plot, and I must admit, at times, it felt like they were aiming for the campiness of a raunchy sex comedy.

Have you ever read so many books that your brain starts to resemble a cluttered attic, full of forgotten treasures and dusty memories? That's where I find myself with Mary Kubica; I could've sworn I’d come across her writing before, yet her titles remain elusive, save for the one in my hands today—Local Woman Missing. I’m at a loss as to whether I picked it up from a dollar store or a thrift store, which is mildly alarming. Either I’m starting to lose my grip on reality or my overflowing bookshelf has morphed into a labyrinth, and I’m just the hapless adventurer wandering through it—probably a mix of both.

Now, let’s plunge into the heart of the story: Shelby Tebow is the first to vanish, her absence a dark cloud looming over her once-serene neighborhood. Then, out of nowhere, Meredith Dickey and her young daughter, Delilah, go missing just a stone's throw away from where Shelby was last seen. Panic ripples across the community, spiking a primal fear. Are these disappearances mere coincidences, or is a sinister thread weaving through the fabric of their lives? After a desperate search that produces more questions than answers, the case eventually grows cold, leaving dread to fester. Fast forward eleven years, and Delilah’s sudden return sends shockwaves through a town haunted by ghosts of the past. But what truly happened to her? And what chilling secrets will unravel when the truth finally sees the light of day?

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

There’s nothing quite like a midnight binge of horror flicks—a time when the world quiets down and the shadows seem just a little longer. Of the handful of titles I found myself excited about in this month’s lineup, Inside stood out like a silver streak of moonlight cutting through darkness. Co-written and directed by Miguel Ángel Vivas, this 2016 psychological slasher is a spine-chilling remake of the 2007 French film À l'intérieur. Despite a chorus of negative reviews from critics—I suspect they lack true horror sensibility—I found a twisted beauty in the chaos this film portrays. 

Meet Sarah (Rachel Nichols), a young mother-to-be whose life is plunged into the abyss following a devastating car crash that not only steals her husband but also leaves her partially deaf. Now, back in her home, surrounded by echoes of the past, she struggles to find her footing. It’s as if fate has a cruel sense of humor: just when she thinks she might find some solace, a malevolent visitor knocks on her door. Enter the predatory Madeleine (Laura Harring), a woman hell-bent on making Sarah’s worst fears a reality—taking her unborn child. With chaos swirling around her and only the howls of the night for company, Sarah must summon every ounce of maternal instinct to protect her baby and endure a night that feels like an eternity. In the realm of horror, never underestimate the ferocity of a mother’s love!

I stumbled upon a ten-cent paperback of The School Trip nestled inside a dusty cardboard box at my local thrift store. The name on the cover, Miranda Smith-I, rang a bell. I’d seen her mentioned in countless Kindle sales, yet I’d never ventured into her world of words. Why, you ask? Well, her covers and titles seemed to blend into the mysterious crowd, nothing beckoning me to pick them up. But on a whim, fueled by curiosity, I decided to give The School Trip a shot.

As the pages turned, I found myself wading into a plot that would chill the marrow of any parent’s bones—though, to be fair, I don’t have kids—none that I know of, anyway (just a little dark humor to lighten the mood). This story is every parent’s worst nightmare, a terrifying tale that feels ripped from the headlines and thrust into reality.

Picture this: it’s a crisp October day, the kind that wraps around you like a cozy blanket. A class of six-year-olds, snug in their coats and gloves, flit about a local farm, their laughter ringing out as they pet the animals and hunt for perfect Halloween pumpkins. Among them is Claire, a bright little spark racing off with her friends, the pink ribbon in her hair dancing like a flag in the breeze. Watching her, a mother exhales a sigh of relief. Life has been a daunting challenge since her husband passed away, and her sweet girl deserves every moment of happiness she can get.

But as dusk descends and the teachers begin gathering the children, Claire is nowhere to be found.

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

Ah, the horror genre—where originality goes to die and rip-offs take center stage. I recently stumbled upon Red Summer, an audaciously blatant imitation of the iconic Texas Chainsaw Massacre franchise. This little gem, originally known as Verano Rojo, was unearthed during one of those nostalgic Dollar Tree hunts when movies were a mere dollar and the selection was a delightful grab bag of cinematic junk. Ah, those were the days before tariffs turned bargain bins into empty shells!

Written and directed by Carles Jofre, this Spanish slasher whisks you away to the sun-drenched shores of Mallorca, where a group of friends embark on what they believe will be the holiday of a lifetime. However, in a classic horror twist reminiscent of a bad travel blog, their quest for sun, beaches, and fun derails spectacularly. One wrong turn, and they find themselves in the most sinister corner of the island, where a cannibalistic family awaits, eager to turn their vacation into a nightmare feast. Sound familiar? If you’ve seen Texas Chainsaw, you might feel like you’re revisiting an old friend—albeit with a disheveled look and a penchant for pig masks.

A worn-out used book can tell a million stories, and I stumbled upon one such tale—a well-loved Minotaur paperback edition of A Flicker in the Dark by Stacy Willingham—while rummaging through the dusty shelves of a thrift store. The title popped out like a neon sign in a dimly lit alley, and I recognized it from my many Kindle scrolling sessions. This particular copy, with its creased spine and warped pages, spoke of a life lived; it looked older than its 2022 release date, hints of water damage lending it a certain brooding charm. Normally, I would shy away from anything that looks like it spent a summer in a rainstorm, but at just ten cents, I thought, why not? Perhaps it would lead me to a thrilling read... or at least entertain me for a few hours.

The plot is a web woven from the threads of tragedy and suspense. When Chloe Davis was just twelve, six teenage girls mysteriously vanished from her small Louisiana town, their fates unknown, and by summer’s end, her own father had confessed to the unspeakable—a chilling revelation that left Chloe and her family grappling with a harrowing truth. With the finality of a closing coffin, he was sentenced to life behind bars, and Chloe was left to navigate the wreckage of her childhood.

Fast forward two decades, and Chloe has traded the shadows of her past for a bright future as a psychologist in Baton Rouge, on the verge of tying the knot. Yet, the lurking darkness of her history still haunts her, as if she’s constantly stepping on the cracks of a haunted sidewalk. Just when it seems she’s sculpted her happiness from the ruins of her trauma, the unthinkable happens: another local teenage girl goes missing, and another screams from the abyss of Chloe's memory. Is she merely seeing lurking shadows where there are none, or could she be on the precipice of unmasking a killer once again?

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

My suffering feels perpetual, like a relentless flu plague that refuses to loosen its grip. At this point, I can't help but think I might be possessed by some mischievous demon or a wayward spirit. But I digress—today's Midnight Horror spot features the less-than-chilling 2018 PG-13 flick, The Church. Written and directed by a fellow named Dom Frank—someone I had the unfortunate pleasure of encountering for the first time. Maybe that’s for the best; his filmmaking skills left much to be desired.

The plot unfolds in a rundown neighborhood of Philadelphia, where the Pastor (Bill Moseley), the last bastion of a once-vibrant Baptist church, stares down the barrel of gentrification. Time hasn’t been kind to either the church or its community, and now they’re both clinging desperately to their fading identities. The Pastor's steely resolve to preserve his family legacy is put to the test by the high-society aspirations of his status-seeking wife (Michelle Romano) and avaricious church leaders—one played by the ever-familiar Lisa Wilcox. Lured by the seductive promises of cold, hard cash from the unscrupulous developer (Matthew Nadu) and his team of sycophants (Ashley C. Williams, Vito Lograsso), they plot to swap out the sacred for the shiny—establishing a flashy "mega-ministry" just around the corner.

Part of me finds myself weary of police procedurals. In a world where each series introduces new characters and spins a fresh plot, they all seem to dance to the same familiar tune: a case arises, a detective steps in, and some nefarious villains lurk in the shadows. It’s a formula that has been played out time and again, often with the predictable simplicity that commercial expectations demand—just look at anything stamped with James Patterson's name as if it were a fast-food franchise. Yet occasionally, a novel surfaces amidst the mediocrity, a work with a touch more substance, like When All Lights Fail by Randall Silvis, an author I had been blissfully unaware of until I stumbled into this, the fifth installment of the Ryan DeMarco series.

The narrative unfurls with an intriguing premise: retired police sergeant Ryan DeMarco is reluctant to return to the murky waters of private investigation, but when a nine-year-old girl from Michigan pleads with tear-streaked cheeks to help her find her biological father, he can’t say no. The journey to the Upper Peninsula promises not just the promise of closure for the girl but also a chance for DeMarco and his partner, Jayme, to mend their frayed edges from their previous case—one that spun dangerously close to death's embrace. However, once they plunge into Michigan's thick woods, what seemed like a straightforward paternity quest transforms into a treacherous game of life and death.

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

Ah, The Lady in Black. Just uttering the title sends shivers down my spine, and not for the reasons a good horror flick should. This cinematic catastrophe is one of the key culprits that nudged me away from the realm of low-budget horror films. You see, these so-called distributors have a penchant for scooping up smaller projects and marketing them under a flashy guise that has little—if anything—to do with the actual content. Just look at the poster: a creepy ghost girl clutching a teddy bear, standing before an ominous old house. In a shocking twist, neither the girl nor the house truly reflects what unfolds on screen. It’s the classic bait and switch, and in this case, it’s a masterclass in disappointment.

Now, onto the plot—or shall I say, the meandering saga that pretends to be one. Our protagonist, Nelson, is haunted not just by the grief of a nightmare, but rather a chilling premonition of a woman’s murder that sets off a string of serial killings. The stakes are high as he races to solve this ghastly mystery, driven by the eerie question of why his dreams are leading him down this blood-soaked path. So far, so intriguing, right? Wrong. What could have been a gripping psychological thriller takes a nosedive into the realm of melodrama.

I've amassed quite a collection of undead books in my library; it seems every time I turn around, I stumble upon another. Case in point: The Retreat, penned by Sherri Smith, which somehow wound up in my stack of 31 Reads of Terror. This might be my maiden voyage into her work—or perhaps I've read her before, but let’s not kid ourselves; my memory is about as sharp as a butter knife. I likely found this book at Dollar Tree, lured in by its eye-catching cover. After all, who can resist the siren call of a good book with an alluring façade? Publishers Weekly even dubbed it a “roller-coaster ride,” which certainly raised my eyebrows.

Let’s peel back the cover and take a look at The Retreat: We’re introduced to four women, each with her own dark secret, embarking on a weekend that promises transformation… provided they make it out alive. At the center is Katie Manning, once a beloved child star, until a horrific incident with her manager left her with a disfiguring scar that shattered her Hollywood dreams and plunged her into the depths of self-destruction. Now twenty-seven, Katie yearns for an alternative narrative to those pesky “Where Are They Now?” articles that haunt her online presence. She thinks she’s hit the jackpot when her brother’s seemingly perfect fiancée invites her to an upstate wellness retreat.

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

I must confess, I have no idea what compelled me to hit play on The Resort. Perhaps I was daydreaming of a different cinematic experience, because whatever I expected, it certainly wasn’t this. In the realm of Vertical releases, one can either strike gold or be left with fool's gold, and this, my friends, was definitely the latter. While my impulse is to wrap this up as a lost cause and toss it aside, duty calls for today's horror feature. So, let’s venture into this murky pool of mediocrity.

Directed by Taylor Chen, The Resort follows four friends—Lex, Chris, Sam, and Bree—portrayed by Bianca Haase, Brock O'Hurn, Michael Vlamis, and Michelle Randolph—as they venture to Hawaii, lured by the chilling tales of a haunting at an abandoned resort. They’re on a quest to uncover the infamous Half-Faced Girl, but as they soon discover, sometimes it’s best to leave the ghosts of the past alone. That’s the crux of this scant 75-minute flick.

In an interesting twist, hip-hop artist Quavo produced this film—perhaps an attempt to cross seeds of superstardom with screen terror. The music, however, didn’t quite resonate; maybe he was too busy making beats to have a hand in the score. Either way, the aural experience left much to be desired, with credits going to John "Fingazz" Stary, who I can only hope found a more entertaining outlet.

I usually breeze past titles like Trust Me by Hank Phillippi Ryan, what with its mind-numbingly redundant title and a cover so dull it could put a caffeine-fueled squirrel to sleep. But when the price tag dips to a staggering $1.25, I’m willing to gamble on my literary luck, even with a flimsy blurb that might make other readers sprint for the exit as if fleeing a masked killer. Seriously, Forge should hang their head in shame over that description. It goes something like this: “There are three sides to every story. Yours. Mine. And the truth.” An accused killer insists she’s innocent. A journalist, shattered by grief, rises from the ashes. Their uneasy partnership spirals into a hair-raising game of deceit. But the moment you read that, you’re left wondering: who's put together such a mundane lure instead of hooking a reader’s curiosity?

Does anyone recall the infamous Casey Anthony trial? You know, the woman who somehow waltzed away from the accusation of killing her daughter with a smirk that would chill your bones? I can't help but think this real-life drama served as inspiration for Trust Me. There are just too many alignments. A quick Google search could probably verify it, but alas, the fatigue of the day weighs heavily on me. In any case, the plot revolves around the "Baby Boston" murder trial, where Ashlyn Bryant stands accused of dumping her two-year-old daughter, Tasha, into the murky waters of Boston Harbor. Yeah, you can see where the echoes of reality merge with fiction.

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

The Midnight Horror is fashionably late once again, but I couldn't resist sharing my latest cinematic journey. I only managed to sink my teeth into today’s pick, Look Away, this morning, and let me tell you, it was worth the wait. Released in 2018 by Vertical, it’s one of those DVDs I stumbled upon at Dollar Tree back when everything had a humble price tag of just a dollar—those nostalgic days of treasures waiting to be unearthed in the aisles!

Now, Look Away caught my eye, not only for its intriguing premise but also because it boasts two big-name stars: Jason Isaacs and Mira Sorvino, alongside the up-and-coming India Eisley, daughter of the late Olivia Hussey. Directed and penned by Assaf Bernstein, this film represents his inaugural venture into North American cinema. Originally titled Behind the Glass, it took over two years to finally emerge from the shadows. 

The tale follows Maria (Eisley), a tormented teenage girl who seeks refuge in the enigmatic world of her own mirror reflection, a sanctuary from the relentless bullying at school and the chilly distance of her parents, played by Isaacs and Sorvino. In this twisted tale of identity, Maria discovers her reflection isn’t just a lifeless image; it’s a sinister confidant named Airam who understands her deepest wishes and darkest desires. As Maria's confidence starts to bloom, so does the plot’s darkness. The winter prom—ah, the evening where dreams can dash or blossom—becomes the stage for a fierce metamorphosis. The malevolent twin rises, and vengeance takes center stage as she embarks on a treacherous quest against those who've wronged her.

In limited theaters today, we welcome the playful whimsy of GROW, a delightful family film that invites audiences onto a delightful, pumpkin-spiced adventure. Produced by Double Nickel Entertainment, Sky Studios, and Orogen Entertainment, and distributed by Fathom Entertainment and US Pumpkin Distribution, LLC, this visually engaging picture is directed by the talented John McPhail. The screenplay is a collaborative effort by Nick Guthe, Christos N. Gage, Ruth Fletcher Gage, Mark Huckerby, and Nick Ostler.

The ensemble cast is nothing short of stellar, featuring the remarkable Golda Rosheuvel as the curmudgeonly farmer Dinah Little, and the charming Priya-Rose Brookwell as her spirited niece, Charlie. Rounding out the cast are familiar faces such as Nick Frost, Jeremy Swift, Tim McInnerny, and Jane Horrocks, along with a host of intriguing newcomers, including Joe Wilkinson, Kathryn Drysdale, Fisayo Akinade, Sharon Rooney, and the ever-quirky Alan Carr.

Ticket information can be found at here.

Set against the backdrop of the Pumpkin Capital of the World, GROW unfurls its enchanting narrative, where a stoic Dinah begrudgingly opens her homestead to Charlie, a vibrant young girl with an extraordinary talent for connecting with plants. This isn’t just a simple family reunion; it’s a journey of transformation and discovery. As the annual pumpkin-growing contest approaches, Charlie, with her green thumb and even greener dreams, must contend with a cast of eccentric rivals who would bend the rules—and possibly reality—to win.

Ah, the clamor surrounding Jack Heath's debut thriller, Hangman, was impossible to ignore when it hit the shelves in 2018. Yet, as fate would have it, I couldn't find a copy locally. It wasn't until I serendipitously discovered a copy at Dollar Tree that I decided to bite the bullet. A dollar for a book? Surely a harbinger of ill fate, right? But curiosity won out, and I brought it home, promptly tossing it onto my shelf to mingle with the dust bunnies. After a long, unflattering hibernation, I finally dusted it off to have it star in today’s installment of 31 Reads of Terror. Buckle up; it’s time to dive into the darkness!

The premise unfolds like a sinister puzzle: a teenage boy vanishes while walking home, leaving his frantic mother reeling from the horror. Suddenly, her phone rings, delivering a ransom demand thick with dread—pay up, or else the cost will be devastating. Enter Timothy Blake, a sharp-witted FBI consultant with a penchant for unraveling even the most twisted of mysteries. But this time, he may have met his match. The kidnapper is not just any run-of-the-mill villain; he’s a master of manipulation, outsmarting even the savviest among us. To make matters worse, Blake is forced into a reluctant partnership with a woman who has her own ties to his troubled past. He’s hiding a secret—dark and ghastly, one that he’d do anything to keep buried. 

I was left pondering just how old Jack Heath was when he penned Hangman. The bio in the back boasts that he was first published as a teenager, so essentially, we’re looking at a literary prodigy on the verge of terrors. Fast forward to the present, and he’s written three more thrillers in this series, along with a Doctor Who kids' book, all of which reveal a mind both vibrant and disquieting.

The prose flows with an effortless ease, embracing simplicity while delivering just the right dose of vividness to satisfy my craving for rich descriptions. The pacing is brisk, reminiscent of the late '90s X-Files craze, the kind of story that keeps you glued to your seat, even in the face of absurdity. Dialogue crackles with a believability echoing the charm of vintage Hollywood thrillers, the kind that could still scare you silly in an unholy, delightful way.

Now, let’s talk about our haunted hero, Timothy Blake—a cannibal, if you can believe that! Yes, you heard me right: Hannibal Lecter-like levels of chilling deliciousness. The twist? Blake struck a deal with the FBI, serving as their consultant in exchange for... well, let’s just say a rather disturbing dietary preference. What does a cannibal need with bodies? Gross, right? Yet, there’s a macabre brilliance in his character—a modern-day Sherlock Holmes, equipped with a photographic memory and a knack for solving crimes that would make even the most seasoned of detectives squirm.

Surprisingly, despite the icky premise, Hangman turned out to be an intensely gripping read that I enjoyed. I can see why Jack Heath found himself on the literary map at such a tender age; his raw talent for crafting tales is undeniable. I can’t wait to immerse myself in the other labyrinths of mystery he’s created. ╌★★★★★

⁓B.J. Burgess

Welcome to the Book Blogger Hop!

This Week's Prompt:

Would you rather read a book with terrible writing but a good story or a book with a terrible story but good writing?

My Answer:

If I had to choose, I'd take a beautifully crafted sentence wrapped around a gripping tale any day, but let’s be real: this rare combination feels like finding a needle in a haystack these days. Many modern reads often excel in one area but falter in the other.

Take, for instance, any James Patterson co-authored endeavor or those V.C. Andrews-inspired gothic thrillers penned by Andrew Neiderman. The prose might not win any awards—it might even make you cringe a little—but if the characters are interesting and the plot pulls me in, I can easily overlook the lackluster writing. After all, a thrilling story can sometimes light up even the dimmest of sentences.

〜B.J. Burgess

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

Here’s a chilling thought: perhaps Canadians should steer clear of making horror flicks. The film that sparked this reflection is none other than the 2018 flick, Selfie Man—or, as it's colloquially dubbed, Selfie from Hell. This splendid piece of celluloid treasure—or should I say trash?—was one of those random finds lurking in the depths of Dollar Tree, back when they actually stocked DVDs. Clearly, I must have confused it with something else; there’s no other explanation for why I would squander a mere dollar on this cinematic abomination. Honestly, the filmmakers probably spent about the same amount on the entire production—who knows?

The credit for this masterclass in mediocrity goes to a certain Erdal Ceylan, a name that sounds more fitting for a character in a horror novel than the mastermind behind this travesty. The plot—or what passes for it—centers on Julia, a German vlogger who ventures into the U.S. to visit her cousin Hannah. However, upon her arrival, the poor girl collapses into a state of grotesque illness, setting off alarm bells in Hannah's mind. As strange occurrences spiral out of control in Hannah's home, she embarks on a frantic internet quest to uncover the source of Julia’s affliction. What unfolds is nothing short of a descent into cyber-hell, where terror has no bounds and sanity starts to unravel.

Happy October Friday to all my fellow book bloggers! I hope your week has been more rewarding than mine. It’s been a bit of a struggle, honestly. There were moments I considered skipping this week’s post altogether due to a nagging sense of burnout—but I pushed past that thought, because here I am, ready to return to our bookish world.

'The Friday 56' is hosted by My Head is Full of Books.

This week, my pick is Empty Boxes by Robin Action, courtesy of the lovely folks at Blank State Press, a Missouri publisher that generously sent me an ARC. This murder mystery thriller delves into the life of Pittsburgh crime reporter Rita Locke, who embarks on a chilling investigation after discovering a funeral director who’s been burying empty coffins. Talk about an eerie twist, right? Her journey leads her all the way to western Pennsylvania and an offshore Caribbean medical school, unearthing a web of deception that seems almost otherworldly.

I’m pushing the envelope a bit late tonight—ah, the classic tale of my life. This post should’ve been penned hours ago, but life had other plans. I crashed, burned, re-caffeinated, and here I am, crafting what I hope can pass as an excuse for my tardiness. Enough of my procrastination, let’s talk about my 16th pick for my 31 Reads of Terror, Daddy's Girl by Margie Orford.

First published in 2009, with an EPUB edition in June 2014, my version is the Witness Impulse paperback—though honestly, the publisher could’ve bothered to include the publication date. But who am I to complain? I'm too lazy to search for that little nugget of information.

So, here’s the plot: A little girl, blissfully waiting to be picked up after ballet class, suddenly finds herself vanishing into thin air after an unmarked car rolls up. But hold onto your hats—this isn’t just any child. She’s the daughter of Police Captain Riedwaan Faizal, a desperate father anchored by impotence as he finds himself suspended from his squad. His world spirals into chaos, and with no allies in sight, he turns to investigative journalist and criminal profiler Dr. Clare Hart. She has just gained notoriety through her documentary on Cape Town’s vanished young girls, and the clock is ticking. Clare knows that each passing moment gnaws away at the girl's chances of survival. Yet the investigation she embarks on comes with its own hazards, and with everything at stake, she’s willing to risk it all to aid a shattered father.

Daddy's Girl is the kind of book I’d usually brush off because of its bland cover, generic title, and predictable plot. It’s reminiscent of a tepid Lifetime movie: you watch it once, only to turn your gaze elsewhere before the credits roll, leaving little more than a faint trace in the memory. I’m not throwing shade at the authors, truly—I just hope they penned their tales without the help of some AI co-writer, a topic that has been causing quite the stir in the book community. Still, some readers are taking it to extremes, and I won’t tumble down that rabbit hole tonight; I might never find my way back out!

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

As I sit here, fighting the heavy eyelids brought on by an insufficient supply of caffeine, I’m determined to get this review down for you. I recently stumbled upon a hidden flick from 2013, a British ghost story called Blackwood. Directed by Adam Wimpenny and penned for the screen by J.S. Hill, this flick had flown under my radar until recently. Initially, I could have sworn it was an adaptation of some long-lost horror novel, but lo and behold, it’s an original creation—bravo!

So, what’s the spine-tingling synopsis? Ed Stoppard (you might know him from The Musketeers or The Pianist) stars as Ben Marshal, a college professor trying to piece his life back together after a tumultuous emotional breakdown. He decides that a fresh start in the serene countryside of the Blackwood estate is just what the doctor ordered. But peace is a fickle friend at Blackwood, as Ben finds himself haunted by chilling visions of a murder he believes occurred in his new home. What begins as a picturesque retreat quickly spirals into a chilling exploration of lies, betrayal, and the sinister underbelly of this seemingly idyllic estate.

At first glance, the plot feels like a parallel universe crossover between The Shining and a less grandiose indie horror flick. A couple, wrestling with marital woes, relocates with their young son to a remote house, only to be confronted by the supernatural—or at least Ben seems to think so. The familiar tropes echo through the film, especially in the latter half of its 90-minute runtime. Yet, while the echoes might feel familiar, the execution is anything but ordinary. I’ll admit, the ending had its predictable moments, but just when I thought I had it all figured out, the film sent a shiver down my spine with a clever twist I didn’t see coming.

I prefer to remain silent on this review, but alas, I needed a book for today’s 31 Reads of Terror, which is beginning to feel less like a celebration of suspense and more like a descent into a pit of mediocrity. I can already hear the chorus of well-meaning readers saying, “Don’t give it a bad review; at least the author made an effort.” But really, what a load of sugarcoated nonsense! Being a writer requires a thick skin. Not everyone will like your creation. Expect to face the music from critics, readers, and bloggers alike. Your writing won't be everyone's cup of tea—it's high time to accept that.

The real scourge lies within the mainstream publishing machine, churning out one abysmal book after another, all because it's riding whatever wave is popular on social media or the fleeting fads of a faux BookTok universe. Let’s face it: most of these books—well, they stink. I’m not saying the writing is atrocious, but the tales being told feel like cookie-cutter retreads, mere shadows of the stories that set the trend rolling in the first place. Wandering the shelves of your local bookstore resembles navigating an A.I.-generated fever dream, with countless covers that all look too similar, sporting one-dimensional titles paired with clichéd blurbs. Sure, the authors’ names differ, and the online literary community will insist these are "blockbuster" hits. But in reality? They languish on shelves, gathering dust, waiting to be marked down for clearance or tossed into the abyss, much like the soon-to-be-extinct mass-market paperbacks.

This brings us to today's unfortunate selection: The Sister by Louise Jensen. While this novel is hardly fresh off the press, having made its debut in 2016, the copy I found at a Dollar Tree is from 2018. It falls squarely within the realm of so-called psychological thrillers. 

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

Alright! Alight! I humbly apologize for my tardiness with today’s post. It appears the dreaded flu bug has taken up residence in my life, and I’m trying to soldier on, albeit at a tortoise-like pace when it comes to writing. So, bear with me as I wrestle with this pesky illness and the relentless high ragweed count that's making it hard to concentrate. But enough about my woes—let's delve into this week’s Midnight Horror pick: The Jack in the Box.

Picture this: a dusty, vintage jack-in-the-box, unearthed from the depths of some forgotten attic, finds its way to a quaint yet eerie museum nestled in the heart of the woods. But the moment staff member Casey Reynolds lays eyes on the creepy clown doll lurking within, he starts to suspect that this seemingly innocent toy is far more sinister than it appears. One by one, his colleagues meet their untimely, bizarre ends, and Casey races against time to unravel the dark mystery of the box. Will he outsmart the malevolent spirit that seems to be pulling the strings, or will he too become just another victim of this cursed contraption?

When it comes to British horror, I often find myself drifting back to the golden age of Hammer Horror and other classic flicks of the 1960s and 70s. Sadly, a lot of the modern offerings seem to be pale imitations of their American counterparts. In The Jack in the Box, I could almost hear the whispers of inspiration taken from Stephen King’s IT, the gore-fest Terrifier—which I still need to check off my list—and even a sprinkle of the Conjuring universe. There’s nothing inherently wrong with taking cues from previous classics, but here it feels more like a copy-and-paste job than a fresh interpretation.

A stunning cover can whisper secrets even before the first page is turned. The book that caught my eye was The Liar's Daughter by Claire Allan, a title I stumbled upon while rummaging through a box of worn-out paperbacks at a thrift store, half-buried beneath a mountain of forgotten clothing. The cover boasted the haunting image of a woman in a yellow dress, eerily poised amongst twisted trees, enveloped in shadows that only added to her unsettling charm. The tagline, "Family can hide the darkest secrets," teased my curiosity. What secrets lay hidden in this tale? How dark could they be? The answers were lurking just beyond the page.

Now, let's unearth the plot: When Joe McKee passes away, the tight-knit community of Derry is thrust into mourning, drowning in sorrow for the man whose laughter once echoed through their lives. Friends and family are left grappling with the gaping void left by his battle with cancer. But among the mourners, two stand apart—Joe’s daughter, Ciara, and her stepdaughter, Heidi—because they alone knew the real Joe. He was no protector; he was a man whose sins ran deep, veiled by the façade of a loving father.

The mourners gather for the traditional Irish wake, the air thickens with expectations—and the police arrive,drawn by the smell of something rotten in the state of Joe’s death. It quickly unfolds that this wasn’t a natural parting; the tangled web of lies Joe spun refused to be buried with him. The truth, as it unfurls, not only implicates but casts his daughters in the most chilling of lights, giving them a motive for murder that’s as dark as the secrets still clinging to the family.

I find it fascinating and somewhat perplexing how readers can harbor such a wide range of opinions about books. It’s like music; while one person hears a sonorous symphony, another perceives nothing but noise. Some will hurl accusations of “complete trash” or “unreadable drivel,” while others will stand on rooftops singing the praises of the same work. As someone who's offered both accolades and critiques in my own reading journey, it's unjust to judge anyone’s opinions.

This brings me to The Psychic ^[*] by Nancy Bush, the subject of today’s review. Recently, I stumbled upon a one-star rating that left me scratching my head. The reviewer lamented they couldn’t even finish the book because, in their words, it made their brain hurt and was, quite simply, “stupid.” Yet, they offered no substantial reasoning; no thoughts on the plot, the characters, or even a fleeting compliment about the narrative style, only a curt dismissal without the faintest hint of detail. I won’t judge this reviewer—if a book isn't resonating with you, it’s perfectly fine to walk away.

Now, let’s get into the heart of the matter—the book itself. The Psychic is a richly crafted thriller, or at least the advance reader copy (ARC) I devoured was. I suspect the final version hasn't strayed too far from what I experienced. The structure is tight, the pacing brisk, and the vivid imagery leaps off the page like a ghost in the night. The protagonist, Veronica "Ronnie" Quick, is nothing short of captivating, while the dialogue crackles with life. It checks all the boxes for a gripping read, one that promises to keep even the most distracted reader engaged until the final, breathless page.

♰ Welcome to The Midnight Horror! ♰

Perhaps it took until the 14th day of my Midnight Horror selections to finally claw my way past the utter crap-fests of the previous nights. In the wee hours of the morning, I plunged into the 2012 low-budget horror flick, Devoured, penned by Marc Landua and directed by the visionary Greg Oliver. I imagine most horror aficionados have already stumbled upon this flick, as it’s been lurking on free streaming platforms for quite some time, eagerly awaiting its chance to haunt unsuspecting viewers.

The tale unfolds around Lourdes (Marta Milans), an immigrant mother from Mexico, who reluctantly takes on night shifts as a cleaning woman in a dilapidated old restaurant nestled somewhere in the shadowy depths of New York City. Driven by desperation, she struggles to earn enough money to secure a life-saving operation for her sick son back home. Just when it seems his condition takes a dark turn, malevolent forces within the restaurant begin to pick her apart, tormenting her relentlessly and leaving a trail of devastation in their wake. Lourdes becomes embroiled in a battle against the dual demons of supernatural dread and her own psychological torment as she races against time to return to her beloved son before the darkness devours her very essence.

I was swept through a mix of emotions as I navigated this 90-minute gut-wrencher. For the vast majority, we linger in a psychological haze—a slow burn punctuated by moments of breath-stealing dread and fleeting supernatural occurrences—until the shocking twist slams down like a heavy axe falling from the gallows. Suddenly, the film morphs into a full-throttle horror fest, brimming with shock, gore, and a cavalcade of dead bodies.