Where to begin... where to begin? It seems like everyone, from your next-door neighbor to your grandmother, has at least heard of The Amityville Horror. And let's be honest, most people know deep down that it’s mostly a fabricated tale. Still, you have those die-hard believers who swear by wild conspiracies insisting that George and Kathleen Lutz’s paranormal claims are as real as the morning coffee. Sorry to rain on the ghost parade, but the sad truth for these enthusiasts is that the haunting was about as genuine as a three-dollar bill! The infamous duo, Ed and Lorraine Warren, swooped in and helped spin a yarn that convinced the world a house at 112 Ocean Avenue was swimming in malevolent spirits!

Despite all the nonsense, my fascination with the Amityville legend began at a tender age. It started with a spine-chilling watch of the 1979 film The Amityville Horror, which was enough to send me into a quest for the truth. I scavenged my local library for Jay Anson's book and checked it out more than a couple of times, like some eager little ghostbuster. Fast-forward thirty-odd years later, I found myself buying the 2019 paperback reprint. 

The Amityville Horror story goes as this: In 1974, a horrific incident occurred at 112 Ocean Avenue in Amityville, New York, where a young man named Ronald DeFeo Jr. murdered his parents and four siblings in their home. A year later, the Lutz family moved into the same house, unaware of its grim history. Shortly after moving in, they began to experience a series of unusual and disturbing phenomena, including strange noises, cold spots, and a pervasive sense of dread.

I do my utmost to resist the siren song of hyped-up books, especially those shoved into the limelight by pampered social media influencers and the infamous BookTokkers. If someone pipes up with, "They're not being paid," I just roll my eyes. Let's be real: in one way or another, many of these "recommendations" come with a paycheck—it's hard to believe that most of these influencers have actually read the very tomes they peddle. Now, I’m not here to dis on reviewers or book bloggers—at least, in my experience, we're not cashing in directly. Of course, we might manage to snag an ARC or two along the way, enticing little previews that dangle like forbidden fruit. But let’s be clear – my opinions aren’t for sale, not now, not ever. If I'm not enamored with a book, I won't bite my tongue or sugarcoat the truth. I’ll be as blunt as an axe in a horror flick, ready to carve out the honesty you crave. After all, a shoe might fit a prince, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to feel good on everyone’s foot!

So, let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? Today’s entry into the 31 Reads of Terror is Immortal Dark by Tigest Girma, a book that flaunts a cover so breathtakingly gorgeous it might just lure you in with its beauty alone. There was a deluge of buzz surrounding this book upon its release last year, which ultimately led me to shell out my hard-earned cash for a copy. Like a treasure lost in an unkempt attic, it joined a pile of other unread tomes until, in a fit of guilt, I wiped off the dust and forced myself to read it for today's post.

The plot? Well, imagine a mash-up of The Cruel Prince and Ninth House woven into a dangerously romantic dark academia fantasy. Here’s the hook: a lost heiress must infiltrate a shadowy society while cozying up to the very vampire she suspects of murdering her family and abducting her sister. Intrigued? Don’t be too quick to jump in.

There are countless gimmicky books out there, and many of them delve into the realm of vampires, such as A People's History of the Vampire Uprising by Raymond A. Villareal. I stumbled upon this title at a Dollar Tree three years ago—never heard of the author or the book before that fateful encounter. I couldn't resist the cover, so I took a chance on it—don’t judge me; it's a little quirk of mine. So, there it sat on my shelf like a crypt collecting dust, until I finally pried it from its resting place, read the darn thing, and now here I am, crafting this review. Spoiler alert: this book is destined to be packed away and donated, most likely to haunt someone else's bookshelf.

The plot kicks off with a little mystery. It starts when the body of a young woman is discovered in an Arizona border town, presumed to be an illegal immigrant. In a twist that would leave even the most seasoned detective scratching their head, the corpse walks right out of the morgue. Enter our young CDC investigator, called in to help the bewildered local police. For her, this bizarre incident isn’t just a puzzling enigma; it’s a challenge that shatters her understanding of medicine.

As more bodies roll into the morgue—each one meeting a gruesome end due to a strange disease that solidifies their blood—they too disappear without a trace. It becomes a frantic race against the clock as the CDC, the FBI, and the US government scramble to confront what seems impossible: an epidemic of vampirism set to sweep across not just the United States, but the world!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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

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!

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. 

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’ve been digging through the recesses of my memory, trying to recall if I’ve ever dipped my toes into the literary waters of Linda Castillo before cracking open today’s selection, Fallen. As the title suggests, it’s not a tale of terror from the dark corners of horror fiction, but rather a gripping mystery thriller. This genre will make sporadic appearances as I continue my journey through the 31 Reads of Terror event. While I’m familiar with Castillo's name and her oeuvre, I can’t say with confidence that I’ve read any of her works. Given my affinity for stories drenched in Amish culture, though usually laced with romantic undertones, perhaps Fallen marks my inaugural foray into her fictional world.

The story kicks off when a young woman is discovered brutally murdered at a motel in the quaint yet eerie town of Painters Mill. Chief of Police Kate Burkholder, our protagonist, is shaken to her core—not only by the violence of the crime but by the shocking realization that she once knew the victim. Rachael Schwartz was a captivating yet troubled soul, an Amish girl who had fled her community for reasons cloaked in shadow. Why had she returned? And who could wield such heinous violence against her?

Kate's memories of Rachael haunt her; they share a bond forged in rebellion, both women struggling against the rigid constraints of their Amish upbringing. Yet, as the layers of Rachael’s life unfurl, Kate grapples with the unsettling truth: Rachael’s reputation as a troublemaker was well-deserved. From a raucous childhood to a tumultuous adulthood, Rachael was a whirlwind of charm and chaos, effortlessly drawing people to her, while simultaneously accruing a roster of enemies—both Amish and English.

No, you're not losing your mind. Yesterday, I confidently declared that I was finished with my exploration of kids' horror in the 31 Reads of Terror. Well, it turns out I was wrong—there's one last middle-grade gem that managed to sneak under my radar: No Filter by Kelley Skovron, a 2025 Scholastic paperback that somehow found its way into my eclectic collection. And if you've guessed that I snagged this book solely because of its eye-catching cover, then you’d be absolutely right. It’s a little problem of mine; I tend to get swept away by illustrations before even glancing at the author or the blurb.

Meet Janessa "Jinx" McCormick, a girl whose passion for photography allows her to manipulate reality—making it just as beautiful as she wishes. Armed with her late father's camera, Jinx snaps pictures for nearly everyone in the sleepy town of Greenbelt, turning her into something of a local sensation. But when she’s editing a new shot, she catches a glimpse of… something lurking in the background. A shadow, an ominous presence that wasn't there when she clicked the shutter. It's dark and indistinct, but its shape resembles a figure. And here’s the chilling kicker: with every new photo she takes, that shadow draws ever closer to the lens, as if it’s coming to claim her.