It’s all too easy for intriguing titles to slip beneath the radar, often eclipsed by more prominent releases or overlooked due to lackluster cover art. This brings us to Paper Cut ^[*], a thriller by debut author Rachel Taff, published by William Morrow. I might never have read it had I not received a heads-up in a press release and an eGalley to review. The cover, while it transports me back to a vague late '90s aesthetic, lacks the punch to compel casual browsers. As for Rachel Taff, her name was new to me, though I later discovered her background in television production.

Paper Cut centers on Lucy Golden, a true-crime celebrity forever marked by the brutality of a murder she committed while escaping a California cult two decades ago. In the ever-watchful public eye of Los Angeles, Lucy is haunted by the specter of fading notoriety. As she grapples with the perils of fame—from an obsessive stalker to a simmering feud between her mother, a celebrated photographer, and her rock-star sister—she finds herself in a precarious balance between the past and present. Online trolls are rehashing the dark details of her infamous crime, amplifying the anxiety that’s already woven into her existence.

When a brash documentarian approaches her about making a film that centers on her case, Lucy perceives a golden opportunity to reclaim her narrative and quell the swirling doubts about her past. However, this venture demands a return to the California desert, where her history is as thick and deceptive as the sands themselves. Unraveling buried secrets amidst present-day perils, she must fight to protect the story she has long sold to the world. 

The heart of this book lies in the tension between public perception and personal truth—a dance between the various layers of identity, all while examining the obsessive fascination with the true-crime phenomenon itself.

♰ 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.

Insomnia has its perks and curses. Sure, the midnight oil burns longer when sleep eludes you, which means there’s plenty of time to read new books. Yet, that elusive rest often leaves you with the dreaded brain fog, akin to waking up after a wild night of debauchery—sans the actual debauchery, of course. Instead of clutching a toilet bowl, I'm sitting here, jittery from coffee, desperately trying to pen down these thoughts. So, buckle up and enjoy!

Let’s delve into Split, a horror novel penned by Sarah McKnight-I, an author I hadn’t encountered until now. Apparently, she has another book called Carousel that’s gained some traction in the horror community. I’ll admit, I picked up Split solely based on its cover, which screams bad early '90s direct-to-VHS rental—a guilty pleasure for nostalgia lovers like me. There's something enjoyable about bad horror flicks, except for those recent ones that miss the mark entirely—they just don’t have the same charm.

The story revolves around Holly Doyle, a recently separated mother of two, who dreams of giving her children a semblance of normalcy after the upheaval of her divorce. When she finds what seems to be the perfect house to rent, a wave of relief washes over her, signaling a fresh start. But, as is often the case in horror, things are not what they seem. The ancient house has its quirks: a basement door that refuses to stay shut, a family cat reacting to unseen terrors, and Holly’s young son exhibiting behaviors that raise red flags bigger than a bull at a rodeo.