Here’s a mystery to unravel: although I have a profound aversion to medical dramas across all forms of media, be it films, television, streaming, or books, I've harbored a surprising affection for Robin Cook's fictitious medical thrillers since childhood. It’s curious, isn’t it? Perhaps the haunting covers from the '80s and '90s, which were a staple of my formative years, drew me into his world. Or maybe it's simply Cook's talent as a writer that keeps me coming back for more. As I prepared to pen this review, I discovered he's turning eighty-five this year, a fact that astonished me. Many literary giants, such as Stephen King, R.L. Stine, and Dean Koontz, are gracefully aging, and with each read, I find myself appreciating their works even more deeply.

Now, on to the main event—my review of Robin Cook's latest thriller, Spasm ^[*], which hit the shelves courtesy of G.P. Putnam's Sons in December 2025. This thrilling tale marks the fifteenth installment in the Jack Stapleton & Laurie Montgomery series, which began its intriguing journey with Blindsight ^[*] in 1992.

The narrative of Spasm ^[*] unfolds with as Laurie Montgomery stepping steps back from her role as Chief Medical Examiner, leading allowing her and Jack to enjoy a rare moment of freedom for a couple of weeks. They receive a distressing call from Jack's old medical school pal, Robert Neilson, the lone family physician in Essex Falls, a picturesque town nestled in New York State’s serene Adirondack Mountains. While also serving as the coroner for Hamilton County, Dr. Neilson finds himself in the deep end, grappling with the inexplicable death of a young, vibrant pest control worker and an alarming surge of Alzheimer's-like cases. He reaches out, pleading for Jack and Laurie’s expertise, and unable to resist both a tantalizing mystery and a much-needed getaway, they agree to help and head upstate.

Writing introductions has always felt like navigating a maze blindfolded, especially when it comes to reviews. You always hear that the first few words should grip the reader, but what can you do when you’re faced with a blank page and a foggy mind? So, let’s jump straight in: Today, I’m discussing the mystery thriller The Garbage Man ^[*], penned by Tessa Pacelli and published by Zero Day Books. I snagged a digital copy on NetGalley last year and have taken my sweet time organizing my thoughts. Life has a way of throwing distractions my way: changes in reading routines, unexpected obligations—you name it. Now, let's unwrap this book.

The story begins with Kayla Mousavi, fresh out of Harvard Business School and stepping into what she believes is her dream job at General Recycling, a tech company touted as the future of clean energy. Kayla is thrilled to work under the elusive CEO, Frederick Douglass Monahan, and is convinced that her role is pivotal in saving the planet. With GR’s revolutionary bacteria designed to eat trash, she’s not just chasing corporate success; she’s aiming to be one of the youngest stars in an eco-conscious world.

However, beneath the gleaming surface of innovation lies an ominous truth.

When Kayla stumbles upon discrepancies in the data and uncovers a horrifying secret lurking in the company’s labs, she quickly finds herself in peril. As she inches closer to the truth, the stakes skyrocket, and she becomes the target of a professional hit—a hit intended for her. What she once viewed as a benevolent company is now shrouded in a darker reality involving more than just financial deception.

I've been contemplating my thoughts on The Housemaid, the 2025 Lionsgate film based on Freida McFadden's bestselling novel. For the record, I read the first two books but somehow neglected to share my thoughts on this blog. The film, directed by Paul Feig, known predominantly for comedies like the lackluster remake of Ghostbusters and the underrated Last Christmas, was an unexpected choice for an erotic thriller, but he surprisingly exceeded my expectations. The cast boasts Sydney Sweeney (who also serves as executive producer), Amanda Seyfried (with a rather obvious vanity executive producer credit), Brandon Sklenar (Drop, 1923), Michele Morrone (365 Days and its sequels), and Elizabeth Perkins (Big, Weeds). Against a modest $35 million budget, the film has grossed an impressive $396 million, emerging as a sleeper hit.

The plot unfurls like a carefully folded curtain: Millie (Sweeney), seeking to escape her troubled past, takes on a job as a live-in housemaid for the affluent Nina (Seyfried) and Andrew Winchester (Sklenar). However, what initially seems like a dream job soon descends into an intricate web of danger—a seductive game riddled with secrets, scandals, and power plays. The enigmatic closed doors of the Winchester household hide shocking twists that keep you guessing until the very last frame.

The Housemaid is now available for digital enjoyment ^[*] and on various physical formats, including 4K UHD (+Blu-ray + Digital) ^[*], Blu-ray (+Digital) ^[*], and DVD ^[*]. The digital special features offer a treasure trove for fans: From Page to Panic: Making of The Housemaid, Secrets of the Winchester House: A Housemaid Tour, A Peek Inside Featurette, deleted scenes, and Pushing It Over the Edge: Creating the Stunts (a Fandango Exclusive).

Now, I wouldn’t exactly classify Freida McFadden’s works as fine literature; they serve more as a guilty pleasure, a delightful escapism. Her books, including The Housemaid, are woven with unpredictable twists and multiple character perspectives, a narrative style I thought would be too complex to translate well onto the screen. Yet, I stand corrected, Paul Feig and screenwriter Rebecca Sonnenshine crafted a surprisingly astute adaptation that remains faithful to the novel's essence. Sydney Sweeney shines as the not-so-innocent twenty-something housemaid embroiled in a steamy affair with her married employer, played by Brandon Sklenar, whose performance is mesmerizingly intense, if not a touch deadly. Amanda Seyfried, too, delivers a hauntingly brilliant portrayal of Mrs. Winchester, teetering on the edge of sanity.

Honestly, modern films often leave me underwhelmed. I had planned to dismiss The Housemaid outright, convinced that, having read the book, I would emerge disappointed by the cinematic version. However, after stumbling upon a rather unexpected endorsement from an overly enthusiastic middle-aged Star Trek YouTuber, my curiosity was piqued. Reluctantly, I decided to give it a shot, and to my surprise, I found myself thoroughly captivated. The direction, performances, and music choices are spot on, but the screenplay is the real star here: a clever and faithful adaptation that keeps you guessing. It’s thrilling, imbued with moments of erotic tension, and even manages to creep you out. Despite knowing the outcome, I found myself on the edge of my seat, gripped by the unfolding drama.

I highly recommend The Housemaid. Stream it or purchase it. It’s worth every second. ╌★★★★★

〜B.J. Burgess

After much anticipation, I’m finally ready to share my thoughts on the mystery thriller Empty Boxes, penned by Robin Action and brought to life by Blank Slate Press, an indie publisher based right here in Missouri. I owe the publisher a heartfelt apology for my delay in reading and reviewing this book. While I can’t pinpoint the exact date I received it—sometime last year, I believe—I can’t ignore that it was indeed a long wait. I showcased the book in a Friday 56 post last October, and you might be wondering what took so long. Well, it’s been a tumultuous time for me; my mother had several ER visits and underwent surgery last November, which understandably pulled my focus away from blogging. In my suitcase of distractions, I even packed this book, but it ended up left behind while I opted for movies on my Fire Tablet instead. Eventually, I stumbled upon it again just last week, much to my relief.

Empty Boxes ^[*] is the second installment in the Rita Locke series, and fortunately for me, it can stand alone, as I hadn’t yet dipped into the first book. The narrative follows Pittsburgh crime reporter Rita Locke as she investigates the murder of a funeral director, only to discover a chilling truth—he had been burying empty coffins. As she digs deeper into his secrets, she unravels a sinister plot spanning international borders, leading her from the familiar streets of western Pennsylvania to an offshore Caribbean medical school. Here, she finds herself ensnared in a web of deceit that threatens her very life.

Changing our perspective over time can reshape our attitudes toward the authors we've previously dismissed. It’s an intriguing phenomenon, reminiscent of the adage that a person evolves every seven years. Perhaps this evolving mindset explains my renewed appreciation for the works of Joyce Carol Oates, an author I had once cast aside. My initial dismissal stemmed from a rather unfortunate experience: I had read her 1995 horror novella Zombie, inspired by the notorious Jeffrey Dahmer, for an eighth-grade book report. Despite my passion for horror movies, the novella sickened me profoundly, causing me to overlook Oates's works for nearly two decades. However, with the passage of time and a broader literary palate, I've revisited her writing and found value in much of it, even though I don't always connect with her narratives on a personal level.

Oates is a prolific author known for her explorative and often dark storytelling, and like many writers, she has adopted various pen names throughout her career, notably Rosamond Smith. Her latest work, Double Trouble, published by Hard Case Crime, is set to be released tomorrow in hardcover ^[*], paperback ^[*], Kindle ^[*], and other eBook formats. This collection features two previously released complete novels, Starr Bright Will Be With You Soon and Soul/Mate, alongside two rare short stories, The Murderess and An Unsolved Crime. 

Starr Bright Will Be With You Soon, the seventh novel under the Rosamond Smith pseudonym, is a noir-infused crime thriller first published in 1999. It delves into the life of Lily Merrick, a seemingly devoted housewife and mother in upstate New York, who teaches pottery classes. When her estranged twin sister Sharon reappears after fifteen years, seeking refuge from her life as a Las Vegas stripper, the family initially welcomes her with open arms. However, Sharon, under the alias of Starr Bright, harbors a sinister secret—she’s the most wanted female serial killer in the country. 

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.

Let's take a moment to explore a thought-provoking question: What motivates an author or a team of authors to create a prequel for a long-running series? Is it merely a cash grab? A clever marketing strategy? A signal that they’ve run out of fresh ideas? Or perhaps it’s a story they’ve long been eager to share with the world? No matter the reason, Pendergast: The Beginning by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child is set to hit both physical and digital bookstores on January 27th, courtesy of Grand Central Publishing. This marks the 23rd installment in the Agent Pendergast series and the first prequel, a journey that began in 1995 with the enthralling Relic.

The pequel kicks off with a brief prologue set in 1989, but the bulk of the story unfolds in August 1994. The plot centers around Special Agent Dwight Chambers, whose life has shattered into pieces in just six short months. First, he loses his partner in the line of duty, and then the cruel grip of fate snatches away his wife. As he returns to the New Orleans Field Office, Chambers finds himself burdened with the unenviable task of mentoring a fresh-faced FBI agent—one A.X.L. Pendergast. As Chambers grapples with his personal demons, Pendergast's enigmatic and often infuriating personality does not make things easier. He quickly finds himself drawn into a reckless stunt that costs them both their jobs.

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?

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.

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.