Pinnacle / June 2010
Reviewed by: Rick R. Reed

Synopsis: For more than two years, he held Seattle in a terror grip - a cold-blooded killer who abducted young mothers right in front of their sons and murdered them execution style. Then, as suddenly as the killings began, they seemed to stop.

Susan Blanchette is looking forward to a relaxing weekend getaway with her fiancée, Allen, and young son, Matthew. But something about the remote lake house doesn't feel right. A woman vanished from the area a year ago, and now Susan thinks she's spotted someone lurking around the property. And when Allen disappears, her fear grows.

A psychopath has returned, ready to strike again. Someone who can't resist the urge to kill, who derives pleasure from others' pain, and who is drawing nearer to Susan as each minute of the weekend ticks by. But she's just one pawn at the heart of a killer's deadly game — a killer who is unrelenting, unstoppable, and absolutely vicious.

Review: Although it’s being marketed as a thriller, Kevin O’Brien’s latest Seattle-set chiller would be more appropriately classified as a horror novel. It’s in the same true-life vein as, say, a horror novel by Jack Ketchum or a movie like Last House on the Left or The Strangers. It’s the scariest kind of horror, because it could really happen.

I say the above because Vicious is a book that defies convention as a thriller in the same vein as Harlan Coben or Lynwood Barclay. Vicious, unlike most books in the thriller genre, is all about the villain (or villains) and the victims. O’Brien spends very little time on police procedure or even amateur investigators getting to the bottom of crime. Most books classified as thrillers make the detection of the principle crime the heart of the work. Vicious brings us brilliantly into the mind of a very sick and twisted killer – dubbed by the press as the “Mama’s boy Killer” because he kills only the mothers of young children – and his victims.

O’Brien is a master at ratcheting up the suspense and doing the thing that all suspense writers long to do: keep us compulsively turning the pages in an almost frantic quest to find out what happens next. Part of the reason for the escalating tension and mounting suspense is not only the author’s careful plotting and timing, but his facility for creating a truly sympathetic cast of characters. He makes his good characters so real and believable that we become not only observers, but protectors, watching over their every move and trying with force of telepathy to warn them about the peril they are placing themselves in. That’s masterful suspense.

Even with O’Brien’s less savory – and yes, evil – characters, there is a strong element of if not sympathy, then fascination. O’Brien brings us close enough to the fiery heart of evil to get scorched. He capably and credibly shows us the malice lurking in the twisted mind of a killer. And best of all, he allows us to understand the twisted and tortured logic of one who kills.

He sets all this down in territory I’m very familiar with — Seattle and the more untamed parts of the Pacific Northwest that border the “rain city.” I would say that even if you have never been to this part of the country, O’Brien makes it very real and palpable. The woods, the darkness, the snap and chill of the air, and the often gloomy landscape provide a very compelling and evocative backdrop for the author’s tale. The real-life locations, such as Seattle’s beautiful Volunteer Park, make the horror that much more believable and real.

This is the first of this author’s work that I’ve encountered. I have already followed that up with his also excellent Final Breath, and I am so impressed with his ability to tell a dread-inducing tale (however you want to classify it) that I am certain I will complete his entire oeuvre by year’s end.

Purchase Vicious by Kevin O’ Brien.

Columnist Rick R. Reed is the author of thirteen novels, three collections, and has short fiction in more than twenty anthologies. He lives in Seattle, WA. Find out more about the author at his official website.

Morning Star Press / January 2010
Reviewed by: Vince A. Liaguno

It’s often fascinating to watch a writer’s career trajectory, from that eyebrow-raising first short story that makes one sit up and take notice to the much-anticipated debut novel that confirms the writer’s talent to the emergence of a common theme running throughout subsequent works. For John R. Little, the theme most often at play is loss – and, in his excellent new novella, Dreams in Black and White, he further cements his growing reputation as something of the go-to guy when it comes to time-slip fiction.  

Insomniac Charlie Parkinson is about to get two things he most desires: a good night’s sleep and his career-making big break. The former comes by way of a series of mysterious dreams in which the clock designation of 4:42 and tragedies dreamt in black and white figure prominently; the latter comes by way of a lucrative gallery exhibition of photos Charlie takes chasing down these dream-state premonitions, which each result in the death of a stranger. With his wife, Selina, and daughter, Becky, at his side, Charlie seems poised to have it all – despite his increasing unease with profiting off of the misfortune of others. But, as anyone familiar with Little’s stories knows, time is more vicious than the most seasoned of serial killers, and Charlie is about to realize all of his dreams – even his worst nightmares.

Like his previous Miranda and The Gray Zone, Little uses heartbreak as the vessel of horror in Dreams in Black and White. In doing so, he makes a strong case that what’s most terrifying about the human condition isn’t the invasion of otherness into our existence but the inevitability of time upon our lives.  Little adeptly uses the concept of time – manipulating, stretching, and forcing it into non-sequential orders – to create conflict and tension for his characters. From this idea of time as antagonist springs the terror of our inability to control it and the certainty of time’s never-ending momentum. Much of horror – if not all – plays upon our fear of death, the finite end of ourselves or those we love. Little capitalizes on that, crafting strong literary fiction while remaining true to his genre roots.

Dreams in Black and White is another strong addition to the Little catalog – a blend of superior storytelling, beauty amidst gut-wrenching heartbreak, and the powerful bonds of our human connections that will leave your stomach in knots and a tear in your eye. 

Purchase Dreams in Black and White by John R. Little.

Medallion Press / June 2010
Reviewed by: Derek Clendening

Of the handful of traditional frights – that would include ghosts, vampires, zombies and assorted funky creatures conjured by an author’s imagination – werewolves seem to receive the least ink. Very often werewolf-themed books are relegated to the Zebra Books catalogues of the world and sometimes for good reason. But such is not the case with Gregory Lamberson’s The Frenzy Way. In this novel, the author of Johnny Gruesome and Personal Demons puts forward a fresh examination of lycanthropes and offers readers something brand new.

NYPD cop Anthony Mace has a string of murders on his hands, with some evidence to suggest that his perpetrator is either am actual wolf or some loony dressed up as one. As the story progresses, the murderer grows ever closer, killing some of Mace’s staff and leaving him to wonder if he should pursue his gut instinct. The chapters are prefaced with fictitious academic research from one Professor Terrence Glenzer that adds refreshing new twists to werewolf lore that have been badly needed. Lamberson doesn’t just rehash the same old lycanthropy clichés here. And while this reviewer admits a disdain for just about any horror novel (particularly werewolf novels) with a cop, detective, inspector, chief, private investigator, or constable in the starring role, Lamberson knows how to help curmudgeons like me enjoy a story – regardless of the protagonist’s profession.

The Frenzy Way is superior to Lamberson’s first two books, and it’s clear that he’s found his comfort zone in the novel format. Perhaps this should come as no surprise given that his first few novels were originally conceived as screenplays. But he does find himself in a bit of a catch-22 in The Frenzy Way with his Mace character. By nature, this novel is fast-paced and plot-heavy (which is perfectly acceptable given the target audience), but less time is devoted to getting to know Mace better in favor of the breakneck momentum. The problem for Lamberson here is that trying to do so might mean having to slow down the novel’s intended pace. While Mace is a sympathetic character – he is, after all, a man of high principle and integrity – a reader might not learn as much about him as they might like.

This reviewer believes that good authors pay attention to the details, and the novel’s light police jargon lends a sense of authenticity to the proceedings. On the whole, Lamberson has written a very strong novel that will be very appealing to fans of the Medallion and Leisure horror lines. The Frenzy Way is definitely a cut above other werewolf novels.

Purchase The Frenzy Way by Greg Lamberson.

Dark Arts Books / March 2010
Reviewed by: Blu Gilliand

When the Night Comes Down is a sampler pack of if-you-haven’t-heard-of-them-you-will authors working in the horror genre. The formula, which Dark Arts also followed for each of its five previous releases, is simple: Recruit four authors and ask for their best, with no unifying theme or restrictions. The result, in this case, is a successful grab bag of sixteen dark tales.

Joseph D’Lacey kicks off the collection with “The Unwrapping of Alastair Perry,” which was not only my favorite story of his, but of the entire book. It begins with a simple act of shaving, but quickly dissolves into a terrifying and bewildering transformation for the title character. Alastair Perry learns to adapt to his evolution into...something else, even as the reader is kept off-balance by the shifts in his life and in the story. That’s the kind of feeling that readers seek in books like this, and each author manages to pull it off in their own way.

Bev Vincent, best known perhaps for his non-fiction work (The Illustrated Stephen King Companion, The Road to the Dark Tower) proves there’s a whole different side to his talent with his representation here. Of particular note is “Knock ‘Em Dead,” the tale of an author who gets an unexpected boost in sales when patrons start dropping dead at his book signings. The story seems to have played its last note when Vincent drops in an interesting twist toward the end. “Something In Store” is another standout in the book, and a tale which many rabid readers can relate to — what would happen if you owned a bookstore, and whole rooms of priceless editions materialized there overnight? The tale starts out with an almost lighthearted “Isn’t this cool?” sort of vibe, but Vincent brings on the dark in a hurry.

Like D’Lacey before him, Robert E. Weinberg scores right out of the gate with his first story, “Elevator Girls.” He brings both the solitary struggles of writing and the convention culture to vivid life, and then tosses one of the horror genre’s oldest and most venerable subjects into the mix with memorable results.

Nate Kenyon bats cleanup in this impressive lineup of talent, and he makes a vivid last impression with his quartet of stories. “Gravedigger” is a particularly strong effort, mixing the living dead with drug deals gone wrong in an action-packed, blood-soaked nightmare.

Like any anthology, there were some stories here that worked better for me than others. The great thing about the format Dark Arts has chosen is that it’s so wide open — there’s quiet horror right next to stories that would make a splatterpunk smile. The four authors represented here all have something unique to bring to the table, and their differing styles and sensibilities are expertly blended by editor Bill Breedlove. This is a true treat for readers ready to try something new, and is highly recommended.

Purchase When the Night Comes Down edited by Bill Breedlove.

Lyrical Press/January 2009
Reviewed by: Rick R. Reed

Synopsis: Ancient evil forces a woman to fight for her life - and true love.

Man may forget horrors, but the land remembers. Built on a cursed patch of ground, George Simpson's house of evil has ruined many lives over its hundred-year existence.

Author Steve Corey rents the place as an early anniversary surprise for his wife, hoping it might repair the deep rift his alcoholism has created in their marriage.

Before they moved to the Simpson house, Samantha Corey thought getting Steve sober was the hard part. But the house's dark nature has turned her thoughts to Matt Barry, Steve's best friend and agent...and her old love. Can they overcome the ancient evil threatening them all from Out of the Darkness?

Review: Horror literature is filled with tropes. Look at all the rules, traditions, whatever-you-want-to-call ‘em surrounding vampires and werewolves. There’s a whole ‘nother set of well-worn paths when it comes to writing about haunted houses. It can make a confused horror fan wonder if there really is anything new under the sun.

The answer is yes and no. Even I, as a horror writer, will admit that something truly horrific and original is really hard to come by these days (for that, I would refer you to Sarah Langan or the early work of Kathe Koja, i.e. The Cipher). One of the many comforts of any genre fiction is that, with it, often comes familiarity. We read horror (and mystery, thrillers, or romance) because we know what to expect.

Lesli Richardson’s haunted/possessed house story is a good old-fashioned horror story about a house built on cursed land and the evil that comes to visit the generations that follow the initial evil and who have the nerve or naiveté to inhabit the land. From The Turn of the Screw to The Haunting and on to The Shining, we’ve read this story before.

And yet we haven’t. See, there’s no harm in taking a well-worn plot device like possession, ghosts, curses (or even vampires and werewolves and zombies—oh my!) and using them as long as the writer makes them his or her own.

Lesli Richardson takes the familiar haunted house tale and makes it all her own. And that’s why I would recommend this novel to even the most jaded horror aficionado. Richardson breathes fresh life into a genre that could be stale in less capable hands. She does this in several ways.

The first is the writing itself. It’s competent, economical, and has a voice exactly like someone you might know. There’s no purple prose, no flights of fancy…the prose here is every day, down-to-earth and readable. Simple but never simplistic. That same feel of the ordinary also extends to the characters in this book, who are not fantastic, but normal, almost run-of-the-mill people you’d meet in real life. What makes Out of the Darkness so terrifying is that it seems real in Richardson’s hands. This is not some fantasy world or a nightmarish vision (although at times it can certainly be the latter), but everyday people set down in bizarre and horrifying circumstances.

Richardson also gives the book a refreshing twist by creating two main characters that are (pardon the pun) hauntingly familiar to those of us who are familiar with the private lives of Stephen and Tabitha King. Whether this was intentional or not, you’d have to ask the author, but I couldn’t help but think of the famous pair as I read this book.

The setting, too, contributes to making Out of the Darkness a mesmerizing and original read. Not many horror novels are set in rural Florida. And because the author is a native, she gets beyond the coastal Florida we are familiar with from postcards, TV, and movies, and gets into the real heart of this southern state, where evil lurks just out of sight, like an alligator in a quiet lake with only his snout exposed.

So, like so many things, it’s not the genre a writer picks, but what he or she does with it. Lesli Richardson makes the haunted house story completely her own with Out of the Darkness.

Purchase Out of the Darkness by Lesli Richardson.

Columnist Rick R. Reed is the author of twelve novels, two collections, and has short fiction in more than twenty anthologies. He lives in Seattle, WA. Find out more about the author at his official author website.

Leisure Books / May 2010
Reviewed by: Vince A. Liaguno

If good horror fiction evokes a genuine sense of dread, then Nate Kenyon’s Sparrow Rock is excellent horror fiction. And be forewarned: The sense of dread you experience while reading it may be enough to send you climbing up the back of your favorite reading chair. Relentless in its intensity, agonizing in its heartbreak, Sparrow Rock is easily one of the most effective and satisfying novels of dark fiction you’re likely to read this year.

With hearty bits of The Ruins, The Food of the Gods, and Invasion of the Body Snatchers, a generous heaping of The Breakfast Club, and a pinch of The Sixth Sense all tossed in to an apocalyptic stew, Kenyon concocts a nifty horror dish best served raw. And while the novel’s setting is throat-tightening claustrophobic, its scope is epic.

Six teens – Jimmie, Jay, Dan, Sue, Tessa, and Pete – are your typical bunch of modern-day high school friends. Out for a night of teenage aimlessness – here card playing, recreational drugs, and general hanging – the group holes up in a state-of-the-art bomb shelter, constructed by one of the kid’s conspiracy theorist grandfathers. Well, cue the slightly altered adage “Grandfather knows best” because the kids are barely through their first joint and a few hands of poker when Armageddon strikes.

As the world topside deals with what appears to be a full-blown nuclear strike of epic proportion, the kids quickly realize that the bomb shelter will be their home for the foreseeable future. With enough power and provisions to last several months, all seems manageable. But Kenyon quickly reveals that he’s got other plans for this doomed adolescent sextet. To provide too many details of the terror Kenyon heaps on his likeable cast of characters might otherwise spoil some of the fun here, but, suffice to say, the author raises the bar on “skin-crawling” to an almost unbearable level.

Kenyon’s pacing here is spot-on, with scarce time for the characters – or the reader – to regroup before his next twisted creepy-crawly onslaught. It’s so cliché to say that something will leave you breathless, but Sparrow Rock manages to bring about genuine breathlessness in its unremitting forward momentum. It’s rare to experience such a visceral reaction to a book, but damned if Kenyon didn’t have this reviewer subconsciously considering a fly swatter and bug spray more than once.

But the real revelation about Sparrow Rock – and, ultimately, what gives it the potential to be a future classic – is in the emotional resonance that Kenyon deftly imbues the novel with.  Pete, his first-person narrator, is so well-drawn that he comes right off the page at points. Kenyon seamlessly interweaves Pete’s personal back story into the larger tale, never once slogging down the narrative momentum and making the experience all the more richer for it. It’s clear from his first few novels that the recurrent theme of child-parent relationships is an integral part of the Kenyon story canon, and the author beautifully captures that in Sparrow Rock. Late into the third act, readers will likely find a lump in their throat and a stray tear clouding their vision as Kenyon brings his masterful tale to its heartbreaking denouement.

Sparrow Rock is so strong on so many levels that it’s easy to forgive Kenyon when he miscalculates slightly with an extraneous (and mercifully brief) plot point involving Nazi genealogy and a decades-old conspiracy that attempts to frame the nuclear attack in some kind of context. Explanation here for the biological terror the characters endure is unnecessary, as Kenyon expertly gets us to suspend our disbelief from the opening chapters. It’s but a minor flaw in an otherwise flawless novel.

This is Kenyon’s fourth novel – following his Bram Stoker Award nominated debut, Bloodstone, its follow-up The Reach, and last year’s The Bone Factory – and, not to put too fine a point on it, it’s easily his best. Filled with unrelenting, nature-run-amok horror, believable characters, and infused with an authentic emotional timbre that will take the reader by surprise, Sparrow Rock will likely be the book that catapults Kenyon into the big leagues of dark fiction.

Purchase Sparrow Rock by Nate Kenyon.

Nate Kenyon's Sparrow Rock is also available as a signed, limited edition hardcover (print run of 100) from Bad Moon Books. Order here.

Gray Friar Press / January 2010
Reviewed by: Vince A. Liaguno

A haunted theater, Jewish mysticism, and a serial killer with a penchant for prostitutes are the unlikely ingredients in three-time Bram Stoker Award-winner Lisa Morton’s thoroughly satisfying debut novel. With the precision of master dark scribes boasting far more titles in their back catalogs, Morton deftly crafts a genuinely spine-tingling spooker, an homage to the haunted house tale that shrewdly never falls prey to the clichéd trappings of this familiar sub-genre.

Beth Ortiz is an up-and-coming playwright who lands a gig as theater director of the Lofty Repertory Company, a small theater housed within The Castle, an exclusive artist’s community nestled amidst industrialized Los Angeles. With the discovery of an old scrapbook, she quickly learns that the building has a long-standing history of madness and murder, having once housed everything from a dairy processing plant, to an insane asylum for celebrities, to a government-owned morgue for servicemen killed in World War II. Lots of backdrops for lots of restless spirits.

A random meeting of a teenage prostitute named Linda and the discovery of an old news clipping about a serial killer named John Randall Kinney – a 19th century farmer with a predilection for turning hookers into corn mulch – inspires Beth’s first production as theater director at The Castle. As her play about prostitutes in peril begins to take shape, life begins to mirror art. Thrown into the mix are an eclectic cast of characters – including a renowned, Kabbalah-loving artist who shares the penthouse with her gay rentboy/personal assistant, a struggling Asian filmmaker who’s also The Castle’s resident history buff, Beth’s best friend, Miki, an actress, and Eric, Beth’s unrequited love and former proprietor of the theater space.

When all these unlikely threads converge, the result is traditional horror at its best. Morton nails her haunted house tale here – remaining true to its conventions while infusing it with a modern sensibility. As a ghost story, there is an authenticity to The Castle of Los Angeles that will ring true to any fan of the haunted house sub-genre. But where Castle excels is in the modern spin Morton gives it and her ability to blend elements that, on the surface, seem disparate – Kabbalah, theater production, the grittiness of teenage prostitution, even references to Asian cinema. In fact, when Morton first takes the reader from the confined creepiness of The Castle’s interior to the sweeping seediness of the downtown ghetto where syringes and used condoms litter the streets, there is great risk of breaking the spooky mood. But Morton is a gifted writer who knows that genuine horror lurks in any setting and she maintains her ominous atmosphere regardless of what backdrop her characters find themselves against.

The Castle of Los Angeles is a sterling example of a classic framework successfully updated, bringing it forward from the relegation of throwback into the realm of relevance. With flawed, interesting characters and a multi-layered narrative that will keep even the most jaded dark fiction reader from seeing around every corner, Morton’s debut easily stands out as one of the best new books of the year.

Purchase The Castle of Los Angeles by Lisa Morton.