Book Review: The Solstice by Elaine Pascale

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The Solstice
Elaine Pascale
Trepidatio Publishing (April 11, 2025)
Reviewed by Andrew Byers

Elaine Pascale’s The Solstice is a ferocious and uncompromising dystopian horror novel that imagines a near-future America ruled by the old who unhesitatingly prey upon—literally—the young. In Pascale’s chilling vision, society is stratified by color-coded neckbands, with the elder “Red Bands” reigning as decadent, cannibalistic overlords who mark each seasonal solstice with a state-sanctioned purge of the weaker (and younger) classes. Within this nightmarish framework, Pascale weaves a tale that is part socio-political allegory, part psychological horror, and part speculative satire.

The novel opens with a grim trip to the market, as a Lavender-Banded woman—one of the society’s disenfranchised—struggles to purchase desperately needed medication on the eve of the winter Solstice. The Red Bands, once called simply “Boomers,” now rule through opaque policies, nostalgia-fueled cruelty, and an experimental pharmaceutical called Solidox. The Red Bands, you see, now dominate their society ruthlessly, literally preying upon those younger than themselves. The rules of the Solstice are clear: everyone must leave their homes; anyone caught indoors will be executed. The streets become a hunting ground for the Red Bands, who select their prey based on color, class, and whim.

Pascale’s narrative blends visceral horror with sharp social critique. Her dystopia is not built from abstract tyranny but from a warped exaggeration of contemporary generational anxieties and consumerist excess. The Red Bands aren’t merely villains—they are grotesque parodies of entitlement and longevity, dolled up in sequins and boat-themed T-shirts as they disembowel and consume their victims. Pascale leans into the absurdity of their privilege, creating villains who are both terrifying and painfully recognizable.

What makes The Solstice truly disturbing is its plausibility. The world is fully realized and horrifying in its logic. The Solidox drug—developed initially to stimulate appetite in terminal cats—transforms its users into carnivores with enhanced sensory perception and a taste for human flesh. The chapters detailing the drug’s research history and unintended human applications are among the book’s most chilling. Particularly memorable is the backstory of Dr. John, a lonely child prodigy whose desire for maternal approval sets the groundwork for the Red Band regime’s rise.

Despite its bleak premise, Pascale’s novel is deeply human. Through the interwoven lives of characters like Leroy, the store manager trying to survive another Solstice from his supermarket ceiling, or Holly Blue, a woman clinging to normalcy in a collapsing world, Pascale captures the small acts of resistance and survival that persist even in the most brutal conditions. These moments give the novel its emotional weight, even as they underscore the futility of rebellion in a system designed to exploit hope itself.

Pascale’s prose is efficient and evocative, at times almost poetic in its despair. Pascale balances tone and structure with skill, shifting between perspectives and stylistic modes—first-person horror, pseudo-scientific reports, allegorical vignettes—without losing coherence. The result is a novel that is both thematically rich and structurally ambitious.

The Solstice will appeal to fans of dystopian fiction with a taste for the grotesque—readers of Margaret Atwood, Chuck Palahniuk, or Kathe Koja will find much to admire here. Pascale has created a world that is simultaneously surreal and brutally logical, filled with moments of satirical brilliance and gut-punch horror.

This is not escapist fiction; it is a ruthless examination of generational resentment, class cruelty, and the false promises of medical and technological progress. But within that bleak vision lies a dark, compulsive energy—a fierce commitment to storytelling that refuses to flinch.

Pascale’s The Solstice is provocative, original, and deeply unsettling.

This review originally appeared in Hellnotes.

Book Review: The Secret House by Gregory Frost

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The Secret House
Gregory Frost
JournalStone Publishing (June 13, 2025)
Reviewed by Andrew Byers

Gregory Frost’s The Secret House is a gripping historical fantasy and occult thriller that masterfully fuses gothic horror with an alternate retelling of a pivotal moment in American political history. Set in the shadowy aftermath of President William Henry Harrison’s abrupt death in 1841, the novel imagines what might have transpired inside the White House during Vice President John Tyler’s sudden ascent to power—not just in terms of political chaos, but in the unsettling possibility of malign supernatural forces at work behind the scenes.

At the heart of the story is James Hambleton Christian, a literate, enslaved man of mixed race owned by the Tyler family, who becomes an unexpected witness—and eventual participant—in a strange and possibly otherworldly conspiracy unfolding within the walls of the Executive Mansion. When Tyler assumes the presidency under ambiguous constitutional circumstances, James is brought to Washington as his personal servant. What he finds there is a decaying house of power filled with uneasy spirits, anxious servants, a scheming sorcerer/occultist, the spirit of a dead man that refuses to rest quietly, and doors that open by themselves onto things that should not be.

Frost’s prose is precise and evocative, bringing to life both the crumbling opulence of the early nineteenth-century White House and the intense claustrophobia of being caught between political intrigue and supernatural dread. His eye for period detail never overwhelms the narrative but enriches it, creating a deeply immersive world. The book’s early chapters, with their vivid depictions of foggy streets, half-lit rooms, and anxious whispers, immediately evoke the mood of classic haunted house tales. But The Secret House is more than a ghost story—it’s also a biting commentary on power, servitude, and the erasures of history.

The novel excels in its portrayal of James, whose intelligence, inner life, and growing desperation give the narrative its emotional weight. His knowledge of Shakespeare, music, and literature sets him apart in a world that refuses to see him as fully human, and his perspective allows Frost to explore the contradictions of a nation built on freedom yet riddled with bondage. The other characters—particularly the imperious and self-absorbed John Tyler, the enigmatic Miss Letitia, and the household staff left behind by Harrison—are rendered with subtlety and complexity, adding depth to the unfolding mystery.

What sets The Secret House apart is its slow, measured build of unease. The horror here is atmospheric rather than overt. Rooms open on their own. Shadows move where none should be. Spiders nest in the chandeliers. And at the center of it all lies the body of President Harrison, whose presence continues to cast a long, uncanny shadow. Frost smartly resists cheap jump scares or conventional genre resolutions. Instead, he crafts a narrative that is both intellectually and emotionally resonant, balancing the demands of historical fiction with the conventions of weird horror.

The Secret House is a bold, imaginative novel that invites comparisons to the works of Victor LaValle and Tananarive Due—writers who similarly blend the supernatural with the legacies of American injustice. Frost’s story is rooted in deep research and historical insight, yet it remains eerie, disorienting, and speculative in the best sense. This is a haunted house novel in which the real ghosts are history, power, and the people America has tried to forget.

A haunting, thought-provoking, and elegantly written book, The Secret House is one of the most original recent American Gothic novels.

This review originally appeared in Hellnotes.

Book Review: Rabbit Face and Further Awful Encounters by Thomas C. Mavroudis

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Rabbit Face and Further Awful Encounters
Thomas C. Mavroudis
JournalStone Publishing (April 25, 2025)
Reviewed by Andrew Byers

In Rabbit Face and Further Awful Encounters, Thomas C. Mavroudis offers readers a compelling collection of thirteen literary horror stories that are both richly atmospheric and deeply unsettling. This is Mavroudis’s debut collection, and it announces the arrival of a distinct voice in weird fiction, one that confidently blends the uncanny with emotional depth and narrative precision.

The titular story, “Rabbit Face,” is a standout work of psychological horror. Set in a snowbound cabin on a remote mountain lake, it follows young Gordon as he accompanies his father and uncle on a winter fishing trip that slowly turns hallucinatory and horrific. With prose that is quietly lyrical and charged with dread, Mavroudis captures the ambiguity of trauma, the complexity of familial relationships, and the terrible pull of the wilderness. The story’s slow-burn unease, paired with a genuinely frightening climax involving a mysterious rabbit mask and a doppelgänger-like presence, makes for one of the most memorable horror tales in recent memory.

The pieces that follow vary considerably in tone, structure, and style, but are unified by their interest in identity, memory, and the intrusion of the irrational into the everyday. In “The Bloody Cask of Rasputin,” Mavroudis pivots to paranoid debauched horror, weaving together Cold War anxieties, a pagan immortality cult, and tabloid sleaze. The result is a pulpy but tightly constructed narrative that wears its literary and pop-cultural influences with pride while carving out something wholly original. It’s this kind of tonal flexibility—equal parts darkly comic and sincerely terrifying—that gives the collection its vitality.

Another standout is “Antumbra,” a surreal and claustrophobic tale set within a childhood home’s crawlspace. Here, the author evokes the feel of early Clive Barker and Thomas Ligotti, where subterranean spaces and half-seen figures suggest not only monsters, but buried traumas. Likewise, “A Pantheon of Trash” and “Dinner and a Show” experiment with narrative voice and form, revealing Mavroudis’s range as both a stylist and a storyteller.

Despite the eclecticism of its contents, the collection is cohesive in its mood and motifs. Many stories explore the legacy of violence—familial, historical, or cosmic—and the disorienting ways in which past and present bleed into each other. The settings range from grimy urban apartments to isolated forests, from Cold War-era England to contemporary America, yet each story is rooted in character and atmosphere. The horror in these tales is rarely straightforward. Instead, it is existential, internalized, and often tied to the failures of communication and the slow erosion of self.

Mavroudis is especially skilled at evoking a kind of middle space between the real and the unreal, often leaving readers with a lingering sense of wrongness that refuses neat resolution. His language is spare but evocative, and his dialogue—particularly in family scenes—is naturalistic and emotionally resonant. This is horror fiction for readers who appreciate ambiguity, emotional nuance, and a willingness to stare into the abyss without blinking.

Rabbit Face and Further Awful Encounters is a confident and accomplished debut. Mavroudis writes with the assurance of someone who understands the uncanny not as a trope but as a psychological condition. Fans of literary horror, particularly those who admire the work of Robert Aickman, Brian Evenson, or Laird Barron, will find much to admire here.

This review originally appeared in Hellnotes.

Book Review: Extinction Dream by Andrew Najberg

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Extinction Dream
Andrew Najberg
Wicked House Publishing (August 1, 2025)
Reviewed by Andrew Byers

Andrew Najberg’s Extinction Dream is a gripping work of science fiction-horror that thrusts readers straight into an unrelenting psychic battlefield. As with Gollitok, Najberg’s previous masterpiece, Extinction Dream is a harrowing and brilliantly crafted blending of dystopian science fiction and psychological and body horror.

Mostly set aboard an orbital station, with the backdrop of a near-future, dystopian Earth collapsing under the weight of environmental catastrophe and great power conflict, the novel follows Markus, a soldier who suddenly finds himself on the front lines of an unseen war. Humanity is under assault of what seem to be powerful alien entities who telepathically attack by projecting, twisting, and amplifying their targets’ worst memories back at them. Eventually these psychic assaults begin to alter the very fabric of reality.

From the first page, the narrative is intense and immersive. Najberg is careful to balance cosmic dread with human tension—Markus and the other soldiers are not just fighters but fragile human beings, mentally fraying under the relentless psychic assault by unseen forces. The stakes are high: Earth is losing this war, and Markus’s crew is running out of time. The prose crackles with immediacy and dread. The slow unraveling of both the characters’ minds and the broader mystery is handled masterfully. Najberg neither rushes nor stalls. He maintains tension by drip-feeding answers, ensuring every brief respite is laden with unease.

That emotional undercurrent is vital. Despite the alien menace and telepathic horrors, Markus remains relatable. His fear, confusion, determination, and fraught relationships with his family back home give readers a foothold in a story that might otherwise threaten to spiral into abstract cosmic chaos.

This is not a comfortable read. It is claustrophobic, unnerving, and often surreal, but that’s precisely the point. It challenges expectations and refuses easy explanations. And yet, beneath the layers of nightmare lies a poignant meditation on resilience in the face of existential terror.

Extinction Dream is the culmination of a space-horror renaissance, a powerful marriage of genre-savvy tension and psychologically incisive storytelling. Andrew Najberg writes with cinematic flair and emotional honesty, delivering a novel that shocks, unsettles—and, ultimately, stays with you long after the last page. For readers seeking horror that transcends its tropes while staying true to them, this is one of the year’s sharpest offerings. It’s a must-read for fans of dystopian science fiction and horror. As with Gollitok, it is a compelling exploration of the human psyche in the face of insurmountable horrors. With its atmospheric world-building, a well-drawn protagonist, and relentless sense of dread, Extinction Dream is a chilling and unforgettable journey. Highly recommended.

This review originally appeared in Hellnotes.

Book Review: Bogganmor by Mark N. Drake

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Bogganmor
Mark N. Drake
Aethos Publications (February 4, 2025)
Reviewed by Andrew Byers

Mark N. Drake returns to the foreboding and wonderfully atmospheric Darkisle in Bogganmor, the fifth installment in the Glennison Darkisle Cases series. Once again, Jack Glennison, Drake’s hardboiled 1920s-era private investigator, takes center stage as he delves into the island’s increasingly entangled mysteries of the occult, cosmic horror—specifically the Cthulhu Mythos—and human frailty.

This time, Drake weaves a multi-layered narrative that builds on the threads of previous entries, giving longtime readers a satisfying continuation while remaining accessible to new ones. Though this is the fifth book in the series (I have read and reviewed all the previous entries), I suspect it would be extremely approachable even for readers entirely new to the series. This is probably my favorite book in the series after the first one. The novel opens with Jack confronting the unresolved mysteries of his expulsion from university, a shameful chapter of his past that has haunted him for years (and been alluded to in several previous books in the series). As expected, this personal dilemma intersects with a more significant, darker threat, which is, of course, to be found on Darkisle in the marshes on the northern edge of the island. Thus, a seemingly innocuous inquiry by Jack’s alma mater to retrieve a stolen book spirals into a chilling confrontation with the titular Bogganmor, an entity tied to one of Darkisle’s most sinister legends.

The strength of Bogganmor lies in its deft balance of mystery, action, and mythos-building. Darkisle is a place where the Cthulhu Mythos collides with folk magic and horror, as well as pulpy shenanigans involving dueling sorcerers and secret societies. Drake has a rare ability to create an intricate and believable world while maintaining brisk pacing and palpable tension. Jack Glennison continues to shine as a protagonist—daring but thoughtful, a detective who refuses to let fear overtake his duty to seek the truth. His relationship with his secretary/assistant Josine and budding romantic partner Bea is further developed here, adding depth and emotional stakes to the story.

Readers familiar with Darkisle will be thrilled to see how Drake deepens his exploration of the island’s malevolent history, drawing in new horrors while expanding on existing ones. The Church of the Celestial Shadow, one of the aforementioned secret societies, remains a menacing force, and their ties to Bogganmor highlight Drake’s skill in seamlessly blending elements of the Cthulhu Mythos with his original creations. We even have the first elements from Robert W. Chambers’ King in Yellow Mythos here, which I hope we will see developed much further in the future. As always, the supernatural entities are portrayed as alien and incomprehensible rather than conventionally monstrous, amplifying the cosmic horror at the heart of the series.

Drake’s prose remains as sharp and precise as ever, with a meticulous attention to detail that brings the 1920s setting vividly to life. He is especially adept at crafting suspenseful scenes where the line between rationality and madness blurs. The titular Bogganmor is a perfect example of this: its nature is left just ambiguous enough to be terrifying, and its influence on the characters is as psychological as it is physical.

One of the novel’s standout achievements is its handling of Jack’s personal arc. The revelations about his past not only deepen his character but also tie into the broader themes of the series—guilt, redemption, and the cost of knowledge. It’s satisfying to see Drake beginning to resolve threads that have been teased since The Gathering of Shadows, while also introducing tantalizing new ones for future installments.

Bogganmor is both a compelling addition to the Glennison Darkisle Cases and a showcase of Drake’s mastery of the Lovecraftian genre. With its strong characters, eerie setting, and gripping plot, it’s a must-read for fans of cosmic horror and occult mysteries. As always, I would probably recommend starting with The Gathering of Shadows if you’re new to the series, but longtime readers will find plenty to enjoy here. Highly recommended.

This review originally appeared in Hellnotes.

Book Review: At Dark, I Become Loathsome by Eric LaRocca

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At Dark, I Become Loathsome
Eric LaRocca
Blackstone Publishing (January 28, 2025)
Reviewed by Andrew Byers

Eric LaRocca is a writer of transgressive horror. His work shocks, it pushes boundaries, it strives to make the reader uncomfortable. It sometimes deals with gruesome topics, not shying away from using graphic violence and deeply personal subject matter to reveal truths about the human condition. That description of LaRocca’s body of work holds true for At Dark, I Become Loathsome, which is a haunting and visceral exploration of identity, guilt, and the body, all wrapped in the author’s signature blend of horror and emotional rawness. LaRocca continues to solidify his position as a bold voice in contemporary queer horror, and as a boundary-pushing author unafraid to delve into the darkest corners of human experience. While At Dark, I Become Loathsome is undoubtedly disturbing, it is also deeply poetic, offering readers a narrative that is as thought-provoking as it is unsettling.

This is the story of Ashley Lutin, a man whose wife has died and whose son disappeared years ago. His life is one of aimless grief. He now runs a service in which he helps profoundly troubled people find a new lease on life by undergoing a harrowing ritual of Ashley’s own design. This begins as an act of mercy for lost, despairing souls. It turns into something radically different, as Ashley’s motivations for helping people, and his own fragile psychological state, begin to deteriorate.

LaRocca is known for his transgressive horror, and that is true here. It is not transgressive in the sense of extreme gore or explicit acts, but rather in terms of shattered trust and the frankness with which it addresses a topic like child abduction. The novel turns on several acts of depravity: one, that takes place long before the start of the novel, and one that happens mid-book. Nothing is the same after either. Throughout the novel, Ashley grapples with his own sense of monstrosity, both physically and psychologically, and yet, despite his actions, he is not the most monstrous individual in the book. Here, LaRocca uses horror as a vehicle for exploring broader themes of self-loathing, alienation, and the struggle to reconcile with one’s own desires and identity.

While I wouldn’t describe this as a body horror novel, the body, in LaRocca’s hands, becomes a canvas for horror and vulnerability, pushing the boundaries of what it means to be human. At its core, the novel is a meditation on the ways in which society enforces certain norms and how deviation from those norms can be met with revulsion or fear. The title itself, At Dark, I Become Loathsome, hints at the theme of hidden selves, those parts of us that come alive in darkness—both literal and metaphorical—when we are away from the gaze of societal judgment. LaRocca asks difficult questions about shame, the fear of rejection, and how external perceptions can shape or distort one’s sense of self-worth.

Yet, LaRocca’s handling of these themes is not heavy-handed. The novel reads like a fever dream, where the lines between reality and nightmare blur, leaving readers in a state of disquiet before depositing them into a pit of shock. Atmosphere is one of the book’s greatest strengths. There are no clear answers or easy resolutions, and that is precisely what makes At Dark, I Become Loathsome such a compelling read. As is typical, LaRocca’s prose is lyrical and evocative here, with a haunting beauty that lingers long after the last page is turned.

In many ways, At Dark, I Become Loathsome feels like a continuation of the themes LaRocca has explored in previous works, such as Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke, but here, his craft has evolved. The horror is sharper, more intimate, and more resonant, especially in its exploration of queerness and the body as sites of both power and vulnerability. For readers who appreciate horror that pushes the envelope and forces them to confront uncomfortable truths, At Dark, I Become Loathsome is an essential work.

This review originally appeared in Hellnotes.

Book Review: A Distant Silver Melody by K.L. Young

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A Distant Silver Melody
K. L. Young
Strange Aeons (October 17, 2024)
Reviewed by Andrew Byers

Writer and filmmaker K.L. Young has released a new novella, A Distant Silver Melody, based on his as-yet-unproduced screenplay Killer’s Moon. The release date is no coincidence: my understanding is that October 17 is the biggest supermoon of the year. That’s very appropriate as it turns out. You see, Young is a long-time fan of werewolves, and, given the title and cover art, you wouldn’t be wrong if you hazarded a guess that this one is a werewolf story. It’s also a very nice variant of the classic plot from Richard Connell’s famous 1924 short story “The Most Dangerous Game,” which you have undoubtedly encountered in one form or another, since it has been the inspiration for countless books and films over the last century.

A Distant Silver Melody is a breathtaking short novel that would certainly form the basis for an excellent movie. Here’s the basic premise: A man is introduced to a hunt club of wealthy eccentrics by his friend. The members, all seasoned hunters with their own individual motivations, meet annually for a very special hunt, a true test of their skills, the exact nature of which is initially unclear to the new member. Typically, they hunt a person. Someone not very nice, like a serial killer. This year, in this high-stakes horror-thriller, the hunters aren’t just tracking any ordinary prey—they are after a werewolf, and the tables quickly turn as the true terror of the hunt unfolds. The isolated setting of an immense private forest adds to the sense of dread, with the desolate landscape offering no escape from the horror lurking just out of sight. As the hunt progresses, the story takes unexpected turns, transforming into a deadly game of cat and mouse where the lines between predator and prey blur in terrifying ways.

The hunters themselves are well-drawn characters, each bringing their own personalities and skills to the hunt. Young effectively uses their diverse motivations to build tension, with the power dynamics constantly shifting as they face the growing realization that they may have underestimated their prey. The dialogue crackles with tension, especially as distrust begins to creep in among the hunters. The novel’s pacing is relentless, with action sequences that are both brutal and suspenseful, pulling readers through a whirlwind of bloodshed, betrayal, and terror. One of the standout aspects of this novel is its portrayal of the werewolf as both a fearsome antagonist and a complex character in his own right. Rather than a mindless beast, the werewolf has its own motivations, intelligence, and a cunning that makes it more than a match for the hunters.

Like Young’s previous prose, this is a lean, taut thrill ride. And, as with Young’s most recent book, The Secret Language of Spiders, this is a book that cries out for a film adaptation. In the tradition of great survival horror, A Distant Silver Melody taps into our deepest fears— confronting the unknown, being hunted, and having to fight for your life against something that is larger and stronger and far more terrifying than you are. The novel’s blend of intense action, tension, and supernatural elements ensures it will resonate with fans of both classic thrillers and modern horror alike. With its chilling atmosphere, well-drawn characters, and shocking twists, Young’s novel is a fresh, gripping take on a familiar story, guaranteed to leave readers breathless until the final, haunting pages. Highly recommended.

This review originally appeared in Hellnotes.

Book Review: Island of the Dead by Brian Keene

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Island of the Dead
Brian Keene
Apex Book Company (October 15, 2024)
Reviewed by Andrew Byers

Brian Keene needs no introduction to most readers of horror fiction, who will likely know him from his The Rising series, a chronicle of a zombie apocalypse, or similar works. In Island of the Dead, Keene has transposed the idea of a zombie outbreak to a traditional swords and sorcery setting. This novel was originally released via Amazon’s serialized fiction line, Kindle Vella, though now that the novel has been collected into a unified whole, it no longer appears to be available in serial format.

This is the story of Einar, a barbarian adventurer who has been enslaved as a galley oarsman. A courageous escape and a lucky storm leaves Einar and a few companions washed up on an uncharted tropical island filled with giant ants, a former Atlantean colony, as well as the scattered survivors (guards and slaves alike) of the shipwreck. Oh yes, along with what I can only describe as a sorcerous biological weapon that instigates what becomes a massive zombie problem.

Given Keene’s past zombie efforts, I had expected this one would be far gorier than it turned out to be. Any fan of either sword and sorcery or zombie novels can reasonably expect solid fight scenes, in this case Einar and company mostly fighting either human soldiers or zombies. They won’t be disappointed here, but I will say that Einar tends to—wisely—avoid combat much more than I had expected. Battles are satisfying enough, but this is decidedly not a story about a mighty thewed barbarian hewing down scores of undead opponents with a broadsword or a battleaxe.

The setting is left only briefly sketched out and no names for any locations are provided. Einar himself is resistant to revealing anything about his past; we can only infer that he is a mercenary and adventurer of significant experience. The novel ends on a cliffhanger, which I assume Keene plans to address via a sequel. I’ll be curious to see if Einar and his world are fleshed out to a much greater extent over time. Big things seem to be afoot in Einar’s world, we just don’t yet understand what they portend.

If you are a fan of sword and sorcery and zombies, then you should check this out. I’m looking forward to seeing Keene deepen and enrich the character and setting in future installments.

This review originally appeared in Hellnotes.

Book Review: Black Seas of Infinity: The R’lyeh Cycle Book Two, edited by William Holloway

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Black Seas of Infinity: The R’lyeh Cycle Book Two
Edited by William Holloway
JournalStone Publishing (June 28, 2024)
Reviewed by Andrew Byers

Black Seas of Infinity is William Holloway’s follow-up to his 2019 anthology, The Abyssal Plain: The R’lyeh Cycle (also from JournalStone). Like that earlier shared-world anthology, this is a collection of four novellas, each following the lives of characters in different parts of the world who are trying to survive through the collapse of human civilization, which has been brought about by the awakening of Cthulhu.

Let me briefly go through the anthology’s four novellas.

“And the Whole of Reality Shall Crash Upon Me” by Curtis M. Lawson: Sam is an agoraphobic comic book artist living in a New York City apartment building. He’s a man who has been isolated from his fellow human beings for years and hasn’t even left his apartment in about that long. The Event occurs and Sam begins to experience vivid, violent nightmares about being transformed into a monstrosity and brutally killing his neighbors. Sam dismisses these visions as mere dreams, then the disappearances begin. Excellent prose filled with gruesome imagery. Probably my favorite story in the collection.

“The Innsmouth Look” by Brett J. Talley: A Mythos heist adventure. A thief is hired to travel to Arkham—as the world ends—to recover a tome that has been housed at Miskatonic University. This was a fun, pulpy adventure, but felt very much like we need a sequel to see what happens next.

“The Ghost Map” by Gemma Files: Set in Toronto, this is the story of a mother separated from her family, trapped in their apartment building as the city and the people in it begin to transform around her. It reminded me of a more aquatic version of David Gerrold’s Chtorr series in some ways because it depicts an Earth that is in the midst of having all of its normal species and ecology altered into forms that are more suitable for Earth’s new masters. Here we see that the coming of Cthulhu means not just the onset of sanity-shattering psychological change but radical physical transformation as well.

“Clavis Perfectum: A Prelude” by William Holloway: The longest novella in the collection, and at first glance, it appears disconnected from the rest because it takes place prior to the apocalypse. Never fear, though, this is actually the origin story, as it were, of the end of human civilization. This is the story of a college professor enlisted to help a sheriff unravel the mystery of a sinister grimoire and a semi-deserted mansion (a la Thirteen Ghosts) in the middle of nowhere.

If you enjoyed The Abyssal Plain, you should definitely pick up a copy of this sequel and worthy successor to that first volume. We’ve now seen eight novellas across two anthologies set in this world, and I’d very much like to read a third. If you’re a fan of the Cthulhu Mythos and are craving some thrilling stories about life after the end of the world, definitely check this out.

This review originally appeared in Hellnotes.

Book Review: The Abyssal Plain: The R’lyeh Cycle, edited by William Holloway and Brett J. Talley

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The Abyssal Plain: The R’lyeh Cycle
Edited by William Holloway and Brett J. Talley
JournalStone Publishing (November 29, 2019)
Reviewed by Andrew Byers

One of the chief conceits of H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos is that eventually the stars will be right and the Great Old One, Cthulhu, who lies sleeping (and dreaming) at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, will one day awaken. With him will come unprecedented chaos, insanity, death, and the destruction of most human life on Earth. The Abyssal Plain is a set of stories about those end times. Cthulhu’s Reign (2010) was a masterful anthology comprised of stories about those Cthulhu-induced apocalypses, but each of that anthology’s tales were disconnected from the others; they were each short, unique visions. I would describe The Abyssal Plain as a shared world anthology; each of the contributing authors have crafted a novella about a set of characters, each in a different part of the world, coping with the end of human civilization as we know it and the first stages of the rise of Cthulhu and his underwater servants. The characters in each novella never encounter each other—they are far too busy merely surviving—but they do live on the same world and are experiencing the same sanity-shattering and life-altering events. Each story is a solid contribution.

“Ammonia” by William Holloway: Opens the collection with the initial event that occurs in Antarctica and begins the ending of human civilization. It’s an interesting story in part because it interweaves a technothriller-esque story of an American submarine crew that was in the Pacific when the event happened with the story of a near-homeless drug addict named Quincy who lives in Austin. People almost immediately start disappearing and Quincy and a few others must try to navigate the beginning of the end. Civilization hasn’t yet collapsed, but it’s getting closer every day. Nicely sets the tone for the rest of the anthology.

“The Sunken Desert” by Michelle Garza and Melissa Lason: A tale of survival. Set a little while after “Ammonia” in the Sonoran Desert in Arizona, which is now beginning to flood. A couple brothers, one of whom has just been rescued from a flooded prison, and some Mexican migrants must survive in a newly-flooded world populated by mutated squids and insane cultists. The world is beginning to become depopulated but that doesn’t mean it’s any safer.

“The Rise and the Fall” by Brett J Talley: Sexton has been drafted into what’s left of the U.S. military. This one is set in and around a military encampment in Alabama. They’ve gathered together a few civilian survivors, but they are being co-opted by religious fanatics. The rain keeps falling, the rivers keep rising, and things emerge from the water to kill and destroy everything that survives on dry land. What is left of humanity is breaking under the strain and will soon collapse entirely.

“The Great Beast” by Rich Hawkins: Josiah is a lost soul, a man on his own clinging to his faith while struggling to survive in Britain, on the run from a host of cultists who roam the land, cannibalizing the few remaining non-cultists who have survived the apocalypse. Then Josiah meets, and tries to save, two children, who naturally are more than they initially appear.

This is a compelling and entertaining set of stories about life after the apocalypse. If you’re a fan of the Cthulhu Mythos and are craving some thrilling stories about ordinary people struggling to survive the end of the world, definitely check this out.

This review originally appeared in Hellnotes.