Review || The Bone Drenched Woods by L.V. Russell

Published April 15, 2025 by Quill & Crow Publishing House

Carve the bones. One for the gate, one for the door, two for the mantel, and three for the floor… Hyacinth Turning knows the terrors beyond her village, the insatiable hunger of the Teeth. She listens to the sermons given by the Elders in their hare-skin masks. She watches as the heathens hang and the witches burn. They tell her to be good and quiet. But Hyacinth is neither good nor quiet. After a series of tragic events, Hyacinth finds herself hastily wedded and sent far away from all she has ever known to a settlement at the edge of the sea. Where more than just the Teeth are hungry. Another horror swims below, leviathan shadows kept at bay by offerings of flesh and bone.

But no sooner does Hyacinth take root in her new home do the Teeth and the Deep come to feed. Suspicion soon falls upon the outspoken Hyacinth, who spends more time with the outcasted Morgan Carroway than her own husband. The Elders want her burned, her husband wants her hanged, and a long-lost love claws at her dreams, but Hyacinth only wants one thing. A life and death of her choosing.

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Hyacinth Turning is sent away to a remote village near the forest and sea, where ancient horrors like the Teeth and the Deep are kept at bay through sacrifices. She’s reeling from personal tragedy, isolated in a new marriage to a man she doesn't like, and immediately flung into a new claustrophobic community ruled by folklore, fear, and blood rituals...exactly like the one she left. She’s not just unwelcome, she’s disposable. Her body, her grief, and her silence are all things to be used, suppressed, or sacrificed for the “greater good.”

Hyacinth is constantly acted upon rather than acting. She’s shipped off, married off, silenced, accused, watched, threatened… and she endures all of it, often with the emotional affect of a ghost—just a resigned shuffle through escalating misery. She’s worn down by it until she’s just absorbed into the horror. I'm sure that's the point but it doesn’t make for satisfying character development. It makes for bleak existential rot. No sharp turns. No big “aha” moment. Just damp misery, sprinkled with vague dread.

A lot of “folk horror” tries to fake the ancient, the ritualistic, the uncanny, but The Bone Drenched Woods feels authentic. The bone offerings, the hare-masked Elders, the silent submission to the Deep? It all feels like it could have grown out of some obscure corner of real folklore. It’s primal and unnerving.

L.V. Russell absolutely nails that oppressive, damp, rot-soaked feeling of being somewhere ancient and uncaring. This book is all aesthetic. The prose is undeniably pretty, damp and bloody and yet frustratingly vague. Atmosphere can only carry you so far when the plot is doing the slowest, saddest shuffle toward nowhere. If you enjoy slow-burn folk horror where nothing is explained, and everyone is miserable, this one is for you.