Published May 2, 2023 by Tor Nightfire

From USA Today bestselling author Cassandra Khaw comes The Salt Grows Heavy, a razor-sharp and bewitching fairytale of discovering the darkness in the world, and the darkness within oneself.

You may think you know how the fairytale goes: a mermaid comes to shore and weds the prince. But what the fables forget is that mermaids have teeth. And now, her daughters have devoured the kingdom and burned it to ashes.

On the run, the mermaid is joined by a mysterious plague doctor with a darkness of their own. Deep in the eerie, snow-crusted forest, the pair stumble upon a village of ageless children who thirst for blood, and the three 'saints' who control them.

The mermaid and her doctor must embrace the cruelest parts of their true nature if they hope to survive.

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 Cassandra Khaw’s The Salt Grows Heavy is a grim, lyrical horror-fantasy that begins with the mermaid's children having just eaten her prince. Albeit, he wasn't a very nice one. Khaw takes the familiar mermaid myth and completely capsizes it, crafting a story that’s brutal, surreal, and, beneath all the blood and bone, surprisingly tender. It's a novella that defies clear classification — a hybrid of gothic fairy tale, body horror, and lushly poetic prose. 

The story kicks off with the merchildren eating their way through the kingdom. Striking a weird companionship are the murderous mermaid and a plague doctor. She’s a predator, archaic and uncaring, but also deeply introspective. (Of course, she'd have to be since her husband recently cut out her tongue.) The peculiar plague doctor is enigmatic yet witty. The two strike up a friendship and almost coy flirtation.

I've said before that Khaw's writing is not for everyone. It's dense, with each morsel needing to be chewed carefully before being consumed. It’s the kind of language that turns violence into poetry and transforms body horror into something oddly exquisite.  It’s brutal and beautiful, grotesque and captivating. For readers who enjoy language that leans into the stylized and surreal, it’s an enjoyable experience. For many others, it may be a barrier to reading any of Khaw's writing. 

The tone is relentlessly grim, but not without a strange, dry humor that punctuates the story in unexpected places. It’s perfect for readers who enjoy weird literary horror, mythic storytelling, and moral ambiguity. It’s about monsters but also transformation, and what it means to survive when the world sees you as a thing to be used or controlled. This isn't a fairy tale. It's what crawls out of the sea foam after the supposed "happily ever after" is over.

Just like Khaw's expansive writing, The Salt Grows Heavy is not for everyone. If you’re looking for a tightly plotted story with clear moral lines and conventional structure, this probably won’t be your thing. It’s strange. It’s lyrical. It’s emotional. It’s a novella that doesn’t explain itself — it just pulls you under the waves and waits for you to drown.

Published March 25, 2025 by Poisoned Pen Press

"I'm in your blood, and you are in mine…"

The Netherlands, 1887. Lucy's twin sister Sarah is unwell. She refuses to eat, mumbles nonsensically, and is increasingly obsessed with a centuries-old corpse recently discovered on her husband's grand estate. The doctor has diagnosed her with temporary insanity caused by a fever of the brain. To protect her twin from a terrible fate in a lunatic asylum, Lucy must unravel the mystery surrounding her sister's condition, but it's clear her twin is hiding something. Then again, Lucy is harboring secrets of her own, too.

Then, the worst happens. Sarah's behavior takes a turn for the strange. She becomes angry… and hungry. 

Lucy soon comes to suspect that something is trying to possess her beloved sister. Or is it madness? As Sarah changes before her very eyes, Lucy must reckon with the dark, monstrous truth, or risk losing her forever.

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Set in 1887 Netherlands, Blood on Her Tongue follows Lucy as she returns to her family's estate to care for her twin sister, Sarah, who has become ill and dangerously fixated on a bizarre body unearthed in the bog near their home. As Sarah's behavior grows increasingly erratic, Lucy must confront the possibility that something far more sinister than madness is at play.

As is true with gothic fiction, the atmosphere reigns supreme. The author builds a haunting, claustrophobic setting that perfectly complements the story’s tension. The house feels cold and suffocating, the nearby bog is basically a character itself, and there’s this constant dread hanging over everything. Sarah's transformation is both disturbing and magnetic, drawing readers into a world where the line between the natural and the supernatural blurs. Her peculiar behavior and condition are filled with uncertainty and mystery.

 
Lucy is a great narrator, determined to make sense of her sister's decline. The bond between the twins is the heart of the story, but it’s twisted and uncomfortable in a way that totally works for gothic fiction. It's complicated, painful, and achingly human.  You’re never quite sure what’s real or what’s supernatural, which helps the creeping unease. As with a lot of gothic fiction, it’s a slow burn. There’s more moodiness and creeping unease than plot devices, but the payoff is worth it if you hang in there.

If you like your horror quiet, slow, and full of creeping dread, Blood on Her Tongue might be right up your alley. This book is all about mood—foggy landscapes, crumbling family homes, and the kind of tension that feels both tender and terrifying.

Published October 8, 2024 by G.P. Putnam's Sons Books for Young Readers

Faolan Kelly’s grandfather is dead. She’s alone in the world and suddenly homeless, all because the local powers that be don’t think a young man of sixteen is mature enough to take over his grandfather’s homestead…and that’s with them thinking Faolan is a young man. If she revealed that her grandfather had been disguising her for years, they would marry her off at the first opportunity.

The mayor finds a solution that serves everyone but Faolan. He hires a gunslinger to ship her off to the Settlement, a remote fort where social outcasts live under the leadership of His Benevolence Gideon Dillard. It's a place rife with mystery, kept afloat by suspicious wealth. Dillard's absolute command over his staff just doesn't seem right. And neither do the strange noises that keep Faolan up at night.

When Faolan finds the body of a Settlement boarder, mangled by something that can’t possibly be human, it’s clear something vicious is stalking the palisades. And as Settlement boarders continue to drop like flies, Faolan knows she must escape to evade the creature’s wrath.

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Lish McBride has never met a genre she couldn’t wrestle into something fun and fierce—and Red in Tooth and Claw is no exception. It's a dark and quietly powerful young adult fantasy that blends the dust and grime of Western grit with supernatural intrigue and hidden threats. Imagine if the Wild West got strange, feminist, and slightly feral. Then throw in a heroine who’s tougher than a two-dollar steak and just as likely to punch you in the eye as look at you. It's the perfect amount of heart and snark.

 Set in an alternate Old West where magic and horror entwine, the story follows Faolan Kelly. To keep herself safe and to give her more opportunities in a rugged, patriarchal world, she's spent her life passing as a boy. After her grandfather's death, Faolan is sent to the Settlement, a remote fort led by the enigmatic His Benevolence Gideon Dillard (because that doesn't scream cult leader at all!).  Faolan quickly realizes the Settlement isn’t a refuge—it’s a trap. And she might be the only one sharp enough (or stubborn enough) to escape it.

Faolan is exactly the kind of protagonist you want in a world full of monsters—quick with a comeback and even quicker with a plan. Scrappy, resilient, and totally relatable. No matter the odds, she's not backing down.  She’s not trying to be a hero; she’s trying to survive.

The story weaves together elements of mystery, horror, and magic, keeping readers intrigued as Faolan uncovers the secrets of the Settlement. It’s a story about survival and the cost of being seen in a world that prefers you not to take up space. There's humor, but McBride keeps it light compared to some of her other novels.  If there's a downside, it's that this is a slower-paced book. If you’re expecting action on page one, it might feel like a slow burn. But the tension builds beautifully, and when things do go sideways, it hits harder because of it. There's a tad bit of romance, but it doesn't detract from the story.

Red in Tooth and Claw is a bite-sized delight for fans of paranormal fiction who like their monsters with a side of snark and soul. Moody, magical, and meaningful—with just enough teeth.

Published April 26, 2022 by Tor Books

After years of seeing her sisters suffer at the hands of an abusive prince, Marra—the shy, convent-raised, third-born daughter—has finally realized that no one is coming to their rescue. No one, except for Marra herself.

Seeking help from a powerful gravewitch, Marra is offered the tools to kill a prince—if she can complete three impossible tasks. But, as is the way in tales of princes, witches, and daughters, the impossible is only the beginning.

On her quest, Marra is joined by the gravewitch, a reluctant fairy godmother, a strapping former knight, and a chicken possessed by a demon. Together, the five of them intend to be the hand that closes around the throat of the prince and frees Marra's family and their kingdom from its tyrannous ruler at last.

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In Nettle & Bone, T. Kingfisher delivers a darkly enchanting original fairy tale that is as emotionally rich as it is darkly tongue-in-cheek. This novel threads elements of deconstructed fairy tales with horror and wit. 

When Marra learns the full extent of her sister’s suffering at the hands of a powerful and abusive prince, she sets out to kill him—as one does.  However, this requires the help of a ragtag group of unlikely companions: a dust-wife, a bone dog, an ex-knight, and a possessed chicken.  Yes, you read that right. Demon. Possessed. Chicken. With these quirky sidekicks, this adventure is officially off the rails.  

Marra isn’t your usual heroine either. She’s middle-aged, introverted, and not exactly sword-swinging slay-the-dragon type—but her quiet determination is impossible not to root for. She's realized the painfully obvious: no one is coming to save them. So she’s going to do it herself. If that means it's "off with his head", she'll find the axe. 

Nettle & Bone is a fairy-tale nouveau—a magical, macabre, and mystical messed-up journey full of heart, humor, and just enough horror. If you like your fantasy clever, creepy, and just a tad bit unhinged, this one is for you. 

Published June 7, 2024 by Wicked House Publishing

Whitt Rogers has been dreaming.

Horrible dreams.

Dreams that stretch the very fabric of the real and the unreal as he is pulled by a voice across the country to a small crab fishing ship set to depart into the Bering Sea. At sea, the memories piece themselves together in cracked fragments. But there is something out there. Something speaking to Whitt in his dreams. A voice from a long-forgotten memory that promises peace at the cost of madness. A voice that leads to a place unimaginable and inescapable

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A Dark and Endless Sea is a quiet, introspective horror novel that leans heavily into grief, memory, and isolation. Blaine Daigle clearly has a talent for atmospheric writing—his prose is thoughtful and often poetic, creating a somber tone that lingers throughout the book.

The story centers on Whitt, who has woken with no memory of what came before this moment.  He's plagued by nightmares of a flooded town and floating dead bodies. He's directed to a crabbing boat in small-town Alaska. There’s a lot to admire in how Daigle explores the fragility of human connection while in isolation.  The emotional realism is the book’s strongest point. There are a lot of dream sequences, compounding Whitt as an unreliable narrator, and leaving the reader with a sense of surrealism.

That said, the pacing is slow—very slow. While some readers may appreciate the quiet build, I found myself wanting more payoff and a clearer sense of stakes. It’s a story that flirts heavily with dread, but the ending just didn't deliver in a satisfying way.

I loved The Broken Places, but this one just wasn't for me.

Published October 15, 2024 by Titan Books

A grieving mother and son hope to survive Christmas in a remote mountain cabin, in this chilling novella of dread, isolation and demons lurking in the frozen woods. Perfect for fans of The Only Good Indians, The Shining and The Babadook.

Two weeks ago, Christine Sinclaire's husband slipped off the roof while hanging Christmas lights and fell to his death on the front lawn. Desperate to escape her guilt and her grief, Christine packs up her fifteen-year-old son and the family cat and flees to the cabin they'd reserved deep in the remote Pennsylvania Wilds to wait out the holidays.

It isn't long before Christine begins to hear strange noises coming from the forest. When she spots a horned figure watching from between frozen branches, Christine assumes it's just a forest animal—a moose, maybe, since the property manager warned her about them, said they'd stomp a body so deep into the snow nobody'd find it 'til spring. But moose don't walk upright like the shadowy figure does. They don't call Christine's name with her dead husband's voice.

A haunting examination of the horrors of grief and the hunger of guilt, perfect for readers of Stephen King, Christina Henry, and Chuck Wendig.

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I went into Cold Snap expecting a chilling, atmospheric horror story with strong emotional distress — and for the first little bit, that’s what it seemed to be. Set against the icy backdrop of a small Appalachian town, the setup is familiar but effective: people with emotional baggage retreat to a remote cabin in the woods, and weird things begin to happen. To quote Dora the Explorer: "¡Vámonos!"

Unfortunately, what begin as isolation horror deeply embedded with grief (the husband died hanging Christmas lights), the story quickly took a turn into surreal territory, and I found myself more confused than captivated. Her dead husband is talking to her, or is it the moose, and events start to feel disjointed — almost dreamlike, but not in a way that ever fully clicks.

What really pulled me out of the story, though, was the cat death — which is not only graphic and disturbing but referenced multiple times throughout the book. I understand horror can be visceral and I don't shy from gore, but the way this was handled felt excessive and deeply unpleasant. And the only person traumatized by it was the kid! Mom was just like "Darn, the cat got stomped to death in the snow by a maybe-moose". If animal harm is a deal-breaker for you, I strongly recommend skipping this one.

There are interesting ideas here — grief, guilt, isolation — but they get buried under so much weirdness and emotional chaos that they never fully land. Cold Snap might resonate with readers who enjoy abstract, metaphor-heavy horror, but for me, it was more frustrating than frightening.  I kept waiting for it all to come together or for the deeper meaning to reveal itself, but by the end, I was wondering WTH just happened.

Having loved Bless Your Heart and Throw Me to The Wolves, I was excited to venture into this one, but it missed its mark with me. 

Published  June 25, 2024 by Del Rey

A chilling horror novel about a haunting told from the perspective of a young girl whose troubled family is targeted by an entity she calls “Other Mommy,” from the New York Times bestselling author of Bird Box

 

To eight-year-old Bela, her family is her world. There’s Mommy, Daddo, and Grandma Ruth. But there is also Other Mommy, a malevolent entity who asks her every day: “Can I go inside your heart?”  

 

When horrifying incidents around the house signal that Other Mommy is growing tired of asking Bela the same question, over and over . . . Bela understands that unless she says yes, soon her family must pay. 

 

Other Mommy is getting restless, stronger, bolder. Only the bonds of family can keep Bela safe but other incidents show cracks in her parents' marriage. The safety Bela relies on is on the brink of unraveling.  

 

But Other Mommy needs an answer. 

 

Incidents Around the House is a chilling, wholly unique tale of true horror told by the child Bela. A story about a family as haunted as their home.

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Josh Malerman’s Incidents Around the House is a haunting, tightly-wound domestic horror story told entirely through the lens of a child’s eyes. With its eerie tone, it’s a novel that creeps under your skin slowly, but steadily.

The story centers on Bela, an eight-year-old girl who begins seeing an invisible presence she calls “Other Mommy.” At first, it’s easy for her parents to chalk this up to normal childhood fantasy. After all, many children have imaginary friends, until “Other Mommy” becomes more persistent—and more terrifying.  Every day, the entity asks Bela the same chilling question: “Can I go inside your heart?” The tension builds from that single line, as we begin to understand that what’s happening to Bela may be far more than imaginary.

What makes this novel so unsettling is its perspective. Malerman’s choice to stick closely to eight-year-old Bela’s point of view gives the book a disorienting quality. It’s a bold narrative style that won’t work for everyone, but for Malerman, it serves the story’s creeping dread incredibly well. I picked this one up in audiobook as well, and let me tell you, Delanie Nicole Gill gives life to Bela in the creepiest way.

This is less of a jump-scare horror novel and more of a slow horrific boil. The horror grows not from gore or violence, but from emotional unease and the erosion of safety in the home. You know it's only a matter of time until it spills over, but you can't look away. 

Some readers may find the repetition or ambiguity frustrating—particularly if they prefer clean answers or fast-paced horror—but for those who appreciate character-driven, atmospheric terror, Incidents Around the House delivers. Malerman crafts a tale that is both terrifying and poignant, leaving readers to ponder the true nature of the horrors that lurk within our homes and hearts.

Published July 9, 2024 by Tor Nightfire

Misha is a jaded scriptwriter who has been working in Hollywood for years, and has just been nominated for his first Oscar. But when he's pressured by his producers to kill off a gay character in the upcoming season finale―"for the algorithm"―Misha discovers that it's not that simple.

As he is haunted by his past, and past mistakes, Misha must risk everything to find a way to do what's right―before it's too late.

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Chuck Tingle has delivered a horror novel that’s weird and surprisingly heartfelt. Bury Your Gays is a wild ride through Hollywood, queer trauma, and the horror of being told your story isn’t marketable unless it ends in tragedy. This book is part surreal nightmare, part heartfelt unpacking of queer trauma, and part roast of an industry that loves queer suffering as long as it’s profitable. It’s weird, raw, and a little chaotic—but it knows it’s chaotic, which makes it work.

The story follows Misha Byrne, a queer screenwriter finally getting his big break, nominated for an Oscar. But just as things are looking up, the studio demands he kill off his queer characters “for the algorithm.” Misha refuses—and suddenly, reality starts to bend. Literal monsters show up, old traumas resurface, and Hollywood’s shiny surface reveals some very real rot underneath.

Misha is a fully fleshed-out protagonist: vulnerable, angry, exhausted, and desperately clinging to his sense of self while the industry chews him up. Misha’s emotional journey, especially flashbacks to his rough childhood and complicated present, is heavy, honest, and really well done. His relationship with boyfriend Zeke is sweet, offering warmth and grounding that somehow doesn’t come off cheesy (okay, maybe a little cheesy, but we’re rooting for them anyway).

Tingle throws every flavor of horror into the mix as Misha's own scripts come to life—cosmic dread, slasher gore, eldritch horrors, and some wild body horror—and somehow it all holds together. Is it weird? Absolutely. Is it fun? Most definitely. The result is chaotic, but deliberately so. It’s a mess with meaning. Underneath all the madness is some genuinely powerful insights about identity and how queer people are treated by the media machine. 

“I call on all of you to usher in a new era of stories where the gay, or bi, or lesbian, or asexual, or pansexual, or trans character lives happily ever after. Buy those stories. Make those stories profitable.”

Published May 14, 2024 by Berkley

A single mother working in the gothic mansion of a reclusive horror director stumbles upon terrifying secrets.

Harry Adams loves horror movies, so it’s no coincidence that she accepted a job cleaning house for horror-movie director Javier Castillo. His forbidding gray-stone Chicago mansion, Bright Horses, is filled from top to bottom with terrifying props and costumes as well as glittering awards from his career making movies that thrilled audiences—until family tragedy and scandal forced him to vanish from the industry.

Javier values discretion, and Harry always tries to keep the house immaculate, her head down, and her job safe. Then she hears noises from behind a locked door, noises that sound remarkably like a human voice calling for help. Harry knows not asking questions is a vital part of keeping her job, but she soon discovers that the house may be home to secrets she can’t ignore.

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The House That Horror Built follows Harry Adams, a single mom and horror movie fan, who takes a cleaning job at the creepy mansion of the reclusive director Javier Castillo. His home, packed with eerie props and trophies, has an unsettling vibe right from the start. As Harry explores the mansion, filled with reminders of Castillo’s violent film legacy, strange things begin happening—mysterious noises, costumes that seem almost alive, and other unsettling moments.

The mansion itself almost steals the show. Filled with film set props, costumes, and puppets, the mansion is claustrophobic, richly detailed, and dripping with tension. Harry, meanwhile, comes off as vulnerable and also pretty passive. She mostly reacts to what’s happening instead of driving the story forward, which can be a bit frustrating. Plus, she has this habit of spiraling into worst-case scenarios—her son even jokes she imagines “every possible permutation of doom.” You’d think with all that anxiety, she’d be a little more suspicious of the things that are happening.

Christina Henry’s real talent shines in building a spooky mood. The creepy house, the mysterious director, the whispered voices, and ghostly hints—they’re all here. But the tension unfolds way too slowly, and the pacing drags. Even when the story finally picks up, it’s more melancholy than thrilling. The House That Horror Built might appeal to fans who enjoy slow-burning thrillers, but if you’re after chills, jump scares, or fast-paced action, this one’s more like wandering down a dim hallway that never quite leads to a real fright.