I have been hearing about this book for as long as I can remember, but other than some minor details, I essentially went in blind. To say that I was delighted to find myself in the midst of an unexpected creature feature is perhaps understating things just a touch.

We quickly learn that a previous mission to find mermaids, all hosted by a major TV and film studio, went south, with the boat being found abandoned and all souls lost. The footage found on the vessel suggested that mermaids were indeed real, and that they were not the lovely creatures written in fairy tales and Disney movies.

Fast forward a few years and the same studio is sending out another ship. This one is top of the line and filled to brimming with scientists of all shapes and sizes, all looking to further their research into the ocean, and perhaps even some mermaids. It’s not long at all before things start going south, with the one main feature designed to protect all on board malfunctioning.

What I loved about this book was the character development, which was excellent, as well as the astonishing amount of research that went into delivering the science behind the discovery of creatures that are not at all what we expected. While the science part does bog it down in a couple of spots, it’s not enough to pull you out of the story.

I was all set to give this book maximum stars, but then the ending came rather abruptly. It seemed to be setting up for a blockbuster finish, but instead, it fizzled out a little and left me wanting more. Still, for the most part, this was an enjoyable read, and I will certainly be reading more from this author.

4 stars out of 5

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Megan eased the car to a stop at the red light and looked over at Kevin, who was staring out the passenger side window. A chain-link fence surrounded a large lot, where the former building was now nothing more than a pile of rubble. In front of the bricks and debris, a colorful sign announced the impending arrival of luxury apartments.

“Any regrets?” Meg…

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Ryan Richie lay on his back, barely covered by a single cotton sheet that clung to his sweaty skin. The apartment manager had sworn blind that the air conditioner would be in perfect working order by the end of the day, but that had proven to be a lie, just as it was with everything that was wrong with this crummy apartment.

Even in the room lit only by the orange glow of the streetlights, Ryan could still see the water stains on the ceiling, the brown splashes slowing spreading like a living, breathing Rorschach test.

Having been born and raised in New York City, Ryan had grown accustomed to living in flea traps. Over the years, he had slowly but surely seen his writing career take off, finding a better place to live as the royalty checks started to grow. He and his wife, Diana, were in good shape financially now, but their dream of building a tiny house and moving out west meant that they had to settle for a lesser apartment and save as much money as humanly possible.

Diana was ready to sell off everything and make the move tomorrow, but Ryan was a little more cautious. He lived in mortal fear that the royalties would suddenly dry up and that they would need to dip into their nest egg. It was probably an irrational fear, but one that kept him up on hot summer nights like they were experiencing right then.

Looking over at Diana, he was more than a little jealous, as she seemed to be sleeping like a baby, swaddled in layers of covers that would make the casual observer believe that she was bunking in the Arctic. Her dirty blonde hair stuck to her sweat covered face, yet she still managed to look beautiful. Sitting up, Ryan looked down at the paunch that was starting to grow around his waist and wondered again why she still found him attractive.

Pinching his love handles, he gave his belly a little jiggle and promised himself that he would start back at the gym tomorrow, assuming he could get any sleep. Ryan knew himself well enough to know that when he woke up groggy, his will to do anything slipped away.

Slipping out of bed, he padded into the kitchen, stifling a yawn as he straightened out his tousled brown hair. He had to admit that his little gut didn’t look quite so bad when he was on his feet. He was over six feet tall and solidly built, so the fat seemed to melt away when he was upright, but he knew that it was all just an optical illusion.

Ryan poured himself a glass of milk and sat down at the kitchen table. His laptop was sitting there, and he contemplated opening it and trying to get some work done, but he also knew that if he started, he’d be up all night, throwing off his delicate internal clock. As tough as it was to do, Ryan tried to limit his writing time to the hours when Diana was at work. Her nursing job was a stressful one, and he wanted to be there for her when she got home and needed to vent, which was essentially her daily routine.

Chugging down the milk, Ryan felt some relief from the heat. He rubbed the cold glass against his forehead, but almost dropped it when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He was relieved to see that it was Diana standing in the doorway, giving him the stink eye.

“What are you doing up at three in the morning, you creeper?” she asked.

“Sweating my balls off, if you must know. How can you sleep in that?’

Diana shuffled into the kitchen, the T-shirt she was wearing sticking to her body and showing off all her curves. She plucked the glass from his hand, rinsing it under the tap and filling it with water, which she chugged down in one shot.

“I’m going back to bed,” she said, ignoring his question. “Are you coming?”

“Coming? Not yet, but maybe you can help speed that along,” Ryan said mischievously.

“Oh yes, big boy. All that talk about your sweaty balls has me fired up and ready to go.”

Ryan laughed as he bolted from the chair and chased after his wife, growling like a predatory animal. “I’m coming for you.”

With a little skip, Diana took off down the hallway towards their bedroom, although not so fast that her husband would not be able to catch her before she made it to the bed.

***

Cuddled together with the top sheets all covering the floor, neither of them seemed to mind the heat or the sweat.

“If Jenkins doesn’t get that AC fixed tomorrow, I’m going to need to invest in a fan,” Ryan said.

“What, you don’t like my sweaty body all up in your face?” Diana said, aiming her armpit in the direction of his nose.

“You filthy animal,” Ryan said, trying not to laugh.

Giving him a playful shove, Diana said, “Why don’t you be a dear and go crack open the window. Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky and there will be some type of breeze blowing out there.”

Slipping into his boxer shorts, Ryan unlocked the window and tried to slide it open. It hadn’t been opened since Don Jenkins, the building manager, had applied a fresh lick of paint during the winter. The paint now served as some type of super-strong glue, holding the window in place, no matter how much Ryan struggled with it.

“Sonofabitch bastard, “ he said, hitting the palm of his hand against the frame in disgust.

“Jiggle it,” Diana said in a teasing tone.

“I’ll jiggle you in a minute. I hate this goddam place.”

“We could move anytime. Our lease is month to month, babe, and I only need to give a week’s notice at work.”

Ryan climbed back on top of the bed, looking at his beautiful wife and feeling as though he was letting her down by not making the move that she so wanted. He wanted it too, but that niggling doubt kept him in place. Ryan had not set an amount in mind that he believed would be the perfect amount of saving to pull the trigger, and the fact was that he knew they already had more than enough. They had purchased a new truck outright, and the contractor building their tiny house was paid and just waiting for the word to begin the build, which he assured them would take no more than two months.

“As soon as I finish the book I’m working on, I promise we’ll set the wheels in motion. I’m not sure I want to be driving west over the winter months. We think we get snow and cold here, but it’s nothing like what we’ll run into on our way to Oregon.”

Diana sighed, feeling as though they were in an endless loop where they had the same conversation over and over again. She loved her husband, but his stubbornness sometimes made her a little nuts. She knew that his childhood had been rough and that there were plenty of nights where there was no food on the table, but she also wanted him to understand that those days were in the past. As long as they were together, Diana would do all she could to protect him and make life as comfortable as possible.

It had been Diana who had first floated the idea of living off the grid. A TV show about families living the tiny house lifestyle had drawn her attention; the romantic notion of downsizing and living in an idyllic spot far from the madness of the city took hold as the credits ran.

The romantic notion was quickly put in check the moment she started to do some research and found out how difficult it was to live that lifestyle. Building the home was easy enough, but finding a place to park it and set up residence was a little more problematic. Big cities wanted to make sure you were suckling from the teat of the utility companies and paying as many taxes as possible. That made it tough to find a place where you could live without running afoul of the law.

Once the idea was seeded in her head, though, it refused to stop growing. Diana buried herself in research, plotting a path from New York City to Oregon that included stopping points along the way where they could legally stay in their new home. She now had a large map of the United States pinned up on their wall with colored pushpins marking the places they would stop along the way. The final one was the biggest of all and circled with a red marker. It landed smack dab in the middle of the Three Rivers Recreation Area in Central Oregon, a community that was home to people committed to living their life off the grid.

Three Rivers was home to homes of all sizes, from cabins and tiny houses to million-dollar mansions. Diana had contacted several people who lived there to ask about leasing some space. She had finally found an older couple that owned one of the most significant plots of land in the community. The Garrisons, Emily and Ted, only lived there during the summer months, living the rest of the year in a beach house in Florida. Emily had loved the idea of having Diana and Ryan live on their land, as she had been actively looking for someone to look after their home while they were back down south. Emily and Ted were willing to forego a lease if the Richies promised to maintain the property while they were away. It was a deal that was almost too good to be true, which was just one more reason why Diana was so keen to make a move.

“How’s the book coming along?” she asked.

Ryan furrowed his brow and mumbled, “Not so bad,” a sure sign that he wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“Are you struggling, love? You can tell me,” Diana said, taking her husband’s hand.

“Struggling isn’t the right word. It’s…It’s just that it’s going in a direction that is probably not going to sit well with the publisher.

“Let me guess; Barry wants you to stick to the old tried and true formula.”

“Yes. I want to explore different genres and themes, but Barry wants the same hard-boiled detective novel that I’ve delivered with the last four books.”

“What about writing under a different name? Would they maybe go for that?”

“I doubt it. We’re all making money now, so why mess with a formula that’s working, until it isn’t anymore,” Ryan said, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Diana pulled him in close, stroking his hair as he lay his head on her chest. There were times when she was jealous that he got to stay home all day and do what he loved, but that was always tempered by the fact that his job seemed to be just as stressful, if not more so than the average nine to five gig.

“Let’s get some sleep, babe. We can figure it out tomorrow.”

Her words fell on deaf ears, the sound of his shallow breathing a sure sign that he had already drifted off to sleep. With one more loving look at her map on the wall, Diana closed her eyes and fell asleep thinking about the future.

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Talutah lay on the frozen ground, her swollen belly pointing towards the heavens, her view of which was blocked by the tree canopy. She wished for nothing more than to birth her child in the presence of the spirits of the Earth, but she also welcomed the protection that the leaves offered. Winters were harsh in her part of the world, and while the chill still settled in her bones, snow was unable to penetrate the barrier that Mother Nature provided.

The little one was coming soon, yet Talutah had no idea what to expect. This was not her firstborn child, but it was the first one born to something other than a human male. The child to come was to be her gift to the one that had protected her from the white man. Talutah now wished that she had perished with the rest of her tribe when the fur traders had turned violent.

Life had been much simpler before the white man arrived. Food had been plentiful, the men fishing and hunting to keep everyone fed and happy. There was peace in the land, but the arrival of the fur traders had changed things. Greed became the norm, with war the inevitable end to the petty squabbling.

Talutah had managed to talk her tribe into moving further inland, her role as the spirit shaman making her one to trust, away from the river and the routes that the traders commonly traversed. That had not sat well with the white men, though, as they did not like the idea of their trading partners fleeing in the night. The men had tracked the tribe down, slaughtering the men and having their way with the women before slicing them open and leaving them for dead. They had taken the children, most likely to sell them into the slave trade.

To her great shame, Talutah had run while her people were rent asunder. Their screams had become quieter with each passing step, yet she could still hear them ringing in her ears in the moments before sleep arrived.

Running had proven to be futile. The white men were expert trackers, and one of them had found her while she slept, placing a hand over her mouth and fucking her, the smell of blood on his fingers causing Talutah to gag as he rutted her over and over. When the man was fucked dry, he had sliced open the tender area behind her knees before flipping her over and smashing her kneecaps with a rock, the force of the blows sending the bones back and out through the cuts in the back of her leg.

He had left her that way, immobile and waiting for death. Talutah had called upon all the spirits, begging them to help, but there was only one who had answered. When she first saw him creep through the trees in the early morning mist, she believed that she must be dreaming. The Wendigo was a gruesome sight to behold, his tattered flesh and exposed bones that of a dead man walking.

Yet, Talutah thought him beautiful, his resplendent rack of horns dripping as the morning dew settled upon his form. Those drops trickled down his exposed skull, the shape of his face almost equine is its exquisite beauty. He had reached out to her with large hands, the skin stretched tightly over long clawed fingers, touching her face gently.

She had begged for help, and he had delivered. The Wendigo had carried her deep into the forest to a sheltered spot that was drier than other parts of the woods. He had tended to her wounds, fed and watered her, and made sure that she was comfortable. All that he had asked in return was that she lay with him on occasion, which she had done so willingly.

When the sickness began, and fever took hold of her body, Talutah had known that she was with child. As she lay there now, it was clear that this was no ordinary pregnancy. Her belly had swollen in a matter of days, the kicks of the child inside feeling like poisoned arrowheads tearing at her innards.

Talutah called to the spirits for help once more, the pain coursing through her body almost impossible to bear. The child was coming, much too soon, and she suddenly felt alone and afraid. The Wendigo had abandoned her at the very moment her stomach had begun to swell, as though repulsed at the sight of her changing body. In truth, though, she believed she had seen fear shine through his usually lifeless black eyes before he had fled into the forest.

The cold ground had a numbing effect on her flesh, frost penetrating her buckskin clothing, although not quite deep enough to dull the pain in her abdomen as the child moved again. There was no denying that it was coming then, so, Talutah freed herself from her clothing as best she could, her bare belly glistening with the sweat that coated her body.

She looked on in horror as the child within moved, the skin on her belly stretched to the limits, spreading in directions that it was not designed to go. The child wanted out, but it was not prepared to take the path that little ones usually followed. Instead, it tore open her stomach with its antlers, clawed hands raking for purchase on her blood-soaked skin.

Before the world went dark, Talutah watched as the creature leaped from her belly using long, slender legs that bent backward, like those of a grasshopper. Now free, it hopped in circles, shaking its head, trying to free itself from the gore that clung to its antlers.

The creature dug its feet into the earth, razor-sharp claws puncturing the hard ground with little effort. Pushing herself upright, she unleashed a scream that seemed too big for one so small, the sound echoing out across the land beyond the small forest clearing.

Hungry then, she stepped forward and sniffed at her still warm host. She felt no familial connection to the woman before her. Instead, she saw it as nothing more than her chance to eat, an opportunity to sate the bloodlust that coursed throughout her veins. Lowering her oversized head, she tore into the corpse, ripping out chunks of innards and gulping them down in a single swallow.

Before long, the body of Talutah was little more than exposed bones and shredded buckskin. With just a single meal, the creature was already starting to grow. Sniffing the air, she honed in on more prey, but more importantly, she smelled her creator. With another bloodcurdling scream, she dropped onto all fours and sprung off in the direction of his scent.

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The crowds lining the main street are restless, shuffling their feet and talking altogether too loud in hopes of hiding their discomfort at being part of the annual event. No one can really remember how we got to this point, but almost a half century later, we are least all still feeling some semblance of shame. Perhaps that means we have not yet totally forgotten what it means to be human.

When the horn sounds, conversation ends and the jockeying for position begins. It looks like chaos, but there is a system in place. Those with money to burn end up at the front, while the rest of us are nudged to the rear. While society has, in many ways, changed, the gulf between the haves and have nots remains the same.

Before long, we see the children turn onto the street, all shackled together with numbers painted on their ragged clothing. Those leading the way look fit, healthy, and well fed, while the stragglers are emaciated little things that are little more than thin flesh stretched over jutting bones.

These younglings are different in many ways, but the one thing that binds them together is that they are unwanted. Some were born out of wedlock, a crime punishable by death to the parents. Then there are the sociopaths, the little shits who cannot be controlled by their elders. Finally, there are the kids who were, to use the official phrase, “Born Wrong.” Some of them will go unclaimed, even though they are offered at a bargain basement price.

As soon as the children reach us, the bidding begins, and those chosen are plucked from the throng and handed over to the successful buyers. It doesn’t take long for all but a few to be selected. A few of the cast offs are selected, too, which is not altogether surprising. Desperation always kicks in when the herd is thinned. Even now, it’s still tough to pass up a bargain, especially when you are as hungry as we all are.

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Megan sat at the booth in the dimly lit bar, facing the front door, waiting for Kevin to join her. He has asked her to go with him to the lawyer’s office, but Megan didn’t feel as though it was her place to be there. Sure, they were now officially cohabitating, but the store still felt as though it was all Kevin’s. She was nervous, though, which was why…

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If you have ever been home alone with a pet and caught them staring into space, often just over your shoulder, you will have almost certainly thought of the idea that animals can see things in the spirit world that we cannot. In Mean Spirited, Nick Roberts takes that idea and runs with it in a highly entertaining read.

Matt is a teacher and a barely functioning alcoholic. When learning of the death of one of his former students, he heads to her house to leave a poem she had written in English class. While there, Matt finds her dog and decides to take him to the vet, who just so happens to be his ex-wife.

At the start of the story, we are shown that all might not be right with Conehead, the loveable dog, but things quickly move downhill once Matt decides to keep the dog to make his son happy.

The story unfolds at a rapid pace, with all who come into contact with the dog put into immediate danger. Conehead is a mean-spirited pup, or is he? Is there something more nefarious going on? To tell you would spoil all the fun of this one, but I can tell you that there are a couple of cool little twists along the way.

I was tempted to give this one a 5, but the regular interrupted thoughts from Matt got in the way. It was cool to get inside the head of a man struggling with alcohol, but there were times when I found it distracting. It’s a small complaint and not one that would stop me from recommending Mean Spirited.

4 stars out of 5

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The homeless man lay in the fetal position on the park bench, his stomach clenching. He couldn’t tell if it was hunger or the need for a fix that was at the root cause of the pain, but given the lack of money in his pockets, it was going to be a while before he was able to satisfy either of his needs.

He pulled himself into a tight little ball as another wave of cramps ripped through his guts. Tears streamed from his eyes, making the world around him blurry around the edges. The only thing that looked clear to him was a snail moving in front of the bench, the trail of slime in its wake shimmering in all the colors of the rainbow.

All feelings of pain departed as he focused on the snail, which turned to look at him, its little antennae swaying back and forth in a hypnotic motion.

Lick the slime!!

The thought popped into his head, unbidden, and it felt like the best idea he’d had in quite some time. Reaching down, he drags his fingers through the slime and jammed the digits into his mouth, sucking like a babe on the teat. His eyes rolled back in his head as the slime slipped down his throat and coated everything it touched during the descent.

The homeless man stood arms spread wide. The pain was gone, and when he opened his eyes, the world seemed to shimmer, painted in vibrant colors that should not exist in nature. For the first time in years, he felt a sense of hope, a sense that he could repair all the damage done through years of addiction.

A huge smile spread across his face as he stepped forward, the first step in a new direction. A loud squelching sound reached his ears as he stood on the snail, its innards blasting out in all directions in a multi-colored explosion. The man keeled over as though punched in the stomach, the pain returning full force to his gut.

He stumbled backward and fell onto the bench, rolling over into a fetal position, eyes clenched shut. When he opened them again, everything was back to being blurred. Thoughts of a new life drifted away like dreams do upon wakening.

The homeless man thought of food and drugs, and he wept, knowing that neither option was coming anytime soon.

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When asked why he did it, Lucas Grimble simply smiled and shrugged, stating that he simply wanted an urban legend to be true. The opportunity to be the creator was too good to pass up.

Word spread quickly on Halloween that the Grimble house was handing out full size candy bars, the holy grail for sweet-toothed trick or treaters. All the kids went knocking.

The poison injected into the candy spread quicker still, turning the small town into a kiddie killing ground. All who consumed died, turning Halloween into a thing of the past for the town of Bodmin Moor.

Thank you all for following along this month. If you want to drop a little tip, there are a couple of ways to do so…

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It started as a shared secret among friends, but by the time people started going missing, it became clear that everyone in town was experiencing the same thing. A dream of the same door.

Through town meetings, we discovered that the dreams started at different times for everyone. Some had just started dreaming, while others were drawing closer to the door every single night.

I wanted to tell them all that last night, I dreamed my hand was pushing the door open. I fear that tonight I will find out what lies behind, and I will never be seen again.

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I cannot say that I escaped, more that I was allowed to leave the house with no windows. Having had their fill, the creatures turned me and sent me out on my own.

I should be pleased that my release came in the nighttime hours. No death by sunlight for me, not for now. Given the hunger pains, a quick death may have been preferable.

I look up to the sky and imagine how many more stars will die before I do. Running my tongue across my newly formed fangs, I set out into the night in search of sustenance.

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I’ve always been one to do my civic duty, so when I was invited onto the board of the community watch in my neighborhood, I jumped at the opportunity.

Most members did little more than peek out their curtains once a night, but I went on patrol. I certainly wasn’t looking for trouble, but it found me.

I got a little too close to the house at the end of the street, the one with no windows. Now, I am sitting in the dark in the basement waiting for the two coffin lids to raise up again. They are hungry.

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He watched as she came running across the field of flowers painted in every color in Mother Nature’s palette. Her red hair flowed in her wake, like Halley’s comet streaking through the night sky. James smiled as she leaped across a narrow river, the swans on the bank moving out of the way with a flap of their elegant wings before turning to follow her a…

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The surgeon poured himself a Scotch and took a heavy hit, savoring the warmth of the liquid as it bloomed inside. Topping off his glass, he headed into the basement and flicked on the overhead lights.

The transition from darkness to light was jarring, and he blinked repeatedly as he tried to adjust to the brightness of the space. When he eventually did, he smiled at the skeletons on display.

These were the remains of the mistakes he had made, now served up as death on display. They served as reminders and as a promise to himself to do better.

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While the small town sat over one hundred miles from downtown Cleveland, city residents felt the shockwaves that fanned out from the abandoned farm.

No one was there to see the old red barn collapse or to see the grain silo wobble before catching itself like a drunkard navigating from the bar to the restroom.

Most importantly of all, no one saw the massive hand emerge from the soil, opening a long crack along the length of the farm. Soon enough, everyone in Ohio would see the giant and the trail of destruction it would leave in its angry wake.

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In terms of horror subjects, the haunted house is very near the top of the list, making it tough for authors to deliver anything particularly new to the subject. While The House of Long Shadows falls into the haunted house genre, it does enough to establish itself as a cut above many others.

In this story, we have an online video creator looking to renovate a house in just 30 days. Kevin Taylor has already made it online, but his goal is to take the next step and land a show on network TV. All signs point to this project being the one to get him there.

Taylor purchases a home in a mostly vacant Detroit suburb and discovers a body in the wall during the renovations. From that point forward, an already creepy house becomes a place of terror that he cannot stay in after the sun goes down.

The House of Long Shadows follows a familiar path in the genre, with some very creepy little set pieces along the way. Where it delivers is with a couple of twists that I did not see coming at all. This is the first in a 3-book series, and while I will not immediately be rushing out to grab the next one, it will make its way onto my TBR list at some point. I should mention that this one works as a standalone, so there is no cliffhanger warning required.

4 stars out of 5

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When you watch something that you cherish die, it seldom happens quickly. Loved ones get sick and wither away, losing their essence slowly, and sometimes painfully.

That is how it went with the sun. Day by day, we polluted our world, sending fumes up sky high and watching them thicken and coalesce into a dark blanket.

We know the sun is still there, just as we know the ashes of our loved ones are in the urn on the shelf. It’s just that we can’t see them and can’t feel the warmth of their touch. In time, we die, too.

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People in the apartment complex love to gossip, love to share stories about the goings on of their neighbors. There are always juicy nuggets to share, but none associated with Apartment Zero.

All the residents claim to have seen the woman who lives there, yet none of them can offer up the same description. Some say she is old and weak, while others see her young. Many more say she is fuzzy around the edges.

One thing that they all agree on is that the woman in Apartment Zero is bad news. They don’t know why, but they sense it.

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Mornings have become something of a ritual for Kyle Miller. He rises at 7 sharp, makes his coffee, and then sits at the breakfast nook looking out back. He squints and mentally measures the distance between the back door and the trees beyond.

Every day, they draw a little closer.

At first, Kyle believed it to be a trick of the light, but now he knows better. On the days when a cool breeze blows through the leaves, her hears the trees whisper. He’s not sure what they are saying just yet, but it gets clearer as they move forward.

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She stepped back as the lighthouse keeper fell, a smile on his face and blood streaming from his ears. As his breath hitched, she moved in and sucked in the last remnants of his essence, shuddering as they flowed through her thin frame.

Stepping to the front of the structure, she exhaled slowly, her breathing coming in a fine mist that quickly turned into a thick blanket of fog. Content, she rushed to the stairs and climbed to the top of the lighthouse and out onto the parapet. The fog hung heavier than blackout drapes, but her keen eyes cut through the haar, spying vessels miles from shore.

Closing her eyes, she imagined all the men toiling on the ships, imagined consuming their lifeforce. And so, she began to sing.

Oh, you weary sailors, come from away
Rest your head on my breast and forever stay
Wrapped in my arms and safe from the sea
I’ll cradle you here for as long as need be.

She opened her eyes and continued to sing, the faintest trace of a smile touching the corners of her lips as she saw the ships turn toward shore.

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Here is the original image prompt from

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