It begins at night. People vanish from parks and city streets. Then in broad daylight, they’re dragged screaming into the woods, into the water, into the sky. People take refuge in their homes, but still the invisible creatures come, ripping people away from their horrorstruck loved ones. Spouses. Parents. Children. Nowhere is safe and no defense can stop them. Because nothing can save you from what you can’t see.

High school teacher John Calhoun loses his son the first night. A day later, they take his wife. For two months, he and his thirteen-year-old daughter manage to survive, but in the end, she is abducted too. In John’s darkest moment, he meets a motley group of survivors who have a secret: a near-fatal car accident has given one of them the ability to detect what normal human eyesight cannot.

The survivors believe they can replicate the brain injury that will enable them to see the creatures. To discover how they’re invading our world. To fight them. Desperate to save his family, John volunteers. And after the veil of invisibility is lifted, he and his new friends will risk everything to achieve the impossible: enter an alien world and bring their loved ones back.

A novel about aliens that allows us to glimpse the best and worst of humanity, Jonathan Janz’s “Veil,” is an action-packed, nerve-fraying, brain-sizzling, sci-fi horror triumph. I only started reading Janz about 5 months ago, and this is my fourth by him so far- it’s also the fourth time that he has blown me away, this time, literally to another dimension. I’d read the man’s shopping list. Gorgeous writing delivered alongside break-neck, whiplash-inducing pacing and one of my favourite protagonists, well ever, “Veil,” is a novel full of heart and love and hope- for people, for stories, for humanity to do better- and I for one would like to see not only a sequel (PLEASE Jonathan, make it so) but also a movie. Coming September 16th from Blackstone Publishing, “Veil,” is a smooth blend of King’s “The Mist,” with Lebbon’s “The Silence,” with Star Wars, and it is sure to frazzle the synapses of nerds everywhere. 

We follow John Calhoun, a biology teacher, a book-store owner, and most importantly, a father and a husband. These are relationships that are strained, with his wife Iris due to their finances, and on that fateful evening, with his son Sam because of the curfew he’s imposed upon him. These very domestic tensions give way to something far bigger however, when Sam storms off around a corner, and vanishes completely. As more and more people go missing, seemingly from the face of the earth, as lockdowns are imposed and conspiracies are created, it becomes increasingly unlikely that Sam has simply run away from home, and increasingly unlikely that he’s coming back anytime soon. 

The action scenes Janz writes are truly something else. Otherworldly (if you will) denotations of tension and character, of nerve and nerve-ending. A horrifying, cloying motorway scene reminiscent of that from C.J Leede’s “American Rapture,” a truly tense home invasion, and a very claustrophobic underground brawl, are just a few scenes that jumped out, amongst others. Janz’s pulse-pounding, propulsive writing that is as tightly choreographed as it is sweat-inducing, makes for a reading experience that is paced like a heart-attack and about as relaxing as a root canal… it’s just how I like it.

There’s one scene in particular I have to highlight though, which takes place in the parking lot outside Aldi. What struck me harder in this passage was not the inter-dimensional threat overhead but the humans beneath it. Having, like most, had to sit in my home and watch COVID-era videos of super-spreader protests against masks and vaccines, of people fighting over toilet roll and bashing each other with cans of food, this chapter in particular, clearly shaded by that same experience, horrified me the most. The grotesque selfishness that blooms when humans are cornered and unchecked, and the self-interested acts of many of the characters, really does hold up a mirror, and what’s reflected in it, at times seems far more monstrous than any alien invader.

That’s not to say that the alien invaders are not absolutely terrifying too. In the first half of the novel Janz does something genius. King did it in “The Mist,” and Malerman did it in “Bird Box,” and that’s withholding the visual element. Yup, the aliens are invisible. Having people abducted, snatched off of the ground, is deeply scary anyway, especially for our protagonist as a father, but when the only inclination that this is coming is a thrumming, vibrating sound, and a nasty smell, well that’s a whole bunch scarier. The reader is forced to fill in the blanks, populate the void, with our imaginations, and when the curtain, or indeed the veil, is pulled back- it is of course far ghastlier than we thought. 

What I fear I’ve done is presented this book to you as one that is about inter-dimensional kidnappings and the failings of humanity, and whilst both of those things are apparent in “Veil,” as I suggested in my introduction, it’s a book with a beating, human heart at its core. John Calhoun is a wonderful man, a wonderful dad and a wonderful protagonist, flawed, human, but unwaveringly decent. With explicit references to his love of King and “Providence,” by Caroline Kepnes (which I, along with the majority of readers certainly appreciated) I can’t help but wonder if this character is so well-developed and fleshed-out, because… John is Janz. John and the gaggle of good guys he befriends serve as a reminder that amongst the selfish and uneducated, there is such greatness within the human race, and that we are right to expect far better from it. 

A truly masterful novel, that is about what it is to endure as a father and a human being, Jonathan Janz has yet again demonstrated that he can write just about anything. I feel it’s high time we let him write just everything. Novels, manifestos… screenplays. Somebody call Hollywood.

In 2008, a serial killer known as the Cajun Cannibal brutally murders and consumes the flesh of eight people in a small Louisiana parish. With law enforcement closing in on him, he takes his own life before he can face the inside of a courtroom.

Ten years later, when forensic psychiatrist Dr. Vincent Blackburn discovers he and the Cajun Cannibal are more closely connected than he realized, he begins a case study into the sociopathy behind the killer’s grisly deeds, only to find a torrent of small town politics, interracial family dynamics, and whispers of the supernatural muddying once clear waters. 

When copycat killings start anew, Vincent is thrust into the center of it all, putting his life, his family, and his own sanity at risk. As monsters—both figurative and literal—begin to manifest, Vincent discovers that untangling the truth from the lies is only the beginning of his nightmare.

A southern-fried, speculative sensation, N.L Lavin and Hunter Burke’s “Of Flesh and Blood,” is a well-seasoned slab of Cajun horror, simmered low and slow in the Louisiana heat. This horrifying gumbo of small town politics, local folklore and Acadian culture is of course, essential reading irrespective of whether you’re down on the bayou, or, like yours truly, a completely oblivious and woefully under-qualified Brit nearly 5000 miles away, whose point of reference is seafood boil and hot sauce. A novel that reads like true crime “Of Flesh and Blood,” is brooding and blistering and who’d have guessed, bloody. Complete with a complex cast of characters, and more twists than a bowl of fusilli in a tornado, this sinewy triumph (along with the Cajun Cannibal, so watch yourself) is out June 10th from Titan in the UK (thank you for my ARC) and Crooked Lane Books in the US.

We follow Dr. Vincent Blackburn, a psychiatrist studying the murders of the infamous Henri Judice, better known to the public and tabloids as the Cajun Cannibal, in 2008, 10 years down the line. His research raises a whole host of pressing questions. How was Judice able to kill so many, for so long? How were so many signs missed by the local sheriff’s department? In fact, the more Blackburn looks into it, the flimsier concrete answers become. Unclear motives. Muddled timings. Tampered evidence. No longer believing the narrative that Judice was a psychopath, Blackburn’s own mental (and physical) health is put in jeopardy. Was he really a cold-blooded monster? Or just a convenient one? Could it really be that the world is wrong about the identity of the Cajun Cannibal… or is blood thicker than water?

“Of Flesh and Blood,” drags the reader boots first into this tangle between academia and ancestry. It’s a situation that can only be described as awkward. Blackburn initially approaches the case of the Cajun Cannibal with a textbook detachment, the way one might examine a specimen under glass, having been trained to reduce trauma to neat conclusions and thesis topics. Theory quickly crumbles under the weight of blood however, and what he finds is not easily filed away. It’s this that makes “Of Flesh and Blood,” so much more than a piece of crime fiction with horror trappings. An autopsy of not just the mind of an *alleged* killer, but the place he grew up in and the family that raised him, Lavin and Burke discuss small town trauma, politics and memory, and various other flaws beneath that Southern charm.

The road that Burke and Lavin veer down is not simply unexpected but unpaved, unlit and flanked by dense South Louisianan woodland. What starts as a tightly wound, procedurally uneasy thriller, gradually unfurls into something far stranger and older. There’s a central piece of regional folklore I wasn’t familiar with, and am now deeply obsessed with. This element is expertly deployed, not with a crash of thunder but a subtlety and restraint that makes it less of a shocking revelation and more of a slow, inevitable unearthing- despite its fantastical nature. And the ending? “Of Flesh and Blood,” will leave you pacing, and channelling your inner True Detective. Masterfully done. 

If you like a calm, tidy reading experience, in which every thread is neatly tied and no blood gets on the carpet, “Of Flesh and Blood,” is simply not the book for you. If however you prefer your fiction fried dark, seasoned heavy and served with a side of the paranormal, you’re in for one hell of a treat. A narrative that writhes and twists and bites, and offers not one single easy answer, if you come armed with a corkboard, some red string and a strong stomach, you’re guaranteed to have a wonderful time. Compulsive, confounding and completely unforgettable, it’s safe to say that the weekend (I couldn’t help but binge-read) I spent in the bayou was one well spent.

Synopsis:

On the Seventh Webway planet of Exteron, an unprecedented disaster wipes out two-thirds of the terraforming colonists. Two teams are sent to the pre-terrestrial world on behalf of the Galactic Human Alliance, mankind’s centralized governing structure, and FLORA, the terraforming super-conglomerate whose technology allowed mankind to inhabit new worlds. The prospect of future Human dominion over Exteron, a world hellbent on rejecting mankind, rests on this investigatory slew of mercenaries, statesmen, and corporate catspaws.

Review:

Burkhardt is a master at Lovecraftian horror, so when I started Doril Song, I thought I knew what I was getting into. I only had an inkling. This tale, a futuristic science fiction horror, took me by surprise within the first few chapters. I thought I knew where it was going, but Burkhardt killed that notion early on.

Burkhardt creates his science fiction world in my favorite ways: snippets of information, dialogue, and description. He keeps it short and simple, giving only pertinent details without breaking the suspense.

Written in third-person, the horrific accounts are delivered by multiple characters. There are many instances of contact with the planet of Exteron, and each one is brutal and terrifying. Each character has their personal goal as to why they venture to the doomed world—politics, money, duty—and some moments reminded me of slasher films, where you are shouting at the screen for the character not to go investigate that sound in the woods, but of course they do anyway.

Exteron is inhabited by…something. The creatures are not just brutal and violent, they seem to have supernatural abilities that ensure the end of anyone who meets them.

Burkhardt’s descriptions of fatal moments are not just visceral and descriptive. At times, they are nearly poetic. Each demise was unique, and I felt that I was visualizing it in front of me.

Though Doril Song is a short read, Burkhardt offers backstories and banter to familiarize the reader with the characters. He provides reasons to root for the characters and relate to them. In horror, this is always bad, but as a reader who loves horror, I enjoyed the heartbreak. The version I read was the audiobook, narrated beautifully by Farah D. This came along with voice effects to mimic helmet comms and space transmissions. The creatures even had their own eerie vocalizations.
Burkhardt’s writing is always precise and sharp. Doril Song blends an eerie atmosphere with a horror that can never be escaped. This story will leave the mind wondering what horrors abide in deep space and haunt you like a lingering melody.

Synopsis

Combat Monsters brings together twenty award-winning and bestselling speculative fiction authors who each bring their own spin on an alternate history of World War II.

New research has uncovered deeply buried military secrets—both the Allied and Axis special operations during World War II included monsters. Did the Soviets use a dragon to win the Battle of Kursk? Did a vampire fight for the Canadians in Holland? Did the US drop the second atomic bomb on a kaiju?

This collection takes real events from World War II and injects them with fantastical creatures that mirror the “unreality” of war itself. Each story—and two poems—feature mythical, mystical, and otherwise unexplainable beings that change the course of history. Dragons rise and fall, witches cast deadly spells, mermaids reroute torpedoes, and all manner of “monsters” intervene for better or worse in the global turmoil of World War II.

Together, Combat Monsters challenge the very definition of monstrous, with the brutality of war as a sobering backdrop.

Review

Thanks to NetGalley and Blackstone Publishing for this audio arc. 

A concise set of stories meshing monsters with the atrocities of WWII. Vampires, witches, werewolves, dragons, krakens, genetically modified humans and animals, and DNA-altered bears, oh my. I particularly appreciated the generous take on “monster” as well as the shaping of war being the true evil. I don’t tend to enjoy war stuff that alters historical events in any big way as I feel it takes away from the people that paid for the outcome with their lives, and I’m glad to say this one skirted that exceptionally. The editor asked each contributor to ground their story in fact, within real events, but the outcomes were the same and the supernatural elements were simply helping or layered within. 

I enjoyed how each story took readers to a new place, a new perspective, a new country even. Including countries I wasn’t even aware took part in the war. We traveled the world and learned of the supernatural just under the surface. We read stories from the beginning of the war, and we read stories from the very bombing that ended the war. The variety within is really what makes this collection so special. 

Particular stand outs included a story that acted as almost an unauthorized sequel to Dracula and the Demeter, a werewolf that’s helped by something else, a crazy croctopus taking out strike teams, and the farming bears. I apologize because as I did the audio, which I typically do while driving, I didn’t think to note the names/authors!

SYNOPSIS

When a video depicting the brutal murder of a former classmate leaks online, Kylie Bennington’s—whose dreams of becoming a successful influencer remain frustratingly elusive—curiosity gets the better of her, leading to the discovery of an off-the-grid social media app called MonoLife. As it turns out, there are certain cryptic rules in the user agreement that must be adhered to, such as interacting with other users at least twice daily or risk losing it all…and never, ever speaking of MonoLife’s existence to non-users or risk dire consequences.

For this is a platform that primarily rewards the worst in human behavior, and which begins chipping away at Kylie’s sanity across post after post for an ever-increasing audience of immoral fans. Now Kylie’s going to find out just how far she’s willing to go on her unyielding rise to the top—even if that means coming face-to-face with the frightening and ruthless forces behind MonoLife, who see all from deep within the shadows…

REVIEW

Feeders is a fast paced, descent into the darkest corners of the internet and the human mind. Jealousy, greed and depravity pave the way to hell as we watch how far Kylie Bennington is willing to go for internet stardom.

Social media is terrifying enough as it is, and in Feeders, Matt Serafini takes it to another level. We follow Kylie as she struggles in the shadow of her friend Erin and her ever growing social media stardom. Kylie grows increasingly envious of the endorsements and opportunities, her envy quickly turning into resentment. So when Kylie learns of a new app called Monolife, she jumps at the chance to surpass her friend on a new platform, no matter how shady it seems.

Feeders has a lot to say about social media and the influence it has on today’s youth. Worth is defined by likes and followers. It also has a tendency to bring out the worst in people. There’s an anonymity you can only get online and sadly, most people will take advantage of that to show their ugliest attributes.

The violence in this novel is visceral and more than a few moments may be triggering to some. Monolife is basically Twitter meets early 4Chan or the infamous rotten dot com. The worst things humanity is capable of are rewarded in the only way that matters, likes and praise from strangers.

Watching Kylie go down an increasingly dark path to achieve what she believes is success is both heart-breaking and fascinating. Serafini makes the reader an unwitting participant in her descent. I found myself at one moment wanting her to see it’s not worth it and turn back, then the next, curious about what she’s going to do next.

Like a great episode of Tales from the Crypt or Black Mirror, Feeders is a cautionary tale wrapped in blood, gore and bad decisions. A train-wreck you can’t take your eyes off of. Dark, satirical and violent, this novel is a wild ride straight to hell. Fans of Grady Hendrix should definitely check this out.

When a video depicting the brutal murder of a former classmate leaks online, Kylie Bennington’s—whose dreams of becoming a successful influencer remain frustratingly elusive—curiosity gets the better of her, leading to the discovery of an off-the-grid social media app called MonoLife. As it turns out, there are certain cryptic rules in the user agreement that must be adhered to, such as interacting with other users at least twice daily or risk losing it all…and never, ever speaking of MonoLife’s existence to non-users or risk dire consequences.

For this is a platform that primarily rewards the worst in human behavior, and which begins chipping away at Kylie’s sanity across post after post for an ever-increasing audience of immoral fans. Now Kylie’s going to find out just how far she’s willing to go on her unyielding rise to the top—even if that means coming face-to-face with the frightening and ruthless forces behind MonoLife, who see all from deep within the shadows…

“Feeders,” by Matt Serafini is a first person descent into digital delirium. It oozes with envy, paranoia and grotesquery. There’s really a lot that works: the voice is sharp, the concept timely, and there’s a nastiness pulsing beneath the surface that I think many horror readers will absolutely revel in- I know I did. It’s urgent, cynical and a little sickly, which is how I like it. That said, for me “Feeders,” flickered wildly between two extremes. At first, it felt indistinguishable from the ever-growing pile of social media horror novels I’ve already read this year (admittedly, that’s a “me” problem). Then, just as I’d decided it was a solid read, if not a little basic, we rerouted, changed course, and landed on some different planet. I like my horror to go down strange, dark paths, and whilst Serafini did go down one, in my opinion “Feeders,” got a little lost. Still, if you’re a sucker for stories about the horrors of technology, and happen to like feeling like you’ve taken bath salts when you’re reading them- this might be just your brand of unhinged. It’s weird.  Undeniably, it’s bold. And for some readers, it’s going to hit exactly the right nerve. It’s out today, May 20th, from Gallery Books.

“Feeders,” follows Kylie Bennington who is a relatively normal teen. Her friend Erin is a social media star, collabing with some of the industry’s biggest names and working with the some of the world’s greatest brands. As any teeanger would be, Kylie, with 4000 followers to her name, is a little bitter. As much as social media causes her to rage, it’s about worth it for the high that a few hundred likes can bring about, so when she hears about an exclusive new social media app called “MonoLife,” she’s eager to get onboard. The kind of content that succeeds on Monolife is not quite the same stuff that Erin goes viral for on Instagram, or really the kind of content that’s allowed on any social media app- aside from maybe Reddit. Kylie picks up on this, and is willing to conform. When she does, the reach she has and the rewards she reaps are limitless. 

When it comes to “Feeders,” and its commentary on social media, there’s a real nastiness I couldn’t help but admire. Serafini highlights that the internet doesn’t simply tolerate conflict and hatred and bile but rewards it. Cannibalism and animal abuse amongst a whole host of other unpleasantries (trigger warnings all around) don’t slip through the cracks, but are algorithmically encouraged. “Feeders,” suggests that virality and morality are not compatible, and I loved that about it. MonoLife brings out the worst in Kylie, some pretty standard messaging within technology horror, and proceeds to reward that. 

For me, social media horror is inherently grounded in reality, and thus, inherently scary. It’s knowing that the horrors I’m reading about are just a few clicks away, and that I share the internet with absolute psychos, like Kylie Bennington. However, when “Feeders,” detours into a full-blown fever-dreamish creature feature, I felt all of that tangibility, all that relatability and all of those horror seeds that Serafini so carefully planted, were dug back up again. In a story in which the platform itself was being represented as the monster, I really didn’t need more monsters. In what may have been an effort to differentiate itself in a sub-genre that is becoming more saturated, Serafini lost some of the resonance that it is integral to it, and that’s a shame. As much as I didn’t gel with this element, I know plenty of people did, and one thing this book never is, is boring. 

A novel that is arguably worth reading for the Katy Perry references alone, “Feeders,” whilst being electric in some areas, left me Hot N Cold in others.

Synopsis:

Fear – arguably humanity’s strongest emotion – is both a blessing and a curse.

It hinders some, while it fuels others, but without it, our species would not have survived hundreds of thousands of years. However it might affect you, you’ve felt fear. We all have. Within this book, you’ll come face to face with new fears as you open your imagination and experience the incredible lives of original characters in eight vast different short stories that span many unique and gripping genres, including thriller, tragic romance, crime, science fiction, retelling, and more.

Each story is a different face of fear.

Review:

Fear by Jose Trevino is a short story collection featuring nine horror tales. Trevino works across horror genres to bring us tales ranging from psychological, supernatural, paranormal, and science fiction.

Trevino’s ability to move seamlessly between past and present tense, along with point of view shifts, is impressive. One story may be written in the third person past tense, then the next in first person present tense.

Trevino displays a variety of characters, all of which were natural and full of depth, even in the short time we get to know them. From a grieving son to a misled youth who has joined a cult, each character is unique and enjoyable.

In some of the stories, the horror builds alongside the plot, revealing unsettling details slowly to help understand each event. In others, Trevino wastes no time. He pulls you in, terrifies you, and leaves enough to the imagination that there is no choice but to continue flipping the pages.

Trevino writes with authority. Though he often drops the reader into an unknown setting, he continues on, delivering just enough knowledge to understand what is happening but leaving the questions unanswered until the right moments.

The stories themselves were unique: twisted retellings of familiar legends, and distinct perspectives on common subgenres. In particular, Dinner For Two and the Hunger took me by surprise in such a delightful way. Both were dark, unprecedented takes on the familiar vampire and zombie stories.

The stories within Fear provided a great balance between dreadful and hopeful. There were terrible endings (my personal favorite), happy endings, and some stories ended with ambiguity, leaving the reader to make their own decisions as to what occurred thereafter.

Fear is a must-have for any horror reader’s shelf—perfect for those who appreciate thought-provoking narratives, fear rooted in everyday life, and genre-spanning, morbid tales.

An innocent game takes a turn for the worse when 7-year-old Greta pulls a bedsheet over her head and ends up becoming a real ghost. What follows is an exhilarating journey into a world of fantasy and wonder.

Ian Rogers’ “Fitted Sheet,” is a wistful, whimsical, perhaps even cute story, with a gentle moral about sibling rivalry tucked snugly inside. It meditates on familial friction and how often a little perspective is required, whether that simply be the realisation that your little brother isn’t actually that terrible anymore, or indeed nearly losing your sister to a haunted bedsheet. Read it yourself, revel in the writing, and of course, appreciate the reference to John Wyndham, before passing on the sentiment to your kids- especially if they’re at each other’s throats. 

“Fitted Sheet,” was a first, and long-overdue foray into Rogers’ work, and I’m sure now that it won’t be my last. Huge thanks to Mitch at Rapture Publishing, who is building a mighty reputation by continuing to prove that good things really do come in small, saddle-stitched packages. If you’re looking for great writing and great illustrations (perhaps maybe even by the multi-talented Chris Panatier) all quite literally sewn together in one super-great chapbook, do yourself a favour and order one, or five from Rapture here. And if you’re after ghosts, grudges, and something that might just leave you feeling a little sentimental, “Fitted Sheet,” is the one to start with. 

I can’t say too much plot-wise, there’d be nothing left, but the basic premise is as follows. Cecelia and Greta are sisters, 10 and 7 respectively, left to their own devices for 20 minutes whilst their mother hangs the laundry to dry. What could go wrong right? After the requisite sibling squabble, the two settle on playing ghosts, and Greta finds herself with her mother’s maybe Egyptian Cotton, maybe silk fitted sheet draped over her head. She can see just fine out of the fabric, but her older sister has no such luck, and being as self-centred and bratty as 10 year olds generally are, Cecelia tries to pull it off of her, ending the game. But she can’t… and Greta is unable to free herself. 

That sounds claustrophobic and terrifying, and in another author’s hands I’m sure it could have veered that way, but it’s not, and it never tries to be. In the absence of malevolent spirits or Satan himself, Rogers reminds us that horror can be as simple as a fitted sheet, a sulk and a momentary lapse in adult supervision. It’s refreshing, breezy, and demonstrates both playfulness and restraint. It’s a small story, perfectly hemmed, neatly tucked, and pressed with care, and it was nothing but a pleasure to read.

Rating: /10

Action, adventure, horror, comedy… Zombie Billionaire has it all.

The long-awaited sequel to Zombie Bigfoot is here!

You know those series books that say “This book is a standalone?” This one isn’t. Zombie Billionaire picks up directly from where Zombie Bigfoot left off. If you haven’t read “ZBF,” do yourself a favor: get it, read it, and come on back. We’ll be right here waiting for you.

Cameron Carson was dead, to begin with…

In the forests of Idaho, a debonaire billionaire finds himself back from the dead… and the transition is far from seamless. Meanwhile, the tattered remnants of a Bigfoot troop try to make their way to safety while a survival show host, a Shoshone tracker, and a brilliant primatologist struggle to protect their Sasquatchian friends. On top of that, they have to track down the mysterious “Stone that Sings” that started this whole mess. But dark forces with less-than-benevolent intentions are gathering… some looking for the meteorite… others searching for the surviving Bigfoots.

And in Lake Payette, by the shores of the resort town of McCall, something ancient has awakened. And it is HUNGRY.

Review

In Clerks II, film snob and general curmudgeon Randal mocks The Lord of the Rings trilogy as being nothing more than three boring-ass movies about a bunch of people walking. “Even the fucking trees walked in those movies,” he whines. Although Nick Sullivan’s Zombie Bigfoot sequel lacks walking trees, I thought about that scene more often than I should have for a book called Zombie Billionaire.

Zombie Billionaire picks up right where Zombie Bigfoot ended, and in order to discuss this sequel it is necessary that I talk about the end of the prior novel and the big reveals Sullivan packed into that book’s epilogue and epi-epilogue. There, Sullivan set the stage for a lake-based creature feature, with a primordial aquatic horror swallowing, and being changed by, the ancient meteor that transformed campers and Bigfoot alike into undead flesh eaters.

One of those undead monstrosities just so happened to be billionaire Cameron Carson, who was bitten and presumed dead in ZBFs climactic battle. Obviously, Zombie Billionaire finds him back on his feet and, eventually, in search of the mysterious meteor that has transformed him and a fresh water lake monster, known as Sharlie by the locals.

Zombie Bigfoot was a rousing, kinetic, action-packed indie horror that offered a lot of promise for a sequel and properly whet the appetite for a follow-up centering around more zombies and, more importantly, an ancient Nessie-like zombified lake monster. Zombie Billionaire doesn’t exactly squander all this potential, but it sure does take its time delivering the goods. Sullivan’s follow-up is far slower, and oftentimes maddeningly methodical as it re-establishes its various premises, introduces an unnecessarily large cast of new characters, and tries to find stories to tell for returning characters, not all of which are particularly engaging.

Of these returning characters are reality TV show host Russ Cloud, Dr. Sarah Bishop, and their Shoshone guide and tracker, Joseph. Their mission is to recover the meteorite that unleashed all this mayhem last time around before it can cause even more trouble, especially if the military now flooding the Idaho forests in the wake of a Bigfoot attack can get their hands on it first. Problem is, one of the National Guardsmen assigned to protect the campsite the meteorite was last seen at threw the rock off a cliff and into a river. They spend a lot of time trying to figure out which direction the water’s currents sent it and which of the branching rivers it may have taken.

Of course, we readers know exactly where the meteor has gone and what it has done, and it takes freaking forever for this slog of backstory to start connecting with the final moments from Zombie Bigfoot that we’ve been waiting for. And just when we’re about fed up with reading about tracking a rock through a forest, Sullivan switches us over to the remaining tribe of Bigfoot survivors as they… also spend a lot of time walking through the forest.

Cameron Carson, meanwhile, has returned to New York, in time to deal with some industrial espionage and a hostile takeover of his corporation by its board of directors, all while trying to come to grips with his newfound hunger.

There’s also a group of black-bag military operators, a competing reality TV show host and his entourage, a ragtag bunch of Sharlie hunters, a forestry officer finding unusual cast-offs from Sharlie’s newfound dining habits, and a killer who speaks solely by way of showtune titles, as if he’s some kind of ritzy Groot.

Frankly, Zombie Billionaire is overstuffed and oftentimes plodding. The humor is pretty cringey throughout, but I’ll admit to laughing at the Leroy Jenkins bit even if it’s pretty well dated at this point. It lacks the urgency and gory chaos of the previous installment, and by the time the action really kicks into gear with Sharlie and its accompanying lakeside mayhem, it’s too little too late. In between traipsing through the woods and New York boardroom scheming, we get some legit monster action, but never enough. When one character discovers the unusual events unfolding in McCall via a web forum posting and connects the dots about where they must go immediately, almost two-thirds into the book, I found myself wishing that’s where this story had started. I wanted more time on the lake with monster hunters and less time in the woods with rock hunters.

Review:

When I first discovered C.S. Humble’s The Massacre at Yellow Hill, I was giddy. That book mixes a gritty western mythos with vampires, secret societies, and cosmic horror, but more importantly, it does what I come to story for: it gave me new people to love.

Gilbert Ptolemy and his adopted son, Carson; Tabitha Miller and her family; these characters appear fully formed on the page, and they assert their reality with every action, every scrap of dialogue, every sacrifice.

It doesn’t hurt that Humble’s prose alternates between razor sharp observation and passages of lyrical beauty not often found in your average horror novel.

As I read on through the trilogy (A Red Winter in the West and The Light of Black Star), it became clear that there was much more at work there. Through this ever-expanding story, Humble wasn’t just spinning a great yarn. He was building worlds.

The 19th century of Humble’s books may sometimes resemble that historical era, but it is most certainly an alternative history with complex, competing occult organizations, all variety of supernatural entities, a highly regimented Gunfighters Guild, a young hero struggling with his troubling destiny, and a deep system of magic that ties all of these disparate parts together, leading up to a final battle.

I’d been hoodwinked. This wasn’t a horror-western series at all. I was reading an epic fantasy.

Ever since, I’ve been an evangelist for these books, the voice of one crying in the wilderness: Hey, you want to have your heart ripped out? Have I got the books for you.

So, when I heard that Humble was releasing more books in the series, I was understandably excited, and when I learned that they were prequels, I was doubly excited. Why? Because in Humble’s world, there is no safety for anyone, especially those characters we love most. So these prequels offer us the opportunity to spend time with those we’ve loved and lost.

More importantly, they allow Humble to deepen his world building, slow down to investigate the mythology of The Peregrine Estate, the occult organization fighting for the fate of the world. We also get a deeper look at the mechanics and politics of the famed Gunfighters Guild. All of this while we see the pieces shifting slowly into place to bring us to the plot events of the original trilogy. It’s deeply imagined, fascinating stuff.

But none of that is what matters.

These books are pure character work.

The opening volume, To Carry a Body to its Resting Place, follows the early career of the lovable rogue, Ashley Sutliff. In the original trilogy, Sutliff is a kind of Han Solo figure, drawn into the occult drama against his will. He’d much rather be playing cards, though, naturally, under his brash exterior is a loyal heart.

To Carry a Body to its Resting Place rounds out Sutliff’s character to great effect, humanizing him to an almost unbearable degree.

Ashley is drawn home by the news of his father’s impending death, and while there he uncovers family secrets and eventually rides off on what will become his first action for the Peregrine Estate, but these latter details are almost incidental. The heart of this book is a meditation of fathers and sons, what is owed, and how we say goodbye that more to Larry McMurtry than any horror or fantasy writer. It’s an emotionally wrenching read that suddenly hurtles into action.

San Antonio Mission is a much more plot-driven entry, with my favorite character, Gilbert Ptolemy dispatched by the Peregrine Estate to recruit newly freed slaves to join the cause. Ptolemy, a former slave himself, is partnered with the wisecracking Sarah Lockhart and a member of the Gunfighter’s Guild because there’s no guarantee that the former owner of these people will allow them to leave, even in this post-Juneteenth era.

These suspicions turn out to be correct, but nothing could prepare our team for the depth of the horrors that await them at the mission.

San Antonio Mission focuses more on human horrors, while placing them quite explicitly within their historical contexts, allowing Humble to investigate the horrors of U.S. history itself, and its legacy of racist violence. It also offers a cathartic response to those who set themselves up as tyrants. Add in some romance and the delightful new gunslinger, Oliver Maine, and this second volume feels like a much more complete and self-contained entry into the saga.

The final book in the trilogy, The Baroness of the Eastern Seaboard, does a lot to segue into the original storyline, presenting some of the future Big Bads, while also allowing the reader to access the interior world of the Gunfighters Guild. As with the other volumes, these are mostly details. The center of The Baroness of the Eastern Seaboard is the relationship between Sven and Larry, devoted husbands who also happen to be inching perilously close to each other’s ranks within the Guild. Any day now, they will be forced to compete for rank, meaning one of them must die.

The couples’ attempt to petition the Guild for a way around this impossibility leads to quests for each of the lovers, both of them bloody and harrowing. The most explicitly romantic of the three books, Baroness is a love story wrapped in a Peckinpah movie’s violence and propulsive action.

As a reader, all I wanted to do was protect Sven and Larry, but the facts of Humble’s universe leave no one safe, and things get just about as bad as they can get while still leaving our heroes alive to appear later on in the saga.

All in all, The Peregrine Estate Trilogy is a varied and wondrous treasure trove of stories that situate themselves less as straight prequels than as elaborate midrash, glimpses between the scenes of the larger story, illustrating Humble’s knack for not only storytelling and lush prose, but his near magical penchant for character building. It is a necessary addition to what has become a vast saga. Here’s hoping there’s more to come.

The Peregrine Estate Trilogy will be available in September of 2025.