A short Christmas treat from one of the rising modern horror greats.
DeMeester knows she doesn’t always have to get gory or have everything dripping with blood and monster fangs to scare your pants off. Sometimes it is all in the art of suggestion, in the strange moments of “what if” and supplanting the reader’s expectations.
She fills each short scene of this story with dread, leaving the reader with the impression that at any moment, something horrible could happen. That tension of waiting, not knowing exactly when the horror will drop, is always worse than whatever comes out of the closet—at least in my opinion.
Once you know what the monster is, it’s easier to face it. But, like Ashleigh in the story, if all you have are swirling, amorphous half-memories of a horrific scene from a movie you saw when you were little, it will haunt you until you seek it out, though you might not like what you find.
This slim meditation on childhood, memory, film, and how we let the past haunt our lives. There’s a lot to think about in these few pages.
And that illustration toward the end—that was some stomach-dropping-out, nightmare-inducing stuff. But you’ll have to read it to find out exactly what I mean.
My thanks to Tall Hat Press and the Night Worms for the chance to read and review this one.
Associate editor, amateur photdographer, bibliophile, and occasional sleuth.