A Guest in the House

E. M. Carroll

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Genre: Horror

Initial Impression
It has been a long time since I picked up a graphic novel. One of my goals for 2026 is to read more graphic novels. This one was such a good surprise. I’m so glad that I read it.

Summary
Abby, a quiet young woman living a modest life, recently married David, a widowed dentist who has moved to a small lakeside town with his daughter, Crystal. As she settles into the routines of being a wife and stepmother, Abby tries to believe they will all be happy, embracing domestic life with cooking, coffee, and shared evenings in front of the TV. However, beneath that calm surface is something more sinister: Sheila, David's ex-wife, is still a spectral presence in the home. Until Abby starts to notice strange behaviors, odd gaps in the story, and unsettling clues that suggest nothing about Sheila's fate is as simple as she's been told, her death is treated as tragic but unremarkable. 

Bit by bit, the peace of the lakeside house erodes. Sheila's memory begins to appear to Abby in subtle and sometimes frightening ways. The question of whether Sheila's death was truly natural arises as the domestic façade begins to fall apart. The story pushes forward a creeping dread, drawing readers into Abby’s growing obsession and uncertainty. 

Art Style
The art in A Guest in the House shifts seamlessly between grounded realism and unsettling surrealism, which often catches you off guard. During everyday moments—grocery store runs, cleaning the kitchen, household chores—the panels are mostly grayscale. But once Abby’s inner world, her anxieties or nightmares, sparks to life, the pages erupt in lurid color: shock‑red blood splashes, veiny blues, dreamlike distortions, and hallucinatory shapes. It feels like the world itself is wobbling under Abby’s unease. That contrast—the calm white‑and‑grey domesticity against sudden bursts of horror‑tinged color—gives the story a kind of emotional texture that lingers long after you close the book. 

People aren’t drawn as hyper‑idealized heroes or villains, either. Bodies are average, expressions subtle, hair a little messy, and clothes ordinary. That ordinariness makes the horror more intrusive, more believable. Abby becomes someone you could pass on the street, which makes the uncanny feel all the sharper.

Setting
The bulk of the story takes place in a modest lakeside house, located in a quiet town where Abby and her new family try to start over. The setting is peaceful: calm water, trees around the house, the slow rhythm of suburban life, grocery runs, and quiet dinners. It seems calm—the kind of place where you’d imagine past traumas quietly fade away. But as you progress in the story, that serene feeling breaks. Even the ordinary surroundings, like the house and the lake, start to feel oppressive. The house, instead of being a haven, turns into a cage. Haunted, not just by memory but by everything unsaid. That contrast between idyllic environment and creeping dread constructs a setting that feels familiar—and deeply, uncomfortably wrong.

Atmosphere
Right from the first few pages, I thought the story and the art style both gave such an excellent atmosphere.  There’s a slow-burning tension. At first, it’s quiet—domestic, almost mundane. But as the story unfolds, unease starts showing up through every crack. The haunting in the house isn’t loud or bombastic; it starts subtle, but it sneaks. Shadows linger longer than they should. Reflections in windows seem off. The color bursts—sudden and shocking—feel like jolts to the system. The weirdness isn’t just supernatural; it’s psychological. There are moments when you question whether you're witnessing actual ghosts or the collapse of a weak mind. This ambiguity, the ongoing uncertainty about what is true, creates an atmosphere that lingers long after the last page.

There’s also a melancholy to it, and strangely, I loved it!  There is the sense that this isn’t just about a ghost but about grief, identity, and the fear of never being enough. The kind of sadness that lingers in small moments like a quiet glance, an empty chair at the table, or a child’s drawing that feels like a memory trying to break through. The atmosphere traps you there: it’s beautiful, domestic, and claustrophobic—a perfect setting for horror that doesn’t scream but whispers.

Final Thoughts
I’ve given A Guest in the House a full five stars because it haunted me long after I closed it. It’s the kind of story that creeps quietly before reaching in and twisting what you thought you understood. Abby’s narrative feels real, grounded, and flawed. She’s not a fearless heroine or a larger‑than‑life protagonist. She’s uncertain, average, and weighed down by those little everyday pressures, and that makes her all the more vulnerable. Watching her slowly unravel—or perhaps be unveiled—is painful and compelling in equal measure. The story has reminded me a lot of the movie “What Lies Beneath” starring Harrison Ford and Michelle Pfeiffer. There are many similarities.

Still, I’m aware it may not be perfect. The ending, while powerful, leaves a bunch of threads loose. Some mysteries remain murky, and you might be left wondering whether everything you saw was real or a projection of Abby’s psyche. That ambiguity will thrill some readers—leaving the horror to simmer, but frustrate others expecting closure. For me, though, that unresolved tension is part of the appeal. 

Overall, this graphic novel sneaks up on you. It blends domestic drudgery with uncanny horror, everyday anxieties with ghostly dread, and delivers a story that hits deep. Reading it was like watching one of those indie cinematic horror films that can be considered a gem. I’d recommend A Guest in the House to anyone who likes their horror personal, unsettling, and lingering.

Key Themes

• Grief and Loss
• Domestic Anxiety
• Psychological Uncertainty / Obsession
• Haunting / Presence of the Past
• Identity and Self-Doubt
• Ambiguity of Truth

Club Dead

Charlaine Harris

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐ ½ Genre: Fantasy 

Initial Impression I was excited to dive again into this series as a big fan of the TV show True Blood. I enjoyed reading both the first and the second books, and I hope all the subsequent books will be as good or better. 

Summary Sookie Stackhouse’s life is never calm for long, and Club Dead throws her straight into another round of supernatural chaos when Bill suddenly vanishes on “business.” The excuse feels flimsy from the start, but the situation escalates quickly when Sookie learns he may have been kidnapped—or possibly run off with his old vampire flame. Either way, her pride and her heart take a hit, and she’s pulled into a search she never really asked for.

Eric naturally steps in with the sort of helpfulness that usually comes with an agenda, sending Sookie and the ever-charming werewolf Alcide to Jackson, Mississippi. Their mission: track down Bill, navigate the vampire club known as Club Dead, and try not to get killed in the process. It sounds dramatic, and it is, but the book leans into the messiness rather than glamorizing it.

Things in Jackson become more complicated than expected. Sookie keeps stumbling into danger—sometimes because she’s brave, sometimes because she trusts the wrong people, and sometimes because trouble just seems magnetized to her! Her dynamic with Alcide may suggest a possible new romantic path (the TV show has turned that into the focus; I'm not sure if it will be the same in the subsequent books), though it’s tangled with grief, curiosity, and many unresolved feelings.

The rescue of Bill comes with emotional fallout rather than a neat closure. Instead of a triumphant reunion, Sookie ends up at a crossroads, and the series takes a more bittersweet turn that feels strangely honest for her character. I found the ending to be a bit funny with how Sookie treated both Eric and Bill.

Characters Sookie continues to be the heart of the story, and Harris keeps her grounded even when the plot tilts into wild supernatural territory. Her confusion, frustration, and occasional flashes of temper feel very real—almost messily real—which may appeal to readers who prefer flawed heroines over perfect ones. Bill, on the other hand, appears more distant here, and the emotional wall he puts up may leave some readers feeling disconnected from him.

The supporting cast adds a lot of color. Eric is still teasing and inscrutable, Alcide brings a gentler energy that complicates Sookie’s loyalties, and the werewolf and vampire communities feel more defined than in earlier books. Some characters only appear briefly, but they still manage to leave little impressions—either charming, unsettling, or just weird in that Sookie Stackhouse way. Her brother, Jason, is almost missing except for one scene.

Writing Style

Charlaine Harris writes in a breezy first-person style that’s easy to settle into, almost like listening to a friend with great timing tell you about her absurd week. The storytelling leans on sharp observations, quick emotional reactions, and a bit of self-deprecating humor. It’s fast-paced and accessible, though every now and then the simplicity may feel a touch too streamlined for readers who want deeper introspection.

Setting & Atmosphere

The story jumps from Sookie’s small-town Louisiana roots to the darker, more hostile supernatural underbelly of Jackson. Harris paints the locations with enough detail that you can imagine the sticky air, the dim bars, and the slightly run-down motels. The backroads, the clubs, and even Alcide’s family home create a sense of moving through a lived-in world rather than a generic paranormal backdrop.

There’s a constant sense of tension humming under the surface. Even during the quieter scenes, you will feel like the characters are sitting on the edge of something sharp. This makes you sit on the edge of your seat, too. The author successfully balances danger with moments of humor and awkward romance, which helps in creating an atmosphere that’s a little chaotic, sometimes moody, and occasionally warm. It is like spending a weekend with friends who always end up in trouble but somehow stay likable no matter what.

Final Thoughts I landed on 3.5 stars because, while the book has plenty going for it, it also wobbles in places. Some emotional beats rush past a little too fast, and Bill’s storyline might leave you wishing the characters sat with their feelings a bit longer. Still, the tension, as well as the humor and shifting relationships, kept me turning pages. It’s the kind of installment that may not hit every note perfectly but still feels worthwhile.

Even with its bumps, I genuinely enjoyed the ride and want to keep going—partly to see how Sookie handles the drama, and partly because I’m curious how the series will diverge from the TV show in later books. There’s a sense that the characters are heading somewhere new, and even if the journey is messy, I’m definitely sticking around for it.

Key Themes

• Loyalty and Betrayal
• Identity and Belonging
  
• Love, Desire, and Complicated Relationships
• Danger and Survival
• Power Dynamics and Control

Disappearance at Devil's Rock

 Paul Tremblay

Rating: ⭐⭐ ½
Genre: Horror

Initial Impression
This is probably the third or fourth Paul Tremblay book that I have read. I was excited for it, because what could be more interesting than reading a horror story in October? Boy, I was not prepared for this letdown!

Summary
It starts with a summer night and a group of kids messing around in the woods. Thirteen-year-old Tommy Sanderson doesn’t come back. The search kicks off fast—police, helicopters, the usual—but it doesn’t take long before things stop feeling normal. His friends can’t seem to agree on what happened. Their stories don’t just conflict, but they hint at something darker. Something they’re scared to say out loud.

Tommy’s mother, Elizabeth, is barely holding it together. She’s desperate, clinging to whatever scraps she can find. Then weird things start happening: shadows where they shouldn’t be, noises in the house, and torn notebook pages showing up out of nowhere. Pages that look like Tommy’s, filled with strange drawings and ramblings about something called “Devil’s Rock.” It’s not clear if he was imagining things or if something really pulled him in.

The story jumps between Elizabeth’s unraveling in the present and the boys’ hazy memories of that night. Slowly, you start to piece together what might’ve happened, but the picture never fully clears. There’s talk of a man in the woods, secret dares, and a local legend that feels like it’s bleeding into real life. Tremblay doesn’t give you answers so much as questions that echo. Is this a ghost story? A breakdown? Just a tragedy warped by fear?

By the end, you get flashes of truth—panic, guilt, maybe a final moment that wasn’t meant to go that far. But it’s all fragmented. The emotional hit is there, but it’s softened by the slow, foggy way the story unfolds. You’re left unsettled, not because of what you know, but because of what you don’t.

Characters
The characters are deliberately ordinary. They are people who feel like they could live next door. Most of Tommy's emotional burden is placed on his mother, Elizabeth. Her grief hits hard in some scenes, but in others, it feels strangely muted. That might be due to the constant shifts in time and perspective, which keep us at arm’s length.

Tommy’s friends, Josh and Luis, are drawn with a kind of adolescent fuzziness. They’re scared, confused, and clearly hiding something, but their personalities start to blur together after a while. You’re left with impressions—guilt, fear, maybe shame—but not much depth.

Character development is subtle to the point of being almost static. Tremblay depended here a lot on ambiguity and realism, which results in nobody truly changing or maturing. In their own unique ways, they simply fall apart. Given the themes of loss and uncertainty, that may be the point, but it also makes the story feel emotionally flat at times. You want more reaction, more insight, but the narrative keeps its distance.

Writing Style
Tremblay writes in a fragmented, third-person limited style, mostly through Elizabeth’s eyes but occasionally shifting to others. I don’t know how to say it here, but the story has many abrupt transitions and half-thoughts that feel like they were all done on purpose to increase the suspense and the thrill. However, I feel this method has backfired, at least for me. It is intended to depict trauma, and occasionally it captures that hazy, uneasy sensation in a good way, but at times it also seems disjointed and disorganized.

The pacing is slow, and the timeline jumps around so much that it’s easy to lose your footing. There’s atmosphere, sure, but it often comes at the expense of clarity. You might find yourself rereading passages just to figure out where—or when—you are.

Setting and Atmosphere
The setting—a quiet New England town bordered by dense, whispering woods—is spot-on. Borderland State Park feels like a character on its own. It’s shady, damp, and at times even eerily ominous. You can practically smell the moss and hear the cicadas. It's the sort of place where stories linger and things disappear.

Atmosphere is where the book both succeeds and falters. It’s heavy, oppressive, and full of dread, but it rarely shifts. The mood stays locked in a kind of emotional stasis. That might be intentional, mirroring Elizabeth’s grief, but it can wear you down. The tension doesn’t build so much as hover, and after a while, that sameness starts to dull the impact.

Final Thoughts
Disappearance at Devil’s Rock has all the ingredients for something haunting: a missing child, eerie woods, unreliable memories, and hints of the supernatural. But the execution doesn’t quite land. The constant timeline shifts sap the suspense, and the emotional beats get lost in the fog.

There are moments of brilliance, no doubt. Tremblay captures the ache of loss and the unease of not knowing what’s real. But those moments are scattered, and the story never quite pulls them together into something cohesive. It’s a book that wants to haunt you, but instead of whispering, it sort of mutters and trails off.

If you’re into slow-burn mysteries where ambiguity is the point, this might work for you. For me, though, it felt like a great idea weighed down by its own structure. I’d call it a 2.5-star read—interesting, but not quite satisfying.

Key Themes

• Grief and Parental Desperation
• Ambiguity of Reality vs. Imagination
• Adolescence and Peer Influence
• Fear of the Unknown
• Guilt and Responsibility
• Isolation and Loneliness