This committed the most egregious sin of horror books: it wasn't scary. At all. Not once. But even worse, it wasn't even horror. This never should have been pitched as a horror book. If I weren't petty, I'd say this is definitely more of a mystery than it is horror. But I am petty, so I'll be honest and say this is first and foremost a relationship drama book about a shitty marriage between the protagonist's cousin and her husband, viewed through the lens of someone who occasionally sees the ghost of her mother. I couldn't believe that, half way through the book, we had the protagonist and her cousin have, quite literally, the same exact argument in three different settings. And it just kept happening over and over and over. I'd actually think it was funny if it weren't so tiresome. There was such hyper focus on the damn cousin and the damn dead friend that distracted from the plot. They had no bearing on the story, and only served as a feeble way to lay guilt on the main character's mind. I should have DNFed this at the half way point.