I feel this threat to our credibility sharply behind my eyes. The inability to trust ourselves is the most menacing danger. I fear what we could find there. I fear what we won't. What is worse? To be confronted with an obvious horror, or to be haunted by a never-ending premonition of what's ahead?

Haunted houses are a common subgenre of horror that I keep dipping my toe into but I've yet to find one that has really gripped me (hyuck hyuck). This one was fine. We follow a married couple who move out of an unnamed city to an unnamed small town to help the husband avoid feeding his crippling gambling addiction, but the couple is too embarrassed to admit this to friends and family. They find a house that's been sitting on the market forever for dirt cheap and paranormal shenanigans ensue.

First two thirds of the book were interesting, and the prose definitely carried an oppressive vibe. Chapters alternated back and forth between James and Julie and they were short (I'm talking maybe two to three pages on average), so this book was flying through my hands. Last third however I started getting tripped up and confused over what was happening. The characters were understandably acting different from how they had in the beginning of the book because of all the creepy stuff they'd been going through, but things got a little wacky and I started to lose interest towards the end.

There were a few plot threads like the rumors the locals had about the house or the history of the previous family who lived there that I wish were given more time to develop. There's an attempt at an overall explanation at the end, but I didn't find it 100% satisfying. Still, this is a quick enough read if you're curious about the genre.