Enjoy a few reviews . . .

THOM AND JUDE Clarendon are a retired couple looking forward to spending more time with their young grandson Dean. The boy’s parents, Allan and Coral, have recently moved into a house in the seaside town of Barnwall, an area with a dark history which has witnessed the deaths of many children over the years, going right back to when the Vikings invaded. Not only that, the new house itself was host to an horrific crime thirty years prior involving a boy and his religious zealot parents. When the grandparents visit their family in Barnwall, it soon becomes apparent that Dean’s imaginary friend is the least of their problems as history appears to be repeating itself.

     Although perhaps on the surface a “possession” or even “haunted house” story, while these are both technically true, there is so much more to this new novel by Ramsey Campbell. At its core it is an intense family drama and warning about the vulnerability of children (as Campbell himself has stated in an interview about the book) and the absolute dangers of religion when taken to extremes. The supernatural lurks in the background, oft glimpsed at, though ambiguity and confusion reign supreme with these elements (what exactly is going on with those strange tics the townsfolk are displaying?), the author refusing to fully reveal the true cause of the familial woes.

     Moving towards the denouement, the story takes some unexpected turns – this unpredictability very much working in its favour and adding even more to the drama, of course. 

     Ultimately, An Echo of Children works best as a stark metaphor for the naivety of children and how this is so very often abused by adults with tragic consequences ensuing, alongside additional commentary on intergenerational rivalries, “gaslighting” and even the ageing process itself. The paranormal and uncanny are there, yes, though the human complexities even more so. 

     A masterful, tense work – as you would expect from the pen of Campbell – with important real-world points being made at the forefront of it all.

— Trevor Kennedy

THREE FRIENDS – JODI, BB and Matt – decide to break into and ransack the long-abandoned Morgan Manor in the hope of claiming valuables for themselves. However, it soon transpires that one of the trio has an ulterior motive, resulting in them collectively becoming embroiled in the affairs of a particularly violent criminal and a purported generational curse relating to a centuries-old witch.

     I think it would be fair to describe Tim Lebbon’s new novel as more of a crime thriller than straight-up horror; however, those “folk” elements – in the fine British tradition – are still there and serve as the basis for the – in a way, quite understandable –motivations of a very memorable main antagonist, and certainly a stand-out villain and character.

     It’s fast-paced, gritty, very well constructed and characterised all round by Lebbon. The author doesn’t mess about, with the action coming quickly and often in a brutal manner. 

     Overall, an enjoyable, slick read from a talent who has been around for a while now and certainly knows what he’s doing with this type of thriller.

— Trevor Kennedy

THIS, THE FIFTH instalment in Morris’s alphabetically sequenced horror anthology series (typically referred to as “The ABC of Horror”) is another top-class addition to a collection surely destined to become as seminally ground-breaking as Ramsey Campbell’s legendary New Terrors, to which Morris refers in his introduction to this volume of original tales.

     These twenty stories commence with a steam-punk morality fable (Poppy Z Brite’s ‘The Peeler’) and conclude with Sarah Langan’s ‘I Miss You Too Much’, a tale of modern witchcraft and possession that makes Hereditary seem cosy! In between, there are stories that are must-reads, hard-reads and a few “WTF did I just read!” tales. 

     Folk horror is well represented by Paul Finch’s ‘Jack-a-Lent’ and ‘The Scarecrow Festival’ by Tim Major, while a more Lovecraftian atmosphere is generated in Laurel Hightower’s ‘Call of the Deep’, Kurt Newton’s ‘The Daughters of Canaan’ and Jim Horlock’s ‘They Eat the Rest’. Those who prefer their horror of a more psychological bent are well served by both Gwyndolyn Kiste’s ‘The Only Face You Ever Knew’ and Aaron Dries’s ‘The Wrong Element’, while reality itself seems to fracture in Andy Davidson’s ‘A House of Woe and Mystery’, Nicholas Royle’s ‘The Entity’ and in Paul Tremblay’s ‘The Note’ (where the process of writing itself collapses, to equally fascinating and frustrating effect). 

     Body horror is well represented too, especially by David J. Schow (who allegedly coined the term “splatterpunk” and whose wonderfully paranoid yet acerbic tale of serial killer conspiracy theories ‘Red Meat Flag’ is my personal favourite, by a narrow margin), and by ‘The Plague’ from Luigi Musolino, ‘Eight Days West of Plethora’ by Verity Holloway and Will Maclean’s ‘The Doppelgänger Bullet’. 

     Finally, those with a preference for a smattering of dark humour to leaven their horror will enjoy Christina Henry’s ‘Nobody Wants to Work Here Anymore’, Tim Lebbon’s ‘Unmarked’, Annie Knox’s charming ‘Mister Reaper’ and P.C. Verrone’s intriguingly titled ‘A Review of “Slime Tutorial: The Musical”’. 

     This is another unmissable addition to an essential collection that is destined to become a staple for discerning fans of the horror short story and here’s to Morris being able to bring us all the way to Z. 

— Con Connolly

Directed by Zach Cregger.

Written by Zach Cregger.

Starring Julia Garner, Josh Brolin, Alden Ehrenreich, Benedict Wong, Austin Abrams, Amy Madigan and more.

WEAPONS IS A film that really thrives on layered storytelling. Its biggest strength lies in how it peels back the same events from different angles, with each character’s perspective slotted in like a puzzle piece until the full, unnerving picture emerges. It’s a clever, slow build that rewards your patience as the dread steadily mounts. 

     Unusually for horror, the story even delivers a kind of happy ending. It’s distinctive in tone and refreshing to leave a film like this with something resembling resolution rather than sheer despair. The twist that it isn’t the teacher but the aunt at the heart of the horror was unexpected, and the way she uses witchcraft to control events is chilling. I especially liked the moment when the boy caught on to what his aunt was doing and turned the ritual back on her to save his parents – a smart and unsettling touch, showing the child stepping up as the ultimate protector.

     That said, the voodoo element wasn’t my favourite. I’m not a big believer in it, and the film never explains where her powers came from. Without a backstory or grounding, it feels like something is missing – a gap in the otherwise careful design. Still, it does create tension, and with hindsight ­­those choices work better when you read them as a metaphor rather than literal witchcraft.

    At its core, Weapons isn’t really about spells at all. It’s about alcoholism. Aunt Gladys represents addiction itself – destructive, consuming and generational. Her possession of the family reflects the way alcohol dependency takes over whole households, passing trauma down through the years. Even the grotesque black sickness the characters spew when possessed recalls the grim reality of alcoholics vomiting after a binge. Seen in this light, the film becomes richer. The teacher and the policeman also struggle with drink, tying the theme together. The director, apparently himself a recovering alcoholic whose father battled the same illness, has confirmed this interpretation, and it gives the story real emotional weight. 

     What I valued most is the mood and anticipation. This kind of horror is unsettling, quietly sinister, and driven by ideas rather than reliant on buckets of gore. Any violence had purpose, and the film was more interested in psychology and themes than splatter. The finale itself was puzzling at first glance, but ultimately, on reflection, it ties things up neatly enough to give closure – a glimmer of hope in a genre that so often ends in despair. What follows is a chase sequence that is utterly bonkers and brilliant at the same time – like Scooby-Doo meets The Exorcist – frantic, eerie and oddly hilarious, all flailing limbs and chaotic energy. It’s a reminder that horror can make you laugh nervously even as it terrifies you.

— Sarah Graven Weir