...or, How I Learned to Stop Trusting Houseguests and Question All Windows
Let me just start by saying: this is the first time I’ve read a book classified as “Horror” and lived to tell the tale without sleeping with the lights on. Okay, maybe I did turn on a few extra lamps. And maybe I double-checked the locks. And maybe I peeked out the window more than usual—which, if you’ve read the book, you know is ironic.
I didn't plan on reading the entire book today, but once I started...yeah, we all know how that goes. Suddenly it's 2 a.m. and you're thinking, "Who needs sleep anyway? I'll sleep when I'm dead!"
Despite the label, this felt more like a psychological thriller wrapped in a cozy haunted-house blanket...if that blanket were slowly trying to strangle you. It was creepy, unsettling, and downright gripping. I’d absolutely recommend it—especially if you like your stories fast-paced, twisty, and just ambiguous enough to spark a wine-fueled debate at your next book club.
The writing style? Smooth as butter. No switching timelines, no tangled plot threads, just a single POV with enough twists to keep your neck sore. I was in the story within 30 seconds. Blink, and you’re 100 pages deep and suspicious of everyone, including your own cat. I was even more impressed with this author when I found out this is his first novel. Wow!
My favorite character was Eve, hands down. Poor girl just wanted to start a new life, maybe repaint a creepy old house, and not get gaslit into oblivion. I related to her need to please others—but man, Thomas. Thomas gave me the ick from page one. Something about him screamed, “I may or may not feed on your soul.” Paige and her holier-than-thou attitude didn’t help either. No tears were shed when she...let’s just say, exited stage left.
This book didn’t hit me in the feels so much as it hit me in the brain. I had questions. Big, juicy, what-the-heck-did-I-just-read questions. What happened to the window? Is Charlie even real? Did Thomas invent a time-looping reality-bending Airbnb scam? Is he secretly 400 years old and sipping youth from tea mugs? Someone please find answers—and then don’t tell me, because I kind of like not knowing.
I picked up this book because a co-worker raved about the ending. She wasn’t wrong. It took me completely by surprise. I had to sit there and re-evaluate all my life choices, including the one where I didn’t start reading horror earlier. Sure, there were some classic horror tropes—flickering lights, dead flashlights, strange children who act like they wandered out of a 19th-century portrait—but Kliewer did something fresh with them. The idea that every door in this house might open to a different reality? Creepy. I’ll never trust a floor plan again.
Eve is the ultimate unreliable narrator, and that worked perfectly for this story. One moment you’re Team Eve, the next you’re wondering if she needs a hug or a straitjacket (a cute one, obviously). The use of newspaper clippings, interviews, and police transcripts sprinkled in made the story feel eerily real—and convinced me that Thomas was bad news before the main narrative did.
Thomas is evil. Like, capital-E Evil. Especially once he started calling Eve “Emma” and pulling off gaslighting gymnastics that would make even the Devil say, “Whoa, dude.” My evidence? The locket. How’d he have that if Eve and Charlie hadn’t been in touch for years? Why did he say Charlie’s name like he knew her? I’m telling you: time-bending sociopath.
Also, I translated the Morse code at the end of each section (because I’m nothing if not a nerd), and it says: OLD MAN WITH THE SCAR HAS LIVED IN THE CABIN FOR CENTURIES AND GOES BY MANY DIFFERENT NAMES. Well then. That doesn’t scream normal.
I give this a solid 8 of 10 raging, knocking off two points because there was room for even more creep factor, and because Paige annoyed me so deeply. But honestly? The ending earned a standing ovation. In my living room. Alone. With all the lights on.
Would I want a sequel? No. I want to wonder. I want to lie awake thinking about whether Eve was nuts or if she just got caught in one too many pocket dimensions. I want to recommend this book to friends and then argue about it over brownies and wine. I want to ask the universe one more time: What happened to the window?
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go triple-check that the back door doesn’t open into a parallel universe.
