In the damp summer heat somewhere in Florida, a roof springs a leak and oh what luck, there’s a contractor ready to step into action. In shades of one of modern horror’s masters, Bentley Little (think something like The Association meets The Mailman), Sara Brooke presents the well-trodden and universal adages my home is my castle and home is where the heart lives. Thusly, castles are worth defending, or at least, maintaining.
The fortuitous contractor is anything but. This man wears a face that doesn’t match the crime and acts with unbiased malice for no reason beyond opportunity. Oh but this is no Average Joe Wrench Twister, this is a shapeshifting menace with cock to match the bull... Bob.Though clunky at times, and displayed over a cast of somewhat functionally thin characters, Sara Brooke weaves a wild ride of home ownership gone awry with the assistance of otherworldly wrongdoers donning the costume of renovators. Unyielding in evil, the contractors perpetrate the seepage of wreckage into the home and bring forth a series of almost Biblical plagues akin to the wrath of a god.Riding upon the vehicles of disgust, sexual deviance and mounting dread, the author purveys a tale of wicked creatures doing everything expected of them. It’s pure fun. It’s easy to become enrapt in this story, a story that rides waves of torment throughout, a story that proves itself consumable and entertaining. It’s a quick thriller offering uncomplicated thrills.