T. Kingfisher
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The jack-o’-lanterns grin like they know something you don’t. The night hums low and restless, the kind of October darkness that feels alive. It prowls between the porch lights, curls around doorframes, and presses against your window like it wants in. This is when the thrillers taste best — when fear has flavor, and every
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The world stirs reluctantly on Mondays — coffee brews stronger, shadows linger longer, and everything feels just a little off-kilter. Instead of resisting the gloom, let’s lean in. After all, what better way to survive the start of the week than by sinking into stories that echo with whispers, blood, and the soft thud of
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There are some books that make you question everything around you—like, say, that weird patch of fungus growing on your back porch. T. Kingfisher’s What Moves the Dead is one of those books. A retelling of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher, this novella takes everything unsettling about the original and
literary gluttony 