"Malfi deftly maintains the tension and engrossing atmosphere of horror by stepping up the pace and frequency of bizarre events . . . as Alan spins out of control."
“I read the book quickly because of the suspense. The psychology of the Hammerstuns is fascinating.”
~Open Book Society
“This is the very first novel that I’ve read by Mr. Malfi, and I can assure you it won’t be my last. This author has a new fan following him now!”
~Night Owl Reviews
“The writing is beautiful and enticing. . . .”
~The Haunted Bookcase
“I absolutely loved this story, and I enjoyed that Mr. Malfi took the Native American folklores and wrapped them around the story line to be such an integral part of it. I loved the creepiness that surrounded the lake, and I couldn’t help but be drawn to what was going to happen next.”
~Diana Coyle, Night Owl Reviews
“This is, very often, a haunting and disturbing read. In places genuinely terrifying, it’s also a book concerned with themes of hope, redemption, and how your past can poison your present.”
~ Matt Molgaard, Horror Novel Reviews
“Absolutely recommended if you like a great horror. I look forward to more of Malfi’s work."
~ Starr Gardinier Reina, author of The Other Side: Melinda’s Story published by Suspense Publishing, an imprint of Suspense Magazine
“It is amazingly poetic in its language and visionary in the story that it tells. It is a book that should be read by all, an astounding achievement by Ronald Malfi, and it comes from me to you with the highest recommendation.”
Alan walked to the edge of the lake and peered down at the water. It could have been tar or smoked glass it was so black. His reflection mirrored up at him, looking ghastly and skeletal. His skin was white as stone, his eyes huge and dark and seemingly recessed into deep pockets. He could easily make out the apostrophe-shaped cut above his right eyebrow and the bruise on his cheek. He dropped to one knee and reached out, sticking two fingers into the water— (ice-cold!) —only to pull them quickly out, hissing between clenched teeth. A bundle of muscles at the small of his back tightened from the cold. He flexed his fingers, working the feeling back into them, amazed at how numb they’d become from no longer than a split second beneath the water. It was July and the water was ice-cold . . . His reflection stared up at him. Rippling. Things moved in the trees. Large things. Alan stood and stared at them: black silhouettes framed against the night sky. Only the ones on the branches that passed in front of the moon were clearly outlined. Birds, he thought, though the realization afforded him little relief and did not do the birds justice. Buzzards. There were scores of them, whole families, multitudes. Carrion birds, stooped over like hunchbacks in bell towers. And although he knew it was crazy, he had the disquieting feeling that they were all watching him. Carnivorous birds. It was insane, sure . . . but if they all decided to simultaneously swoop down off their perches and attack . . .