Don't Speak

KAY OSS

This book was an emotional whirlwind. 

Author KAY OSS shares that the story is rooted in her own journey of healing, with flashbacks drawn from her real experiences-and you can feel the weight of that on every page. I hesitate to say I enjoyed it, because how do you enjoy something that cuts so deep? Yet I couldn't put it down, finishing all 282 pages in a single day.

The flashbacks are raw and gut-wrenching-no child should ever have to endure what's described here. Still, the strength of the storytelling, the dialogue, and the characters kept me hooked. The dual POV and nonlinear structure flowed effortlessly, revealing just enough at the right moments. The pacing was spot-on, and yes, the spice was spicy-and completely intoxicating.

 The range of emotions this book stirred was intense: anger, disgust, heartbreak, but also vulnerability, tenderness, comfort, exhilaration, and the fierce relief of revenge. We see the FMC haunted by her trauma in nightmares and panic attacks, caught in the brutal war between mind and body when survival instincts and desire pull her in opposite directions. And yet, through all of this, there's a sense of resilience and growth.
While it is certainly a dark romance, it's more than that.

At its core, it's a story about healing-about reclaiming your sense of worth and allowing yourself to believe you deserve love. Not just the comfort and safety of someone else's arms, but the deeper, harder truth: learning to love yourself, scars and all.

 House of Rot

Danger Slater

Danger Slater’s House of Rot is difficult to categorize—a novella that feels at once bizarre, grotesque, and strangely magnetic. At a lean 106 pages, it delivers a concentrated plunge into claustrophobic body horror, rot, and decay. The narrative moves quickly, but its brevity only sharpens its impact: there is no escape, no reprieve, only the slow, suffocating spread of mold that consumes everything in sight.

That mold, described with grotesque precision, is more than a background detail. It is the central figure of the story, both antagonist and metaphor. On the surface, it creeps across walls, ceilings, and furniture, transforming a once-inhabitable space into a suffocating nightmare. But beneath that imagery lies something more insidious: the mold reflects the way systemic rot seeps into human lives. It is capitalism’s slow erosion, the quiet cruelty of isolation, the weight of societal neglect. It starts small, nearly invisible, until it grows into something unmanageable—an infestation that thrives on the silence and helplessness of those trapped within it.

The conversations throughout the novella, though often circular and unsettling, reinforce this idea. They echo the grim recognition that suffering is relative, that someone, somewhere, is always worse off. This bleak refrain mirrors the logic of a system designed to pacify us: accept your suffering because at least you are not at the bottom. It’s a chilling critique of how society conditions people to endure misery rather than demand change. The repetition in the dialogue mimics the futility of trying to reason with decay, whether physical or systemic—it always finds a way back in.

Beneath the grotesque imagery and surreal horror, House of Rot is ultimately about entrapment. The apartment is more than a setting—it is a prison, a cage built out of both plaster and ideology. The characters embody the despair of being stuck, economically and emotionally, in systems where mobility is a myth. Slater captures the sensation of struggling against overwhelming odds with no chance of escape, illustrating how deeply rigged the structure really is. Resistance feels futile because the rot isn’t just in the walls—it’s in the foundation, in the air, in the very design of the world they inhabit.

What makes House of Rot so compelling is how it uses horror not only to unsettle, but to illuminate. The grotesque becomes a mirror for the everyday realities of alienation, poverty, and abandonment. The novella asks what it means to endure in a system that thrives on exploitation and decay—and whether survival under such conditions is even possible, or if we are simply waiting to be consumed.

Bleak, biting, and unforgettable, Slater’s work lingers long after the last page is turned. Like the mold at its core, it seeps into your thoughts, a reminder that horror doesn’t just exist in haunted houses or monsters—it thrives in the quiet, everyday places where people are left to rot.

If you enjoy Bizarro horror, this might be for you!

Satan's Affair

 

Satan's Affair

H.D. Carlton

I was immediately drawn to this book by the cover alone. Circus imagery, clowns, and a sinister air—it promised everything I usually gravitate toward. Naturally, I assumed I was stepping into a tale of a traveling carnival moving from town to town, leaving behind a trail of death and chaos, maybe with a touch of dark romance woven in. That’s what the aesthetic suggested. But what I found inside was something very different—and far more complex.

This is not a romance, at least not in the way we tend to label dark romance. Yes, there are intense sexual dynamics and deep bonds between characters, but the relationships here are unconventional, obsessive, and twisted in ways that resist simple categorization. At the center of it all is Sibby, a girl who works for the traveling circus known as Satan’s Affair. By day, she hides within the walls of her dollhouse attraction. By night, she and her devoted henchmen become executioners of evil.

Sibby has a chilling gift: she can smell evil. The more corrupt or wicked someone is, the more rotten their scent. When she identifies a target, she and her henchmen lure the person into her domain, where Sibby delivers her own brand of justice. But here’s where it veers into territory both disturbing and fascinating—the act of killing is deeply sexual for Sibby. It’s not just about violence or vengeance; it’s about release, ecstasy, and a sense of purging the world of its filth. Her henchmen watch and participate in their own way, each assigned a role—cleaning the scene, handling the body, tending to Sibby afterward. Their closeness is undeniable, their intimacy real, but it doesn’t fit neatly into the “reverse harem” or “why choose” tropes. It’s something darker, stranger, and altogether more unsettling.

When I first started reading, I wasn’t sure I’d finish. The opening is explosive—intense, sexual, brutal—and I worried that the story might sacrifice plot for shock value. I wanted carnage, yes, but with a thread of suspense or romance, not just smut paired with violence. But I kept going, and I’m glad I did, because as the chapters unfolded the book revealed more depth than I anticipated.

The narrative alternates between Sibby’s past and her present. Those glimpses into her history slowly form a portrait of why she is the way she is, and why she’s so determined to rid the world of evil. The flashbacks paint a tragic and haunting backdrop, giving context to the brutality of her choices in the present. It’s a structure that rewards patience—if you skim or read casually, you might miss details that foreshadow the final reveal.

And yes, there is a reveal. If you’re the kind of reader who pays close attention, you may start to suspect where the story is going. The breadcrumbs are there. For me, it was one of those delicious reading experiences where I found myself piecing things together, doubting myself, then growing more certain—until the climax confirmed exactly what I’d been thinking. It was satisfying, but not in a cheap or predictable way. It felt earned.

Another layer worth mentioning is that Satan’s Affair ties into H.D. Carlton’s larger universe. This story introduces Zade, a central figure in Haunting Adeline and Hunting Adeline. In that sense, this book serves as both a standalone and a prequel, offering fans of the later duology a richer context for one of Carlton’s most infamous characters.

Now, how do I classify this book? It’s not romance in the traditional sense. If anything, it’s an exploration of trauma, obsession, and survival disguised as a carnival of gore and lust. There is love here, but it doesn’t fit any familiar mold. Sibby’s bond with her henchmen is genuine, but it’s born from darkness, stitched together by violence, loyalty, and shared need. It’s a love story only in the most abnormal, nontraditional sense.

What I appreciate most is that the book challenges expectations. It looks like one thing, reads like another, and ends up being a hybrid of horror, erotica, psychological trauma, and twisted intimacy. It’s not an easy book to explain without giving too much away, and it won’t be for everyone. But if you’re open to a story that’s disturbing, layered, and laced with both brutality and vulnerability, it’s worth the read.

Final Thoughts: Satan’s Affair is a story of vengeance disguised as spectacle, of intimacy found in the darkest of places, and of a girl who can literally sniff out evil. It isn’t neat, it isn’t traditional, and it certainly isn’t romantic in the conventional sense—but that’s what makes it so compelling. For fans of H.D. Carlton’s work, especially Haunting Adeline and Hunting Adeline, this book offers both an origin point and a standalone carnival of madness that is hard to forget