Murder Most Haunted by Emma Mason

 

Synopsis From Back Cover:

On her last day as a Detective, Midge McGowan is given the retirement present from hell: a ticket to a haunted house tour. She’ll have to spend the weekend before Christmas ghost-hunting in an isolated mansion with a group of misfits, including a know-it-all paranormal investigator and a has-been pop star.

The guests soon realize that the house has a mind of its own... and that they might not be the only ones there. An eerie figure appears on the property, and then the unthinkable happens: someone is murdered in a room that's been locked from the inside.

When a blizzard cuts the group off from help, the house’s own dark secrets begin to surface, and Midge can’t shake the creeping sense that they are walking into a nightmare. Could a ghost really be responsible? Or is the culprit one of the guests, who have somehow, impossibly, endeared themselvesto Midge?

Because I’m still not entirely sure whether I liked this book or not, this may end up being a rather short—and possibly a little rambling—review. Reading Murder Most Haunted was an odd experience.

The first half of the book was a slog. Honestly, if I hadn’t needed this one for a couple of reading challenges, I might not have pushed myself through it. Our lead detective is, at least initially, a deeply miserable character. She reads as someone so unhappy in every aspect of her life that it robs her of any personality beyond what is imposed upon her by others in her life. It’s the kind of unhappiness that becomes such a dominant part of who a person is that Midge starts off feeling less like a fully realized human being and more like an automaton moving through the motions of life.

She has quirks, but early on they come across as just further evidence of how damaged she is. The old adage “misery loves company” pretty much sums up my first impressions of the rest of the cast as well. I didn’t like a single one of them at the beginning, and I found myself quietly hoping that more than one body might turn up.

Gradually, though, something shifted. I’m not entirely sure if the book itself started to grow on me, if the characters became more fleshed out and likable, or if I simply acclimated to its tone. Whatever the reason, as I kept reading, Midge began to make more sense. Her quirks and worldview gained context, and I stopped seeing her as a caricature and started seeing her as a woman who’d been dealt a truly shitty hand in life and did the best she could with what she had at the time.

I’m still not sure I like her, but by the end I had more respect for her—especially once the murderer was revealed.

As for the mystery itself, it was… fine. I’m a sucker for a locked-room murder, and I think the author did a reasonably solid job constructing this one. I don’t see myself rereading this book, but I would be willing to pick up a second Midge installment—provided the podcaster and the pop star come along for the ride.

Challenges: Mount TBR, Cloak and Dagger, Calendar of Crime 

Favorite Fictional Character --- Daffy Duck

 

"You're deththpicable!"

Let’s be honest: would Bugs Bunny be as entertaining without Daffy Duck? I’m going to say no. As much fun as Bugs vs. Elmer or Bugs vs. Yosemite Sam can be, when Bugs and Daffy go at it, everyone had better duck and cover, because the shenanigans are about to reach catastrophic levels. That’s not even getting into the times Bugs and Daffy team up—because when those two join forces to cause a little mayhem, I know I’m in for a wild ride.

As a kid, I don’t think I could have picked between Bugs’ antics and Daffy’s temper tantrums when it came to which I found more entertaining. Looking back as an adult, though, I think Daffy may have elicited a few more belly laughs than Bugs, though it’s a very close call. Unlike Bugs, who I may not find quite as funny now as I did as a kid, my darker sense of humor gives me full permission to enjoy Daffy’s jealous machinations even more than I used to. And those temper tantrums? They’re absolute works of art.

Watching Daffy as an adult hits differently. What once felt like pure slapstick now reads as insecurity, jealousy, and a desperate need to be taken seriously. Daffy knows he’s always playing second fiddle to Bugs, and watching him unravel because of it is darkly hilarious. He’s his own worst enemy, and somehow that just makes him funnier. His fragile ego is especially on display in “Robin Hood Daffy,” where his overwhelming need for recognition turns even his noblest intentions into one disaster after another. 

I can’t do a post about Daffy without mentioning his turn as Duck Drake in “The Super Snooper.” I have a weakness for detective parodies, my love for Sesame Street’s Sherlock Hemlock will attest to that, so watching Daffy play a private investigator summoned to look into a potential murder is a true pleasure. Of course, the comedy is helped immensely by the fact that the lead suspect seems far more interested in pursuing Drake than Drake is in solving the case. It’s pure 1950s comedy gold.

Actually, if y’all don’t mind, I think I’m going to go watch it again now—because no matter how many times I’ve seen it, Daffy Duck absolutely never fails to make me laugh.

Nothing But Blackened Teeth by Cassandra Khaw

 

Synopsis From Dust Jacket:

A Heian-era mansion stands abandoned, its foundations resting on the bones of a bride and its walls packed with the remains of the girls sacrificed to keep her company.

It’s the perfect wedding venue for a group of thrill-seeking friends brought back together to celebrate a wedding. 

But a night of food, drinks, and games quickly spirals into a nightmare as secrets getbdrwgged out and relationships are tested. 

But the house has secrets too. Lurking in the shadows is the ghost bride with a black smile and a hungry heart.

And she gets lonely down there in the dirt.

I don’t say this often—or lightly—but Nothing But Blackened Teeth is one of those books you are either going to love with everything in you, or loathe with your entire soul. I’ve seen no middle ground on this one, and sadly, those who hate it seem to be in the majority.

I personally find the hate this book receives to be undeserved. I fall firmly into the camp that absolutely adores this 124-page novella with every fiber of my being. When I decided to give this a reread a few days ago, I went back and looked at the short little review I typed up on Goodreads the first time around. I loved it so much that I said it belonged alongside The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, Hell House by Richard Matheson, and Drawing Blood by Poppy Z. Brite. After this reread, I stand by that.

When I read this for the first time, I experienced an author who truly loves language—the way words feel as you take them in, one after the other, as they lodge themselves into the nooks and crannies of your mind. There is a rhythmic flow to Khaw’s writing as she chooses words and then plays with the way they connect to one another. I think the reason I love this book as much as I do is because this gorgeous writing wraps itself around a group of petty, spiteful, deeply unlikable characters who have no business being friends, let alone gathering together to explore a haunted house and a culture they have no respect for—an experience not all of them will survive. The contrast is so stark that I can’t help but be completely enthralled by it.

While I’m on the subject of language, I want to briefly mention how much I appreciate the seamless way Khaw incorporates Japanese without feeling the need to translate or explain every word outside of the natural context already provided. All too often, those explanations pull me right out of the story, and I’m grateful that never happens here.

I don’t know how often I’ll pull this off the shelf to revisit this beautifully written piece of horror, but I do know that when I do, I’ll embrace the experience and happily lose myself in the ebbs and flows of the prose as I once again walk the halls of that house.

Binge Watch --- The Mentalist

 

The Mentalist was another one of those shows I stopped watching during my years-long TV hiatus. Honestly, I’m not even sure I would have finished the series had I not taken that break. By that point, I was already exhausted by the Red John storyline, which felt like it would never end. I don’t mind a long through line, but eventually it needs to end. And the way they finally wrapped it up felt so ridiculously contrived that I was ready to pack it in altogether.

What stopped me was Simon Baker. His portrayal of Patrick Jane was so damn compelling that I was loath to say goodbye. Walking away from the character for good just didn’t sit right with me, so I was determined to stick with it. And then one day, I simply stopped turning the TV on—unless it was to watch a movie, either something I owned or whatever was on TCM.

Which brings us to this recent binge rewatch, where I finally found out how it all ended. Part of me really enjoyed spending time again with Patrick and the rest of the CBI team—especially Cho. I had completely forgotten just how adorable he is, albeit in that wonderfully stoic way. Patrick was just as charming as ever, and how anyone can resist that little half-smile of his is beyond me. It’s honestly unfathomable that Simon Baker didn’t land another big, long-running show after this. Maybe I should start a petition to bring him back to our screens.

As for the cases themselves, when they didn’t involve Red John, I enjoyed them for the most part. When Red John did show up, I found myself even more annoyed this time around. Maybe that’s residual irritation from my first watch, but dear lord, that storyline did not need to be dragged out into the sixth season. It should have ended after the third—at the latest.

That said, while the Red John resolution mostly made sense to me, the later decision to shuffle half the main cast over to the FBI just didn’t work. It wasn’t what I wanted for these characters, and part of me wishes I’d stopped watching at that point. I still enjoyed my time with Patrick, Cho, and Lisbon, but the show never quite regained its sense of cohesion after that shift. And don’t even get me started on the forced romance—Booth and Bones, they are not.

All that said, I do want to give the writers their due. The mythology of the show—including Red John—was carefully constructed, and they introduced recurring characters years in advance, laying groundwork that paid off much later. That takes real skill. Even when I didn’t enjoy the direction of certain storylines, they rarely missed a beat or flubbed a connection. The casting of those characters was also spot-on: Malcolm McDowell, Morena Baccarin, Pedro Pascal, Leslie Hope, and Reed Diamond amongst them—not a single wasted actor in the bunch.

While I’m glad I spent 151 episodes with Patrick Jane and finally saw how his story wrapped up, this isn’t a show I feel the need to revisit. I love so much of it, but the elements that frustrate me really frustrate me—and I don’t think I’m willing to put myself through that again.

Favorite Fictional Character --- Bugs Bunny

 

Centuries ago, I would occasionally pick a monthly theme for my Favorite Fictional Character posts, and exactly 1 hour, 17 minutes, and 11 seconds ago, I decided to revive that sporadic tradition. Nothing says continuity like randomly deciding to do something you only did occasionally fifteen billion years ago.

And because the first character that popped into my head was Bugs Bunny, it looks like y’all will be reading about my love of four different Looney Tunes characters during the month of January! I can already feel the excitement pouring off of you. As I typed that, I could see Bugs in my mind giving me a blank look, blinking once or twice, and then saying, “Eh… what’s up, Doc?”

For me, as a kid born in the 1970s, I don’t remember a time when I didn’t know who Bugs Bunny was or think he was anything other than absolutely, ridiculously funny. He was Loki before Tom Hiddleston was born and is older than Deadpool and Bart Simpson combined. He is a true Trickster in every sense of the word. As a kid, I didn’t understand what a Trickster was. All I saw was a talking rabbit getting one over on hunters, loud mustached cowboys, and whirling devils and witches who wanted to eat him.

He gave perms to monsters, fought a bull, outplayed an entire baseball team, and stuck his nose up at anyone in charge. He was an astronaut, opera singer, knight, barber, and cowboy. As a kid, I thought Bugs could do just about anything.

As an old man (49) past his prime, I may not find him quite as funny as I did back then, but I still appreciate every single second I spent in his company. He entertained the hell out of me, and that’s just about all you can ask of an anthropomorphic talking rabbit.

Cloak and Dagger Reading Challenge

 

I realized I had left off a challenge when I wrote about the first two the other day. My friend Carol over at Carol’s Notebook hosts The Cloak and Dagger Reading Challenge, and since the mystery genre will always be my first love, I’m signing up.

I’m going for the Sherlock Holmes level, which means I’ll need to read and review at least 56 mystery novels. You can head over to the sign-up post for all the details.

Mirage City by Lev AC Rosen

 

Synopsis From Dust Jacket:

Private Investigator Evander “Andy” Mills’ next case takes him out of his comfort zone in San Francisco—and much to his dismay, back home to Los Angeles. After a secretive queer rights organization called the Mattachine Society enlists Andy to find some missing members, he must dodge not only motorcycle gangs and mysterious forces, but his own mother, too. 

Avoiding her proves to be a challenge when the case leads Andy to the psychological clinic she works at. Worlds collide, buried secrets are dug up, and Andy realizes he’s going to have to burn it all down this time if he wants to pull off a rescue. With secret societies, drugs, and doctors swirling around him, time is running out for Andy to locate the missing and get them to safety. And for him to make it back to San Francisco in one piece.

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, but for the last four years I’ve started the new year with Andy. Lavender House was my first book of 2023, The Bell in the Fog kicked off 2024, Rough Pages started 2025, and now Mirage City is my first book of 2026. I hesitate to call it a ritual, but I’m not sure what else to call it. Habit? Tradition? Compulsion feels a little dramatic—but honestly, my reading year wouldn’t feel right without Andy, Gene, Lee, and Elise being the first characters I spend time with. It feels like coming home.

I’m not going to recap the plot, mostly because the synopsis already does a solid job. What I do want to talk about is Andy himself. I love watching him work a case. As this series has gone on, Andy has grown—not just as a detective, but as a queer man learning how to love himself and figure out where he fits in the community around him. He was always smart, always observant, but there’s a deeper sense of compassion and justice in how he approaches his work now. That growth feels earned, and it’s one of the reasons I keep coming back to this series.

I went back and forth for a while about how much I wanted to say about some of the themes Mirage City tackles. At one point, I had several long paragraphs written about conversion therapy and the ways our community has been brutalized and killed in the name of “curing” us—aversion therapy, forced commitments to asylums, chemical castration, electric shocks, lobotomies, all of it. This wasn’t ancient history. This happened to boys barely in their teens, and it’s still within living memory. In some forms, it’s still happening today.

Since this is a book review and not a queer history lesson, I’ll spare you all of that—but I think it’s important to say that the weight of that history is very much present in this story.

And honestly, that’s one of the many reasons I love this series so much. Lev AC Rosen has an incredible way of weaving queer history into his mysteries without ever making it feel like a lecture. For example, I’ve known about the Mattachine Society for years, but I didn’t know that the oldest continuously active queer organization is actually a biker gang called the Satyrs. That kind of detail matters. Our history isn’t taught in schools—if anything, it’s erased or glossed over—so I’m always grateful to authors who find ways to pass it along through fiction. So much of who we are as a community was shaped by that history, whether we realize it or not. 

I do want to be clear, though: Mirage City isn’t a heavy, joyless read. The themes are serious, but they never overwhelm the story or the characters. At its heart, this is a well-crafted mystery set in the 1950s that’s just as much about perseverance, self-acceptance, found family, and love as it is about crime. It’s another reminder of why starting my year with Andy feels so right—and why I already know I’ll be doing it again.

Challenges: Mount TBR, Cloak & Dagger