10 Candies I’d Snag If Adults Could Trick-or-Treat

 

I think it’s ridiculously unfair that adults aren’t allowed to go trick-or-treating. We work all day, pay bills, go to doctor’s appointments, put gas in the car, and try to make responsible decisions. If there’s any group of people who deserve to let their hair down and just enjoy a night of spooky frolicking, it’s us.

I want to dress up as the Lone Ranger, Sam, or even Eeyore, then walk the streets ringing doorbells and collecting all the free candy I can carry.

So, since society frowns on grown-ups trick-or-treating (for reasons I still don’t understand), I’ll just live vicariously through this list instead.

With that said, here are ten candies I’d want more than anything else on Halloween night.

I love the classic KitKats and wouldn’t be mad if that’s all I got, but nothing beats the flavors coming out of Japan. My favorite is the milk tea, though I’d happily gobble up the wasabi just as fast.

Take 5 has to be my current favorite candy bar and has been since it first debuted. This delicious concoction is packed with pretzels, chocolate, peanut butter, caramel, and peanuts. The only thing missing is potato chips.

Butterfingers are just about the perfect candy bar, and I absolutely loved them as a kid. Bart Simpson may be an annoying character, but he’s right about this one. I don’t even care when it gets stuck in my teeth.

You can keep your Almond Joys. I’ve always thought the nut throws the texture off—it’s like putting rocks in marshmallows. All you need is chocolate and coconut. So I’ll trade you my Almond Joys for your Mounds.

Did you know that if you bite into the right cookie, it looks different than when you bite into the left one? I thought I was seeing things when I first noticed it, but then I looked it up and discovered they do it on purpose. All that really matters, though, is that Twix is so freaking good.

Junior Mints are so versatile. I put them on my mint chocolate chip ice cream, and I’ve also been known to toss them into popcorn, mixed nuts, or even Greek yogurt with sugar-free chocolate pudding mix. Naturally, they’re just as good all by themselves.

Snickers weren’t a candy bar I enjoyed as a kid, but now I like them a lot. I think it helps that once they started making the ice cream bars, I couldn’t get enough of them.

Heath is another candy bar that wasn’t on my childhood radar. As an adult, whenever I’m craving Christmas crack but feeling too lazy to make it, I’ll just head to the store and grab a bar or two.

Nestlé Crunch is perfection in a little blue wrapper. How anyone doesn’t thoroughly enjoy that snap when you break a bar in half—or get all giddy inside when that crisped rice hits your tongue—is beyond me. It’s just that fun to eat.

We finish this list with a childhood classic: the Dum Dums. I mentioned in a list I did about my favorite Halloween candy in fifth grade that the root beer Dum Dums were my favorite—and they still are—but I’m also a sucker for butterscotch. So if you happen to get any root beer or butterscotch–flavored Dum Dums this year, I’ll gladly take them off your hands.

Clown in a Cornfield by Adam Cesare

 

Synopsis From Dust Jacket:

When Quinn and her father move to a tiny town with a weird clown for a mascot, they're looking for a fresh start. But ever since the town's only factory shut down, Kettle Springs has been cracked in half.

Most of the town believes that the kids are to blame. After all, the juniors and seniors at Kettle Springs High are the ones who threw the party where Arthur Hill's daughter died. They're the ones who set the abandoned factory on fire and who spend all their time posting pranks on YouTube. They have no respect and no idea what it means to work hard.

For the kids, it's the other way around And now Kettle Springs is caught in a constant battle between old and new, tradition and progress. It's a fight that looks like it will destroy the town. Until one homicidal clown with a porkpie hat and a red nose decides to end it for good.

Because if your opponents all die, you win the debate by default.

I’ve only been to Albuquerque, New Mexico once in my life—and that was more than enough. I don’t remember the exact year, but it was sometime around seventh or eighth grade, back when my family was traveling with a carnival. I hated that stop from the moment we pulled in. Within a day, my left eye had swollen shut, and I was forced to wear an eye patch. Spoiler alert: it’s not nearly as fun as pirates make it look.

The third night we were there, after the midway had shut down, my younger brother and I got hungry and decided to walk three blocks to what I think was a Whataburger. We were passing what looked like a car lot when a dog rushed the fence. We bolted across the street—and that’s when I saw what was in the window of the building we’d just reached. I immediately turned around and ran right back across. I’d rather take my chances with a guard dog than face a creepy-ass mechanical clown moving in a store window in the middle of the night.

I don’t like clowns. I never have. They’re wrong in a way that gets under your skin. There’s something about those painted faces—those fixed smiles—that hides whatever’s really underneath. Look at John Wayne Gacy. That’s reason enough. I hate them so much that a friend once bought me a shirt that said, Can’t sleep. Clowns will eat me. They thought it was funny. I thought it was prophetic. 

Once, at a Hometown Buffet, a clown came in to make balloon animals. I left mid-meal, plate still full. I wasn’t about to sit there while that greasepainted demon floated toward my table. Clowns are my boogeyman.

Now, I do better when the clowns are fictional—on a page or a screen. Since they’re not physically in my space, I can manage. In a perverse way, I even enjoy testing the limits of what I can handle when it comes to dealing with them. Naturally, since I don’t have to look at them, I prefer reading about those murderous fiends from hell. Clown in a Cornfield by Adam Cesare is chock-full of them.

I won’t go into too many details because I don’t want to spoil the blood-soaked fun, but I will say this: the body count is massive—at least 33 people die, many by crossbow. The book is bloody without being gory, something I’m eternally thankful for. I love horror, but I’ve never been a fan of gore for gore’s sake. The humor is dark (which is probably why I loved it so much), and the queer representation is surprisingly good—without falling into the “bury your gays” trope that annoys the hell out of me.

It’s a lot of fun for a teen slasher novel. The author clearly loves the genre and plays with its tropes in a way that feels fresh instead of tired. I had an absolute blast reading it, and while the movie version was enjoyable, I—unsurprisingly—prefer the book. Now I just need to read the sequels.

And just in case you were wondering, the reason my eye swelled shut in Albuquerque was because of mountain cedar, which is everywhere there. I didn’t find that out until much later, when I had an allergy scratch test done where I now live—far from New Mexico. Apparently, the winds blow the pollen all the way here, which is why they test for it. That little test spot swelled to the size of a fifty-cent piece and stayed that way for a week. So yeah—Albuquerque will be a city I never visit again.

Favorite Fictional Character --- Abraham "Brom Bones" Van Brunt

 

It’s not often that I change my mind about a character, but a book I finished last night has me seeing Brom Bones in a whole new light. Within twenty minutes of reading the last page, I found myself rewatching The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad, and I honestly think Ichabod got what he deserved. Brom did what he had to do to protect Katrina—and his own heart—from that gold-digging schoolmaster.

Now, I’ll admit, I haven’t actually read The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving yet, but I plan to fix that soon. The book that sent me down this rabbit hole was Horseman by Christina Henry. I haven’t written my full review yet, but it’s coming—so keep an eye out.

If you’re not too familiar with Brom, he’s basically the local hero of Sleepy Hollow, this quiet little village that doesn’t get many outsiders. Then along comes Ichabod Crane—the awkward, lanky schoolmaster with a bottomless appetite—who somehow decides he’s going to win over Katrina Van Tassel, the local beauty and daughter of the richest farmer in town.

Naturally, that doesn’t sit well with Brom, who’s been in love with Katrina since they were kids. And while he knows Katrina is just using Ichabod to make him jealous, he decides to make sure Ichabod gets the message loud and clear. Maybe scaring a man half to death was a bit much—but honestly, I can’t say I blame him.

In Horseman, which takes place a few decades after his run-in with Ichabod, Brom is older, a grandfather now, but still completely in love with Katrina. His family is everything to him. He’s still got that same temper and swagger, but it’s mellowed with age. I don’t want to say too much yet—I’m saving that for the review—but I really hope you’ll check out Horseman and maybe, like me, find yourself looking at Brom Bones in a whole new way.

Episode Thirteen by Craig DiLouie

 

Synopsis From Back Cover:

Fade to Black is the newest ghost hunting reality TV show. Led by husband-and-wife team Matt and Claire Kirklin, it features a dedicated crew of ghost hunting experts. 

Episode 13 takes them to every ghost hunters holy grail: the Paranormal Research Foundation. This crumbling, derelict mansion holds secrets and clues about bizarre experiments that took place their in the 1970s. It's undoubtedly haunted, and Matt hopes to use scientific techniques and high-tech gear to prove it.

But as the house begins to slowly reveal itself to the crew, proof of an afterlife might not be everything Matt dreamed of. 

I’ve been in love with found footage horror ever since I first saw The Blair Witch Project back in 1999. Since then, I’ve watched everything from the movies that show the genre at its best—like Gonjiam: Haunted Asylum, The Taking of Deborah Logan, and Hell House LLC—to the ones that make me roll my eyes, like Apollo 18 and Classroom 6. Truthfully, even when they’re bad, I almost always have so much fun watching them.

So when I first heard about Episode Thirteen, I was a tad bit skeptical. How could a movie genre I love so much possibly translate to the page? But here’s the funny thing—it’s the book’s flaws that made me love it even more. Those rough edges, that slightly chaotic structure… they gave the story the same immersive, jittery energy that makes found footage films so addictive.

If you’ve seen even a few of the more popular found footage movies, you already know the formula: a group of people make terrible choices, the camera keeps rolling, and eventually someone finds their footage because—well, no one made it out alive. And yes, the book follows that tradition in terms of the body count. But unlike a lot of movies in the genre, I didn’t find everyone annoying. In fact, I grew really fond of Matt and Jake. By the end, they’d joined the short list of horror characters who genuinely broke my heart—right up there with the narrator from Security by Gina Wohlsdorf.

The story unfolds through journal entries, emails, text messages, video transcripts, and interviews, which perfectly captures that chaotic found footage rhythm. One moment it’s frantic and terrifying; the next, it slows to a crawl, letting the dread seep in. It was those journal entries that really got me, though—they made Matt and Jake feel so real that I couldn’t help rooting for them, even knowing it wouldn’t end well.

By the time I reached the final pages, I was completely wrecked. Episode Thirteen nails everything I love about the genre: the tension, the intimacy, the creeping feeling that I shouldn’t be reading what I’m reading.

If you’re a horror fan, especially one who loves the found footage style with all its chaos and nerve-shredding suspense, this is one book you absolutely need to read.

Ten of the Sexiest Screen Vampires, Volume 7

 

Halloween has, over the years, crept past Christmas to claim the title of my favorite holiday. There’s just something magical about October: the nights grow cooler (even if the days are still too darn warm), the leaves shift into fiery shades, and my already horror-loving heart gets to revel in all things spooky. Because of that, I’ve decided to resurrect some of my old Halloween traditions here on the blog. And what better place to start than with the return of my annual list of sexy vampires? If you missed my earlier posts rising from the crypt, you can revisit the lists from 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, and 2014.

Without further ado, I give you ten damn sexy vampires who’d love nothing more than to sink their teeth into you.

The Men

Vlad Dracula as played by Luke Evans in Dracula Untold (2014). Not going to lie, Luke Evans is just about the hottest man on the planet, and I would let his version of Dracula do just about anything to me. 

Louis de Pointe du Lac as played by Jacob Anderson in AMC's Interview with the Vampire. He's broody, emotional, and from all accounts a hell of a kisser. Brad Pitt's version as already appeared on these lists, but I think this version runs laps around him. 

Remmick as played by Jack O'Connell in Sinners (2025). Between his Irish accent and singing like a dream, Remmick is a catch. He's looking for a family, and he might just decide you'd fit right in. 

Edward Dalton as played by Ethan Hawke in Daybreakers (2009). Smart and sexy is always a winning combination. 

Raphael Santiago as played by David Castro in the TV show Shadowhunters. A religious family man to his core, Raphael loves with a conviction few others posses. It helps that he's hot too. 

The Women

The Girl as played by Sheila Vand in A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (2014). An avenging angel who won't tolerate men mistreating women, The Girl is both gorgeous and deadly. Side note, if you've never seen this movie, do so. 

Mary as played by Hailee Steinfeld in Sinners (2025). Mary is walking contradiction of emotions, both vindictive and loving, Mary is just wanting to be loved by a man who will stay. Isn't that what we all want? 

Darla as played by Julie Benz from the TV shows Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel. Darla has the soul of a demon, but loves hard despite it. And she's smoking hot.

Lucy Weston as played by Frances Dade in Dracula (1931). As kind as she was beautiful, Lucy caught the eye of Count Dracula, and she was never the same again. 

Marya Zaleska as played by Gloria Holden in Dracula's Daughter (1936). Regal in manner Countess Zaleska commands attention, and she gets it. 

The Sing Out, Louise! Tournament Has A Winner!

 We chose a winner of the Sing Out, Louise! Tournament over on the Facebook page.

The winner is... Mary Poppins (1964)

Favorite Fictional Character --- Sam

 

If I posted pictures of all the Sams in my room right now, you’d probably think I have a screw loose—maybe even two. On my bed, there’s a fleece blanket at the foot of it and a pillow shaped like his head mixed in with the rest of my pillows. On my headboard sits a sidestepper that plays music and laughter from the movie. In a cubby of my TV stand, I’ve got a lunchbox and four Funko Pops. Hanging over my curtains is a rather large wall banner. I also have a pair of slippers, two pairs of socks, and about six plastic water cups. In other words: I’m obsessed. Spirit Halloween is basically my favorite store this time of year.

I should probably stop assuming you know who I’m talking about and fill you in on the greatest modern-day horror character: Sam.

Sam is the central figure in Trick ’r Treat (2007), a Halloween-themed horror comedy built around four interconnected stories, all of which feature him in some way.

On the surface, Sam looks like an ordinary kid dressed for trick-or-treating. But underneath that burlap mask is an adorable little demon who enforces the rules of Halloween—violently. The rules are simple:

• Always wear a costume.
• Always hand out treats.
• Never extinguish a jack-o’-lantern before midnight.
• Always respect the dead.
• Never take down decorations before November 1st.
• Never harm the innocent.

Follow those, and you’ll survive the night. Break them, and Sam will make sure you don’t live to see Thanksgiving.

Sam is one of those characters I can’t help but love, even if he’s maybe one I shouldn’t. Sure, he’s technically evil—but he’s also just following his own moral compass, protecting the greatest holiday in existence. So I’m willing to make some allowances. It doesn’t hurt that he’s absolutely adorable, quite possibly the cutest horror character ever created.

 

It's currently on HBO Max and for rent on Apple TV and Prime Video. 

I also wanted to thank Michelle of The True Book Addict for redoing my Favorite Fictional Character post images for both Halloween and Christmas, I absolutely love the new ones. I'm actually thinking about asking her to redo the weekly image as well. 

The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938)

 

Synopsis From Rotten Tomatoes:

When King Richard the Lionheart is captured, his scheming brother Prince John (Claude Rains) plots to reach the throne, to the outrage of Sir Robin of Locksley (Errol Flynn), the bandit king of Sherwood Forest. Rounding up his band of men and eventually winning the support of the lovely Maid Marian (Olivia de Havilland), Robin accuses Prince John of treachery and, when the escaped Richard returns covertly to England, joins forces with the king to prevent Prince John from taking the crown.

I’m almost positive that everyone knows the story of Robin Hood. He’s one of those characters who has permeated pop culture and can safely be called a cultural icon. Because of that, I’m not going to do a deep dive into the story. What I want to do instead is explain how this movie makes me feel. I want to, in my own feeble way, capture how this film spoke to my soul from the moment Errol Flynn’s Robin Hood appeared on screen.

I honestly couldn’t tell you how old I was (fairly young still), where in the house or apartment I was (probably the living room, but who knows), or even which state we were living in the first time I saw this movie. That last one I can probably narrow down to Minnesota, Oregon, Washington, or California. We moved and traveled a lot while I was growing up. We lived with a biker gang in Spokane, with a Tongan family in California before becoming homeless, and eventually with a carnival that moved every two weeks, only settling down during the winter months. We did that for three years, right up until I started high school.

We moved too much for me to make friends. Actually, I need to amend that: we moved too much for me to learn how to make friends. For most of my childhood, I struggled to form true connections with kids my own age because I was never around long enough. That constant moving pushed me toward books and movies for companionship. In their own way, they socialized me more than any other childhood influence I had.

I’m telling you all of this to explain why I had such an “oversized” reaction to this movie. I do remember lying on the floor—my favorite viewing spot for years—and becoming completely enraptured. There was something magnetic about Errol Flynn. Maybe it was his smirk that made his eyes light up with mischief, or his larger-than-life personality that made his 6’2” frame feel ten feet tall. Whatever it was, he had me hooked.

If you’d asked me my favorite part back then, I would have said the sword fights. Don’t get me wrong: the epic duel with Sir Guy of Gisborne (played by the equally mesmerizing Basil Rathbone) still amazes me. As the battle moves down the stairs, I still get goosebumps. That scene is perfectly executed—from the camera angles to the lighting. It’s a brilliant piece of filmmaking.

As a teenager, and into my college years, I would have told you it was Robin’s relationship with Maid Marian that captured me most. Around that time, I started to develop an unrealistic expectation of love. I believed the movies when they told us there was one person out there who was your true match. That you’d meet, fall in love, and stay together forever. That no obstacle could beat the power of love. I wanted what Robin and Marian had, and their chemistry was palpable. I figured if they could survive Prince John, I’d have no problem finding my own great love and everything would fall into place.

At 49 years old, I can’t even begin to guess how many times I’ve seen this movie. Definitely double digits. The awe I felt the first time hasn’t faded; if anything, it’s grown. Now I can appreciate the artistry as much as the action. Back then, my focus was mostly on Flynn’s legs and the swashbuckling, but I see now how every aspect of the film is perfectly crafted. It’s easy to understand why it was added to the National Film Registry by the Library of Congress in 1955.

If you’ve never seen this movie, please do. If it’s been a while, consider a rewatch—and then come back and tell me what you think.

As a side note: I’ve reread everything I just wrote, and I’m not sure I’ve fully expressed how much I love this movie or what it means to me. But at some point, I just need to stop typing and let it stand. I hope I’ve managed even a little of what I set out to do. Either way, I hope you give it a chance.

The Bell in the Fog by Lev AC Rosen

 

Synopsis From Dust Jacket:

San Francisco, 1952. Detective Evander “Andy” Mills has started a new life for himself as a private detective―but his business hasn’t exactly taken off. It turns out that word spreads fast when you have a bad reputation, and no one in the queer community trusts him enough to ask an ex-cop for help.

When James, an old flame from the war who had mysteriously disappeared, arrives in his offices above the Ruby, Andy wants to kick him out. But the job seems to be a simple case of blackmail, and Andy’s debts are piling up. He agrees to investigate, despite everything it stirs up.

The case will take him back to the shadowy, closeted world of the Navy, and then out into the gay bars of the city, where the past rises up to meet him, like the swell of the ocean under a warship. Missing people, violent strangers, and scandalous photos that could destroy lives are a whirlpool around him, and Andy better make sense of it all before someone pulls him under for good.

I knew I was gay from a pretty young age, and from the start I knew it was something I needed to keep to myself. Carrying that secret weighed heavily on me, and by the time I was twelve, I was already wrestling with thoughts of suicide. For almost two years, I prayed every night that if my being gay was wrong—if God truly hated me—I would not wake up the next morning. I wasn’t exaggerating; I meant every word of it.

By the time I started high school, I began to accept myself more. I still wasn’t fully out until college. But I had finally found a balance within myself. I’m not saying the way society views me, or other external factors, doesn’t make my life as a gay man harder—because they do. But what we face today is nothing compared to what our community’s forefathers endured in the 1950s.

It’s in that kind of hostile environment that Andy is trying to navigate a path toward self-acceptance—to finally live life on his own terms, not those imposed by a society determined to crush him for who he loves. In the first book, Lavender House, Andy discovers a safe haven created by a found family. Through Elise, a member of that household who owns Ruby—the most popular queer bar in San Francisco—he begins to find people he can call his own. She encourages him to set up a PI business upstairs. But as a formerly closeted ex-cop from a police force infamous for bar raids, he walks into a room full of wary glances and whispered judgments.

Andy begins developing a romantic relationship with Gene, the head bartender, who was expelled from medical school because of his sexuality. Elise has become something like an older sister, and he may have found his first true friend in Lee, a drag performer who becomes his girl friday. For the first time, Andy is building a family of his own.

That fragile sense of belonging is put in danger when Andy is drawn into a case that threatens everyone he’s beginning to love. He’s forced to make choices to protect them and defend his growing sense of self-worth. Some decisions come easily, others less so, but he makes the right choice every time—even when he admits that a few years earlier, he wouldn’t have.

What I love about this series is that the author not only crafts mysteries so grounded in their time and place that Agatha Christie herself might be proud, but he also never sacrifices character development for plot. Both are perfectly balanced, tightly controlled, and rooted in postwar 1950s San Francisco—a city that, to borrow a cliché, becomes another character in the story.

Andy, Elise, Gene, and Lee have completely won me over—and I can’t get enough of this author’s storytelling. I need this series to never end.

Favorite Fictional Character --- Agatha Harkness

I’ll admit upfront: I know very little about the comic book version of Agatha Harkness. What I do know is that she’s a witch from Salem, she had a close connection to the Scarlet Witch, and at one point served as Franklin Richards’ nanny. Over the years she has played both hero and villain, but that’s the extent of my comic knowledge.

This post, then, is about the MCU’s Agatha, brought to life by the magnificent Kathryn Hahn. If you haven’t watched WandaVision or Agatha All Along, consider this my plea: go watch them. Both series are outstanding, in large part because of Hahn’s performance and the unique energy she brings to the character.

Agatha is one of those rare characters who delights in being wicked. She relishes every diabolical moment. Yet, beneath the snark and scheming, there’s the suggestion of a heart that longs for something better. That complexity shines especially in Agatha All Along, a show I enjoyed so much I watched it twice back-to-back. Hahn layers the performance with subtle glimpses of regret, enough to suggest there’s far more to Agatha than she allows the world sees. She is capable of love and devotion, particularly in her relationships with her son and with Billy, though she keeps that tenderness hidden behind walls of barbed-wire steel.

I won’t spoil the details of either series or the ways Agatha’s past shapes her wickedness. Instead, I’ll simply say this: she is the most entertaining “villain” the MCU has given us. I can’t wait to see where Hahn takes her next — and until then, I may just give Agatha All Along a third watch.

Binge Watch --- Bones

 

I originally abandoned Bones during an odd TV boycott a few years back. This year, though, I’ve been watching more television than I have in ages—mainly to finally see how all those shows I once started actually ended.

If you’re unfamiliar, Bones is based on Kathy Reichs’s long-running Temperance Brennan novels (there are twenty-five and counting). Reichs herself is a forensic anthropologist, and the early books were reportedly inspired by her own experiences. I haven’t yet picked up the series—partly because I’ve heard the show handles character development better, and partly because I love these characters so much that I worry the books might not measure up. My TBR pile is already overflowing, so we’ll see if I ever get to them.

The show follows Temperance “Bones” Brennan, a brilliant but socially awkward forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian (think Smithsonian), who’s paired with FBI agent Seeley Booth. I’ll admit, I only tuned in at first because David Boreanaz was cast as Booth. As a full throated Buffy and Angel fan, there was no way I was going to miss him in a new role. But by the first half of the pilot, I was hooked—not just on Boreanaz, but on the dynamic chemistry between Brennan and Booth. Think William Powell and Myrna Loy as Nick and Nora Charles—level chemistry. Pure perfection. 

On paper, they couldn’t be more different. Brennan is analytical, clinical, and baffled by most pop culture. Booth relies on gut instinct, quick judgments, and has deep loyalty to his family. Over time, Brennan slowly grows into one of the most nuanced characters I’ve ever seen on television, while Booth remains her perfect counterbalance. Their dynamic is the heartbeat of the series, and it never stopped being a joy to watch.

Of course, I wouldn’t have made it through 246 episodes if the supporting cast hadn’t been equally compelling. Lance Sweets (a personal favorite), Hodgins, Angela, Camille, Zach, and even the rotating “squinterns” all brought depth and heart to the show. Across twelve seasons, they faced serial killers, bombers, snipers, hurricanes, complicated families—and countless murder cases. Through it all, they had each other. They solved crimes, but more importantly, they saved each other.

Murder Under Ground by Alex Henry

 

Synopsis From Goodreads:

DI Leon Peterson’s Christmas at home is interrupted by the discovery of a body practically on the police station doorstep—but who would brutally stab Paul Easton, a popular youth worker, in the station’s underground car park, and why would suspicion fall on DS Jasmine Todd?

As they work over Christmas and New Year, Leon is forced to bring in other detectives, not all of them welcome additions. They soon realise there’s more to Paul Easton and his life than meets the eye. Conflicts within the team extend both on a personal level and how they view the suspects. No one appears to be who they seem.

For Leon, this case hits home in more ways than one. Yet again he revisits his past as they hunt for Paul Easton’s killer. Meanwhile, he has his own decisions to make regarding his future in the force.

There’s a scene in this book that could have been pulled straight from The Wire—chaotic and violent, with bullets flying and buildings burning. I wasn’t expecting that level of intensity in the second book of an LGBTQ+ police procedural with a hint of a budding romance, but it works. The moment comes about halfway through, and yet it sets the tone for the entire book. The overarching mystery is darker than the one in Murder Under Construction, giving the story higher stakes.

Even with that darker backdrop, it’s Leon and the people around him who make the book shine. Leon is quickly becoming one of my favorite modern detectives. I love spending time with him, watching how he works with his team, and seeing how his determination pushes him forward. He’s not a genius on the level of Poirot or Holmes, but he doesn’t need to be—his persistence, loyalty, and instinct for justice make him just as compelling.

Two books in, I find myself admiring Leon more with each case. If book three continues in this direction, I’ll be falling even deeper in love. 

Favorite Fictional Character ‐-- Stephen Neale

 

The first Ray Milland movie I ever saw was The Uninvited (1944), and it remains my favorite ghost story of all time—thanks in no small part to Milland’s mix of suave charm and awkward vulnerability. I love that film and his performance so much that I even featured his character, Roderick “Rick” Fitzgerald, in a previous Favorite Fictional Character post.

It was a good friend of mine, Yvette of In So Many Words, who first suggested I try Ministry of Fear (also 1944). As usual, she was right—I absolutely loved it. (And Yvette, if you’re reading this, I miss your classic mystery reviews. I hope you’ll come back to blogging, too.)

In Ministry of Fear, Milland plays Stephen Neale, a man just released from an asylum after serving two years for the mercy killing of his wife. Over the next hour and twenty-some minutes, poor Neale—through no fault of his own—finds himself tangled in a Nazi spy ring and attending one of the most hauntingly beautiful séance scenes ever filmed.

What amazes me is how Milland pulls it off. Like Rick, Neale carries himself with a sophisticated, debonair air, but underneath I see a fumbling, slightly insecure man doing his best to keep his head above water. He’s burdened with guilt over his wife’s death, and instead of easing back into life after confinement, he’s thrust into danger that would have had me giving up on the train. Honestly, I’d have tossed that cake right back at them the moment the fortune-teller demanded it. (If I intrigued you with that reference, I hope you watch the movie.)

Neale is a man whose instinct is always to do the right thing, even when it puts his life or freedom at risk. He’s quick on his feet, both physically and mentally. He’s protective of those he cares about and willing to sacrifice himself for a woman in distress, a cause he believes in, or a country he feels loyalty to. From the first time I met him on screen, I admired him—and maybe even started to fall for him a little. That feeling has only deepened with each rewatch.

Everyone in My Family Has Killed Someone by Benjamin Stevenson

 

Synopsis From The Dust Jacket:

Ernie Cunningham, crime fiction aficionado, is a reluctant guest at his family reunion. Family reunions aren't for everyone, of course. But Ern's part of a notorious crime family—and three years ago, he witnessed his brother kill a man and immediately turned him in to the police. Now Ern's brother is being released from prison and the family is gathering to welcome him home.

As if that weren't bad enough, the reunion is taking place at a remote mountain resort. The day before Ern's brother is set to arrive, a man's body is found frozen on the slopes. While most Cunninghams assume the man simply collapsed and died of hypothermia during the night, Ern's stepsister spots a strange detail—the man's airways are clogged with ash. He appears to have died by fire... in a pristine snowfield... without a single burn mark on him. 

The longer the body goes unidentified, the more overwhelmed the local policeman becomes, and the more Ern realizes it's up to him to find the murderer. Holmes, Christie, Chesterton: he's read then all. He knows what patterns to look for, what rules killers follow. And of course, he knows his own family. Every member of which, as he's told us from the start, has killed someone. 

I’ve sat here staring at my screen, willing the words for a perfect review of Everyone in My Family Has Killed Someone to appear—flowing effortlessly from my fingers. But the truth is, that perfect review isn’t in the cards for me. Instead, I’m left to write an imperfect one, feeling as though I’ll always owe both Ern and the author a heartfelt apology.

I don’t know why I can’t string together the just-right words to capture how much fun this book was. What I can say is that I adored spending time with Ern—getting to know his family, watching the way his mind works, and laughing at his sharp, dry humor. The entire story unfolds through his eyes, and as the bodies begin to pile up—six in total—his voice remains steady, witty, and endlessly engaging.

One thought has stuck with me as I’ve wrestled with what to say: Jessica Fletcher would have felt right at home in this story. It’s exactly the kind of mystery she could have sunk her teeth into—whether as the sleuth or as J.B. Fletcher, the author of such a twisted tale. And if you know me at all, you’ll know that’s the highest compliment I can give.

Favorite Fictional Character --- Florence Jean “Flo” Castleberry

 

I had a different character in mind for this week’s Favorite Fictional Character post, but he’ll have to wait. Today, I want to honor one of the most unforgettable TV characters of the mid-1970s and early 1980s. I'm honestly surprised I haven’t featured her before—she’s a true cultural icon. I'm also saddened to be writing about her now because her portrayer, Polly Holliday, has passed away at the age of 88.

Florence Jean “Flo” Castleberry was my favorite character on Alice. Flo was loud, sassy, and knew exactly who she was. She didn’t tolerate Mel’s sexist behavior and wasn’t afraid to call him out. She challenged his greed, stood up for what was right, and had a heart big enough to take Alice under her wing. She was the kind of mother figure many of us would have welcomed with open arms.

I can easily imagine myself walking into Mel’s Diner, sitting at a booth with a slightly dingy menu, and falling absolutely in love with this outspoken waitress who gave both sass and heart. I’d sit there for hours, listening to Flo, Alice, and even Vera talk about their lives, laughing at their banter and feeling like part of something special. I know I’d enjoy every moment Flo told Mel off with her signature “Kiss my grits!” or even a “When donkeys fly!” If I had the chance, I’d become a regular—despite Mel.

Flo wasn’t just a character—she was a force. And Polly Holliday brought her to life with such charisma, warmth, and grit that she remains unforgettable to this day.

R.I.P. Polly Holliday.

You’ll be missed.

Dragonwyck (1946)

 

Synopsis From Rotten Tomatoes:

For Miranda Wells (Gene Tierney), moving to New York to live in Dragonwyck Manor with her rich cousin Nicholas (Vincent Price), seems like a dream. However, the situation gradually becomes nightmarish. She observes Nicholas' troubled relationship with his tenant farmers, as well as with his daughter (Connie Marshall), to whom Miranda serves as governess. Her relationship with Nicholas intensifies after his wife dies, but his mental imbalance threatens any hope of happiness. 

Here’s a weird little contradiction that lives within the recesses of my brain—a contradiction I’m okay with: I’m not a huge fan of historical fiction when it comes to reading, but I absolutely love it when it comes to my viewing habits. I’m not sure if it’s because my brain processes the information differently, or if it’s some other "defect" that alters how I interact with the two mediums. Either way, while I may reluctantly delve into a historical fiction book, I’ll jump right into the story when it’s on my screen—especially if that story is gothic and dark.

If you know me even a little, you know that I’m a sucker for classic movies and almost any film that explores the darker side of life. When those two loves come together, it’s almost guaranteed that I’m going to fall in love from the moment the title sequence starts. Dragonwyck is perfect for me in that regard.

Dragonwyck begins in 1884, two years before the patroonship system was formally abolished in the United States. Nicholas Van Ryn is one of the last patroons left and is in need of a companion for his eight-year-old daughter, Katrine. He engages a distant cousin—granted reluctant permission from her parents—to travel to the Hudson Valley and take up the governess position. It’s a world that’s privileged and opulent, yet also on life support. A world quickly dying as the Anti-Rent movement rapidly dismantles a system that had been in place since the Dutch established New Amsterdam.

I won’t go into all the twists and turns that quickly envelop Miranda, but I’ll say this: it’s a delicious gothic tale of class, tradition, obsession, and murder. Gene Tierney, who can be a little hit-or-miss for me, is cast perfectly as Miranda. She gives a terrific performance, balancing naïve innocence with a desire for more out of life. As the movie progresses, we see her mature, and by the end, she carries a strength that’s delightful to see.

It’s Vincent Price as Nicholas Van Ryn who truly steals the show. I’m sure it goes without saying—but I’ll say it anyway—Vincent Price was a master of his craft. He can be aloof and tender at the same time, and he descends into madness like no other actor could. He is both subtle and over the top, depending on what the moment calls for. He is utterly perfect in this movie, and I cannot imagine another actor in the role.

As the weather starts to cool and the nights grow longer, I’m sure I’ll once again find myself visiting Dragonwyck Manor.

Strange Pictures by Uketsu

 

Synopsis From Flap:

A pregnant woman's sketches on a seemingly innocuous blog conceal a chilling warning. 

A child's picture of his home contains a dark secret message.

A sketch by a murder victim in his final moments leads an amateur sleuth down a rabbit hole that will reveal a horrifying reality. 

Strange Pictures is Uketsu's first book, which I didn’t know when I read Strange Houses. On the face of it, they aren’t connected in any way, so the reading order doesn’t matter. That said, had I read Strange Pictures first, I'm not totally sure I would have picked up the second book—which would have been a shame, since I really enjoyed Strange Houses.

I'm not saying I didn’t like Strange Pictures; I'm just not sure I liked it enough to continue with the author's writing style—a judgment I'm not completely sure would have been fair. That’s the dilemma with translated work. Some of what I may not be fully connecting with could be due to tonal and cultural markers that are hard to translate from one language to another, especially when the two languages don’t share a common linguistic origin, like Japanese and English. Because of that, I try my damndest to go into a translated work with an open mind and an understanding that I may be missing something.

That said, I loved how twisted and interconnected the overarching story becomes as its many tributaries come together. What seems at first to be three separate stories, taking place on overlapping timelines that aren’t clear from the beginning, becomes a singular tale of murders most foul. In that, I think the author ingeniously wove this tapestry of a story—pictures and all.

What didn’t work for me was how exposition-heavy the storytelling became. At times, it felt like the author was walking me through every connection, explaining how the pieces fit rather than letting me discover it for myself. I don’t mind a bit of guidance, but I don’t want to feel guided. I wish there had been a lighter touch. And that’s where my dilemma lies: how much of that heavy-handedness comes from the author, and how much might be a byproduct of translation?

If you like twisted little mysteries, Strange Pictures is absolutely worth picking up. However, if you're only willing to try one of his two current books, I'd recommend you pick up Strange Houses instead.

Favorite Fictional Character --- William "Buck" Rogers

 

I turned forty-nine this year, and if you're around my age, you'll understand what I'm about to say about our childhood.

Growing up, there weren't a lot of options for television viewing—especially if you didn't have cable, which I don't remember having until the fifth grade. So, you kinda watched whatever was on the few TV stations you got. And what was on wasn't necessarily new, especially during the daytime or late at night. A lot of what aired during those times were reruns—a concept that now feels almost antiquated in this age of streaming. That means I grew up watching a lot of shows that first aired before I was born—or, in the case of Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, a show that premiered when I was an adorable three years old.

I feel like I didn’t really watch the show until we were traveling with the carnival, sometime between fifth and eighth grade—but don’t quote me on that. I'd be willing to bet I’d seen it earlier, even if my first clear memory of watching it was in a short-term rental—just two weeks while we were in town for the fair in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I was eating a fried bologna sandwich, sitting on the floor, watching Buck and Hawk take shelter from a storm on a barren planet. It had to be a season two episode. I was enraptured.

There are characters you like for no other reason than you thought they were “cool” the moment you saw them. Captain Buck Rogers is one of those characters for me. From his swagger to the way he spoke, I wanted to be him. I wanted to fly around in space, saving the day from whatever bad situation Buck, Wilma, Hawk, and Twiki found themselves in. He was just—for lack of a better word—cool. I’ve watched the show as an adult, and while some aspects haven’t aged well, the young kid that still lives inside me thinks he's one of the coolest characters ever to grace a TV screen.

Lavender House by Lev AC Rosen

 

Synopsis From The Dust Jacket:

Lavender House, 1952: the family seat of recently deceased matriarch Irene Lamontaine, head of the Lamontaine soap empire. This estate offers a unique freedom, where none of the residents or staff hide who they are. But to keep their secret, they've needed to keep others out. And now they're worried about keeping a murderer in. 

Irene's widow hires Evander Mills to uncover the truth behind her mysterious death. Andy, recently fired from the San Francisco police department after being caught in a raid on a gay bar, is happy to accept - his calendar is wide open. And his secret is the kind of secret the Lamontaines understand. 

Andy had never imagined a world like Lavender House. He's seduced by the safety and freedom found behind its gates, where a queer family lives honestly and openly. But that honesty doesn't extend to everything, and he quickly finds himself a pawn in a family game of old money, subterfuge, and jealousy - and Irene's death is only the beginning. 

The gates of Lavender House can't lock out the real world forever, and running a soap empire can be a dirty business. 

When I was in high school—in the early 1990s, for anyone interested—I would go to the public library in Skiatook, OK, and search for every single book I could find that featured a gay male character. At the time, I was desperate to read anything about who I might become as a gay man. I needed to know what my life could look like. You have to remember, we weren't on TV, and most movies with gay characters portrayed stereotypes of the worst kind. That’s not to say books were perfect in that regard. A lot of what I read was filled with self-hate and unhappy endings—and this was coming from gay authors. For the record, most classic gay lit is depressing. I'm glad I read those books, but for the most part, they aren’t ones I’d ever want to revisit.

The exceptions were the mystery books. In them, I found characters who were comfortable in their own skin and relatively well-adjusted. In Joseph Hansen’s Dave Brandstetter, Michael Nava’s Henry Rios, Richard Stevenson’s Donald Strachey, and the more "cozy" sleuths created by Mark Richard Zubro, I found characters who made me realize my future wasn’t all doom and gloom—a future where I could be happy.

The first time I dove into the world of Andy Mills, I knew I’d found another character who would have affected me the exact same way. But unlike the others, Andy is navigating a world where being gay could get you fired, committed to an asylum, or killed without anyone caring. He’s a character who has hit rock bottom and is struggling to recover—so when he finds Lavender House, he grabs on with both hands.

At Lavender House, he finds a group of people who can truly be themselves behind the gates of the estate, even if they play roles for the general public. Lavender House is a sanctuary, but like all insulated havens, a festering evil has started to blossom within its walls. Andy's job is to find and root out who planted the evil that ended in bloodshed.

I love an author who can craft a well-balanced mystery alongside characters that feel real and grounded. Andy has to be one of the most authentic characters I’ve come across in any genre. I absolutely adore this series, and it’s one I hope never ends. I want Andy to continue growing into his own skin and within the gay community. I want him to find happiness and fulfillment in life. I want to watch him fall in love and grow old. In the meantime, I’ll gladly read every twisty mystery he finds himself entangled in.

Favorite Fictional Character --- Patrick Jane

 

I'm nothing if not predictable. When it comes to TV shows, with a few exceptions, I stick to two broad genres: the supernatural and the mysterious. I can sit here and name dozens of TV shows—and even more characters—that I've fallen in love with over the years, getting lost in their stories as they play out on the silver screen.

Over the years, I've featured some heavyweight television sleuths like Jessica Fletcher, Perry Mason, and Thomas Magnum. All three are characters who helped shape my young mind as I was developing my interest in mysteries. As an adult, I've continued to devour mystery shows like the last of my Halloween candy.

Today, I'm going to (re)introduce you to Patrick Jane, the ex-psychic con man from The Mentalist. When we're first introduced to Patrick, his wife and daughter had been killed by a ruthless serial killer, and he's now using his skills while working with the CBI—the California Bureau of Investigation. He's a deeply damaged man who feels that his arrogance is the reason why his family was brutally murdered. 

Through the seasons, he learns to forgive himself and to put the blame where it belongs—on Red John. He never quite loses his obsession with vengeance, but he softens—though I'm not sure that's the right word. It's more like he becomes less rigidly fragile. He reaches a point where he no longer seems like he's going to break.

I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that I’d match his observational skills against those of Sherlock Holmes—or even Sherlock Hemlock—any damn day of the week. If it weren't for the way Patrick has learned to manipulate his marks, I might have called such a challenge a tie. Instead, I’d have to give the edge to him. I think he's one of the smartest characters ever created, but more than that, he's one of the most compelx characters to ever grave a TV screen, and I absolutely adore every second spent with him.