Ghost eaters A novel

Review by Booklist Review

Erin, Silas, Tobias, and Amara are best friends living in Richmond, Virginia. While three of them have begun their adult lives, Silas, their ringleader and Erin's on-again, off-again partner, has been in and out of rehab. After Silas is found dead from an overdose, the group learns that he discovered a drug that allowed him to see the dead. Erin, wanting one more chance to see Silas, takes the pill and begins a descent into a squirm-inducing world filled with desperate souls, wandering ghosts, and inescapable nightmares. Told entirely from Erin's point of view, this is an original story of being physically haunted, but it also depicts the true horrors of addiction. Is Erin an addict, or is she actually surrounded by ghosts who want a taste of the drug that is taking over her body? Either way, Chapman (Whisper Down the Lane, 2021) has created an experience so anxiety inducing, immersive, and intense that readers will feel like something is actually there, lurking over their shoulder as they turn the pages. A great choice for fans of A Head Full of Ghosts, by Paul Tremblay (2015), Mexican Gothic, by Silvia Moreno-Garcia (2020), and Orphans of Bliss, edited by Mark Matthews (2022).

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Chapman (Whisper Down the Lane) probes the terrorizing psychological grip of addiction, both to drugs and to toxic relationships, in this psychedelic psychological horror novel. Erin has spent most of her adult life entwined with Silas, moving from a romantic attachment into a codependent friendship. Now, she's just trying to keep him alive after years of addiction. But when he ditches rehab and ignores her intervention attempt, she finally kicks him out of her life--only for him to overdose and die days later. Following this tragedy, one of their mutual friends introduces a guilt-ridden Erin to Ghost, a new drug he and Silas were testing, which enables users to communicate with the dead and lets her to see Silas once more. She soon develops an addiction to Ghost. But the door to the land of the dead lets through more than just Silas--and, it turns out, it's not so easily closed. Chapman captures the visceral tragedy of drug addiction and grief as he follows Erin through the unhealthy relationships she has with both herself and others. Rife with body horror and hallucinations, some of which may get a bit too trippy for some, the narrative sucks readers into its dark, disorienting world. It's equal parts moving and gruesome. (Sept.)

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Library Journal Review

The latest novel from Chapman (Whisper Down the Lane) starts off in a Richmond, VA, cemetery with four young adults who are mostly content in their drug-fueled haze as their ringleader, Silas, brings them to a mausoleum for a séance. What Silas doesn't bank on is actual ghosts showing up. Erin, now Silas's ex-girlfriend, dodges his calls after this, but then Silas dies, leading Erin to honor his dying wish that she take the drug called "Ghost" that made him see the ghosts. Then the original group of friends who were at the séance perform another ritual to try to draw Silas out. What they unleash is so much worse than what they expected, and the plot escalates as Erin's hauntings worsen with centuries of ghosts and revenants suddenly everywhere she goes. The Silas hauntings are disturbing and get progressively worse as the novel goes on. VERDICT With similarities to the horror movies Flatliners and Bodies Bodies Bodies, minus the humor, Chapman's story comes to a head as readers begin to understand that Ghost has so much more of a morbid meaning in this enthralling addiction horror tale.--Anita Siraki

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Tripping our asses off in the cemetery is Silas's idea. We dose back at his dorm to give the acid a head start. By the time we abandon campus and hop the wrought-iron fence surrounding Hollywood Cemetery, the four of us are all well on our way to peak fry. "What're we doing what're we doing," Amara keeps repeating under her breath, a giddy litany. "What're we doing what're we--" "Remember your partners," Silas whispers as he scales the fence first. He just high-jumps those spikes like a grave-robbing Olympian. Now that's some gold-medal trespassing. Poor Tobias can't seem to find a foothold on the fence. His tattered Vans keep slipping, reminding me of that puny kid on the playground who doesn't have the upper body strength to pull himself up the monkey bars on his own. He's too embarrassed to ask for help, shooing Silas's hand away whenever he offers it. "I got it, I got it," he keeps muttering. Amara and I are the only ones left on the street, so we plant our hands on Tobias's scrawny ass and heave-ho him over. I can literally feel the bone in his butt cheek as we push. From where I'm standing, it looks like he takes flight for a moment, just a beanpole of a bat flapping his wings through the bruised purple sky. Amara is next. She starts to shriek, practically impaling herself on one of the rusted spears. We all shush her--try to, at least, in between laughing our asses off. She flips over the fence and falls flat on her face. It's far too dark for me to see her land--Silas won't let us use the flashlights on our phones--so there's a hot second where I worry if Amara's cracked her skull open on a tombstone or something. But she's cackling like an absolute candyflipping witch, rolling around in the grass, so we know she's still breathing. "Come on, Erin." Silas beckons through the bars. He's gripping them with both hands, leaning his face through the gap. He's a convict and I've come to break him out. "Your turn." I can't help myself. His face is right there. Lips right there . I lean in and kiss him through the fence. Flecks of rust dig into my cheeks, smearing my makeup. Here comes the lockjaw. "Jesus, guys," Amara whispers-but-not-really-whispers. "Get a tomb already." Suddenly I'm second-guessing myself: I can't climb over this . What if I lose my footing and fall on one of those spikes? "Easy does it," Silas says. "I got you." Silas and Tobias each grab a foot and hoist me up while I pull on the top rail. Imagine a cheerleader pyramid, where these two strapping young lads lift me over their heads and I perform the most absolutely fucking perfect hip-over-head airborne tumble you've ever seen, both feet landing directly on a headstone, a total Bring It On crowd-goes-wild dismount. You'd be wrong. I land on my ass. Hard. Silas hovers just above me. "You okay?" "I think I broke my hip." "You'll live," Silas says. "Take my hand." Silas says hop on one foot. Silas says pat your head. Touch your nose. . . . Silas didn't say. The four of us take in the meandering rows of tombstones tilting like loose teeth. The cemetery's called Hollywood because a few Richmond natives became celebrities way back whenever, returning home only after they kicked the bucket to get buried in their native soil. Everyone returns to Richmond someday. Mostly this place is full of dead Confederates, but there are a few forgotten starlets in the ground. Tourists take photos next to their gaudy graves--but tonight, hours after the cemetery gates close and the only occupants are six feet under, all 135 acres of this place belong to us. "Follow me," Silas says. "Watch your step." Tobias trips on cue. Tripping while tripping, hardy har . He's practically blind on the best of days, even with his wire-rimmed specs. Swap out the daylight for some liquid sunshine and add a few granite stumbling blocks and it's no wonder he can't stay on his feet. "Where are we going?" I have to ask. "You'll see." Silas never tells us what he's got hidden up his sleeve. That would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it? He has this uncanny ability to rally the troops, enlist the rest of us to do just about whatever he wants--and what he wants most out of life is to gogogogo . His lust for life is addictive and thrilling and downright exhausting all at once. Who cares if we have to wake up tomorrow morning for class? Haven't we realized academia is merely for sheep? Silas says we're better than all the other undergrad lemmings, and who are we to argue? Sounds good to me. He can somehow convince us to forget our inhibitions, to lose ourselves in the white heat of the moment. To hop trains in the dead of night. To embark on random road trips with no destination. To take jaunts through haunted plantations that last until the sun rises over the abandoned tobacco fields. This city is ours , he always says. The Four Musketeers. All for one and one for Silas . . . Excerpted from Ghost Eaters: A Novel by Clay Chapman All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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