Everyone has those childhood friends who knew your parents' first names, passed notes with you in Algebra I, and maybe even slow-danced with you at prom. They were there for the awkward years, the messy years, the formative ones. These friendships are stitched with shared memories that become landmarks in your personal history. I have a group like this. Maybe you do, too.
But we also know something else: not all friendships survive the long haul. The promise of being “BFFs” can fade, worn down by time, distance, and the lives we build apart.
“The heart is where the home is.”
Owen, Nick, Hamish, Lore, and Matty were an unlikely crew. Nick and Hamish had the edge of burnouts. Owen and Lore were the overachievers, nerdy in the best way. And Matty? Matty was the glue. The golden boy. He bridged the divides between them—winning awards, playing sports, smoothing over the group’s rough edges. He was the best of them.
One night, they head into the woods for a classic childhood rite: camping. Along the way, they pass something bizarre—a lone staircase, standing impossibly on its own, leading nowhere. They keep moving. But later that night, drawn back to it, only Matty climbs the stairs.
He never comes down.
Decades later, Nick calls the group back together. Something’s waiting for them. Another staircase. But this time, it’s not Matty who has to climb.
What’s scarier than a staircase in the middle of the woods? Really—what is?
Chuck Wendig’s novel reads like a cinematic fever dream, equal parts horror and elegy. This isn’t just a ghost story. It’s about the divide between childhood and adulthood, the secrets we bury and the truths we carry—often alone. It’s about the damage done in homes that looked perfect from the outside and the roles we adopt to survive what’s happening inside.
Wendig’s storytelling is immersive and visceral. You can almost smell the rot, taste the copper of blood in the air, feel the coarse grain of splintered wood under your fingertips. The scenes are so vividly rendered that reading feels more like watching a beautifully shot, profoundly unsettling film.
I had only a few quibbles. The themes around identity and politics, particularly Lore’s sexuality, occasionally felt overemphasized—less integrated, more performative. But the emotional beats still land. Hamish’s evolution is compelling, and Owen’s constant internal war is heartbreakingly real. Even the heavy dose of video game references—which typically isn’t my thing—didn’t detract from the story’s core tension.
Because at the end of the day, this is a story about truth. The ones we hide from others and the ones we hide from ourselves. As kids, we take on roles—athlete, brain, comedian—to protect ourselves. But eventually, if we want to live freely, we have to strip away those masks and face what’s really there. In the dark. At the foot of the stairs.
Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the opportunity to read and reflect on this haunting and unforgettable story.