Wringland

From the moment she sets foot in Black Fen nothing seems to go right for Abbie Parker. Of course there's nothing like a touch of the creepy curates to put the wind up a young girl on her first job out of university but even setting side the peculiar pastor and his halitosis, the strangest things keep happening. An ancient prayer book left on her doorstep, dolls in obscene poses... when Abbie finds herself in the rented accommodation from hell it's not so much what goes bump in the night as who or what is trying to bump her off. Then there's her career as sales negotiator for the gimcrack 'prestige' new property development where one of the houses is inexplicably sinking. Can this be courtesy of one Martha Robinson, whom anyone would think were a ghost if it wasn't for her smell? A death threat arrives which makes Abbie wish more than ever that soldier boyfriend Simon was around. Determined to get to the bottom of the whole weird and worrying business, Abbie chats up the local witch. Before the witch can reveal all, however, somebody knocks her off her broomstick. The revolting rector turns mad axeman, a smack-head artist abducts a child and my word, is the temperature getting chilly round here. Yes, Spedding ladles on the sinister with a spade. But hers are all gratifyingly frightening ghouls and she is rather clever about making the reader wonder whether there is ever going to be a plausible explanation for the spooky shenanigans. As for the setting, well, the Fenlands don't come much better. Empty skies, lonely marshes, the ever-encroaching sea: this is a tailor-made stage for the gothic. Wringland means snare. And if you read this book it might catch you too. (Kirkus UK)