What Genre Does 'This Thing Between Us' Belong To?

I'd call 'This Thing Between Us' a genre-bender that sits at the crossroads of horror and psychological thriller with a dash of supernatural mystery. The way it blends domestic drama with creeping dread reminds me of 'The Babadook'—where everyday relationships become the backdrop for something far more sinister. The haunted technology angle gives it a modern twist, making the horror feel uncomfortably close to our daily lives. There's also this lingering exploration of grief that threads through the narrative, pushing it into literary horror territory. It's not just about scares; it's about how loss can distort reality and make us vulnerable to forces we don't understand.

'This Thing Between Us' defies simple categorization, but if I had to pin it down, I'd say it's primarily cosmic horror wrapped in a domestic nightmare. The book starts like a straightforward haunted house story—couple moves into a new home, strange things happen—but then it spirals into something much weirder and more existential. The entity in the story doesn't just rattle dishes or slam doors; it manipulates perception and toys with the characters' grasp on reality itself.

What makes it stand out is how it uses technology as a conduit for the supernatural. The smart devices in the home become possessed in ways that tap into our very real anxieties about privacy and surveillance. There's a brilliant scene where a voice assistant starts gaslighting the protagonist that chilled me to the bone.

The grief element pushes it into psychological horror territory too. The protagonist's deteriorating mental state after his wife's death makes you question what's supernatural and what's just the manifestation of his trauma. That ambiguity is where the book shines—it keeps you guessing until the very end whether the horror is internal or external.

Gus Moreno's 'This Thing Between Us' is horror first and foremost, but not the kind that relies on jump scares. It's the slow-burn, dread-filled type that crawls under your skin. The supernatural elements—haunted smart devices, a malevolent presence—are framed through a lens of raw emotional trauma. The protagonist's grief over his wife's death makes the horror feel deeply personal, almost like a metaphor for how loss can make the world feel haunted.

There's also this brilliant undercurrent of tech horror that reminded me of 'Black Mirror'—the way everyday gadgets become sinister feels terrifyingly plausible. The book doesn't just scare you; it makes you side-eye your Alexa afterward. The cosmic horror elements creep in gradually, transforming what seems like a ghost story into something far more vast and incomprehensible. By the end, you're left questioning reality right alongside the protagonist.