It's a novelization of a movie, which can sometimes feel like a missed opportunity, but I have a soft spot for it. The atmosphere Guillermo del Toro created on screen is given room to breathe on the page. The descriptions of Allerdale Hall, the sinking red clay, and the whispering ghosts are somehow even more potent when you're left to imagine them with the prose filling in the sensory details. You notice things you might have missed in the film, like the specific history behind the Sharpe family's machinery or the weight of Lucille's daily routines.
That said, it’s not terrifying in a jump-scare way. The horror is gothic and melancholic, built on decay, secrets, and tragic love. If you're looking for relentless, visceral scares, this might feel too slow. But if you appreciate a story where the house itself is a character, rotting from the inside out, and where every romantic gesture is shadowed by something vile, it’s a fantastic companion to the film. I ended up rereading certain passages just to sit in that gloomy, opulent misery a little longer.