Cosmic dread? That's my jam. Forget jump scares, the real terror is realizing we're insignificant specks in a cold, uncaring universe. Peter Watts' 'Blindsight' is the ultimate example. It’s not about tentacled monsters, but about a form of alien intelligence so profoundly other that communication is impossible and its very existence invalidates our concepts of consciousness. The book leaves you with a deep, philosophical chill that lingers for weeks. I still think about it years later.
If you want pure atmosphere of ancient, incomprehensible malevolence, H.P. Lovecraft is obviously the cornerstone, but for a modern take, try Laird Barron's short stories in 'The Imago Sequence'. His cosmic horror often blends with noir and hard-boiled elements, but the aliens (or the things pretending to be aliens) are utterly terrifying in their indifference. They don’t hate us; we’re just temporary housing.