As someone who’s already uneasy about rest stops, thanks to a childhood experience that’s burned into my memory, Nat Cassidy’s
Rest Stop
felt like a personal challenge I couldn’t resist.
When I was ten, my parents and I were driving to Disney World, and we pulled off at a rest stop along I-4. While I reluctantly walked toward the bathroom, I heard this terrifying noise, something between a scream and a growl, coming from inside. I froze, turned right back around, and marched straight to the car. When my parents asked why I didn’t go, I lied and said I could hold it until we got to the hotel. Spoiler: I almost didn’t. But even my ten-year-old self instinctively knew that stepping into that bathroom might mean I’d never make it to Disney World.
Reading
Rest Stop
brought all that childhood anxiety rushing back, but in the best way possible. Cassidy’s story is like staring into the dark abyss of all your worst fears about those isolated, sometimes eerily quiet roadside stops, and then finding out it’s somehow even worse than you imagined.
This novella is absolutely unhinged in the best way. It’s nasty, depraved, and unapologetically twisted, a gut-punch of horror that left me sitting there wondering, “What did I just read?” (And why did I love it so much? *googly eyes 👀 googly eyes*) It’s short but relentless, the kind of story that doesn’t give you room to breathe, and by the time it’s over, you’re both horrified and exhilarated.
Rest Stop
isn’t for the faint of heart, but if you’re willing to embrace the psychotic chaos, it’s a ride you’ll never forget. What a disturbing, deliciously deranged little book!
(Shortwave, thank you so much for entrusting me with an ARC of this awesome novella!)