Endless Is the Night (A Black Sun Novel) — Shawn Brooks
This book feels like being watched.
Endless Is the Night opens in the dead of winter with a man alone on a mountain road under a red star that makes him feel seen. It wastes no time proving that instinct right. When he’s stranded, a smiling couple offers help, and the kindness curdles into something ritualistic and wrong. From there, the novel splinters outward into multiple timelines, carrying us through fog-choked forests, tunnels that feel like open mouths, and the kind of cosmic unease that doesn’t sprint. It stalks.
One of the most effective threads follows Cody, whose storyline begins with emotional realism rather than spectacle: a late-night drive, an ex in crisis, pills on the floor, blood in a bathtub, and a choice that cannot be taken back. The horror here doesn’t rely only on what lurks beyond humanity, but on what people do when fear, exhaustion, and guilt press in from all sides.
What worked best for me was the sense of being observed. Stars, darkness, and distance are never neutral. The book repeatedly twists the idea of comfort in the cosmos into something predatory. The settings carry as much menace as any creature: tunnels, remote roads, abandoned trails, and forests that feel less like landscapes and more like thresholds. There’s also a strong current of moral horror running beneath the supernatural one. Some of the most unsettling moments come not from what attacks, but from what is allowed to happen.
The story escalates confidently from grounded dread into cultic and cosmic territory, and when it becomes brutal, it earns it. Several reveals shift the book from eerie to genuinely disturbing, in a way that lingers rather than shocks and vanishes.
Where it didn’t fully work for me: parts of the prose are intentionally rough or disorienting, especially early on, which can slow immersion. A few transitions between grounded horror and full nightmare mode feel abrupt, and I occasionally wished for a slightly longer slow-burn before the escalation.
Overall, this is a strong pick for readers who enjoy cosmic unease, folk-cult energy, and character-driven bleakness. It’s not comforting horror. It’s the kind that suggests the world keeps going, the night keeps watching, and whatever is out there has been patient longer than we’ve been alive.
Would I reread it? Yes, but not back to back.
Would I recommend it? Absolutely, especially to fans of atmospheric, star-cold horror.
🕯️ Dark, unsettling, and quietly cruel.