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Little Horn: Stories
Little Horn is a new collection of fourteen dark short stories and novelettes from Shirley Jackson Award winner and two-time Bram Stoker Award winner Gemma Files.
Helping to bring each story to life, this collection includes sixteen full-page illustrations by the author."The Sanguintalist""Echo Chamber""Only Children""Pelican""Hagstone""Poor Butcher-Bird""Pear of Anguish""Bb Minor, or the Suicide An Oral History""Black Cohosh""Wet Red Grin""No Light, No Light""Oil of Angels""Yellowback""Little Horn"
Helping to bring each story to life, this collection includes sixteen full-page illustrations by the author."The Sanguintalist""Echo Chamber""Only Children""Pelican""Hagstone""Poor Butcher-Bird""Pear of Anguish""Bb Minor, or the Suicide An Oral History""Black Cohosh""Wet Red Grin""No Light, No Light""Oil of Angels""Yellowback""Little Horn"
350 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 14, 2025
9 people are currently reading
232 people want to read
About the author
Gemma Files
184 books728 followersPreviously best-known as a film critic for Toronto's eye Weekly, teacher and screenwriter, Gemma Files first broke onto the international horror scene when her story "The Emperor's Old Bones" won the 1999 International Horror Guild award for Best Short Fiction. She is the author of two collections of short work (Kissing Carrion and The Worm in Every Heart) and two chapbooks of poetry (Bent Under Night and Dust Radio). Her Hexslinger Series trilogy is now complete: A Book of Tongues, A Rope of Thorns and A Tree of Bones, all available from ChiZine Publications.
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
August 23, 2025
Little Horn by Gemma Files is a razor-sharp collection of 14 dark short stories and novelettes that proves once again why she is one of horror's most fearless voices. Each story is a carefully crafted descent into the uncanny, blending the everyday with different facets of horror that feel shocking and also unique. Files takes familiar spaces and twists them to reveal the shadows that lurk underneath. What makes Little Horn most compelling is it's range. Some stories are visceral gut-punches, while others creep, growing under your skin so you can't shake them. However, Files never loses sight of the human hearts beating at the center of the horror. Files prose is lean and lyrical, attuned to the rhythms of dread. My favorite story was the titular Little Horn. It was absolutely bat-shit and mean. Whether Files is writing about in-your-face supernatural terrors or bizarre events that unfold via an internet chatroom, her words cut deep. This collection is a showcase of a writer in full command of her craft. I mean, Gemma is a Shirley Jackson Award winner and two time Bram Stoker award winner. Thank you to Shortwave Publishing for sending me an ARC. You can preorder this off Shortwave's website. This is a must have and it publishes October 14, 2025!
January 4, 2026
"Good lord, she really does her research."
I had that thought maybe two stories into Gemma Files' latest collection. And yet the stories are never dry or academic, but filled with color, flavor, detail, anger and gore. It's a collection haunted by the still-with-us specter of COVID (we even get a King in Yellow-related story about "masking") and seasoned with Files' love of cursed media. She has yet to miss.
I had that thought maybe two stories into Gemma Files' latest collection. And yet the stories are never dry or academic, but filled with color, flavor, detail, anger and gore. It's a collection haunted by the still-with-us specter of COVID (we even get a King in Yellow-related story about "masking") and seasoned with Files' love of cursed media. She has yet to miss.
November 27, 2025
Welcome to a mild rebrand/relaunch to my reviews. I was chatting with someone else recently on IG about ‘branding’ and such and figured I’d try to see if this little tweak from ‘Book Review’ to ‘Stred Reviews’ can help get more eyes on the books I share with my reviews! We’ll see!
First up, is ‘Little Horn: Stories’ by Canadian Master, Gemma Files.
It’s funny, because Gemma’s novel ‘Experimental Film,’ was a book I initially DNF’d, but then returned to try it once again and absolutely loved it. I had a lot of fun with her ‘A Book of Tongues’ novel, so when I saw she had a new short story collection coming, I decided I’d buy that and make it my next read from her.
Safe to say, Gemma’s a pro at long fiction and the short stuff, because each of these stories is nuanced, layered and bleak.
What I liked: Featuring fourteen stories – ranging from some shorter, quick reads to novelette length, Gemma weaves us through tales that all work to really grab your spine and crush it between bloody knuckles. Even some stories that begin a little bit on the brighter side soon turn black and grow blacker with each additional word added. It made for a heavy, heavy experience reading through these. I think the last time a collection was really this devoid of anything resembling a smile was ‘The Nameless Dark’ by T.E. Grau.
From the starting block, the first story sets us up nicely. ‘The Sanguintalist’ follows a necromancer on an investigation. This one just might be the story with ‘the most fun’ as it covers urban fantasy and horror equally. From that point on, its all bleakly downhill.
My favorite stories were;
– ‘Only Children’ – This was a very subtle story, but also blindingly horrendous. It follows a woman, now a mother, who as a child was the only one of her friends who didn’t go missing after they went to a specific place in their town. Stories of the boogeyman have remained over centuries, and Files highlights those, while also keeping it within the walls of what this story is telling. The woman seemingly managed to snap a photo of the boogeyman and so she educates her own son, about what to look for, as she believes the thing may come for him. Though, there may also be, other, more sinister motives behind her actions.
This would’ve been my favorite story of the collection if it wasn’t for one other one that absolutely hit every note for me, but I’ll discuss that one shortly. This story felt like an entire film wrapped up in five-thousand words and was dripping in palpable tension.
– ‘Hagstone’ – one of a handful of epistolary/mixed media stories within this collection, ‘Hagstone’ follows a woman analyzing and transferring old movie reels for what she believes is a job simply to have the film re-released as a limited Blu-ray. Told through emails between herself and a colleague as well as text and phone transcriptions and a few essay parts, we see this woman and her colleague uncover the true reasons and layered elements to why the film was even made and what it was trying to accomplish.
It was a slow-burn escalation as one character descends into madness and the story itself with absolutely remind readers of ‘Experimental Film’ on a number of levels. I think, for me personally, this one worked even more, or was heightened that much more, because of what I’d previously read with ‘Experimental Film.’
– ‘Little Horn’ – unabashed religious horror. I’ll actually leave it at that. It’s the final story in the collection and it easily caught me off guard and made me happy to see it wasn’t a throw away track at the end of an album. Unflinching.
– ‘Poor Butcher-Bird’ – if you know me, you know I do love me some brutal cult fiction and this one morphs from what seems like a straight ahead cult initiation story into something involving another subgenre and turns the story that much more bloody and sinister. A woman meets up with a cult she seemingly wants to join. It’s from there that she herself fakes them out, in order to be joined by her own ‘master.’ I’d be curious to know how many buckets of fake blood would need to be used if this story was to ever be filmed, because Gemma had no qualms with eviscerating everyone.
And now, time for my favorite story of the entire collection – and I need to add that this might be one of the best short stories you’ll ever read. It’s one of the best short stories I’ve ever read, that’s for certain.
‘Echo Chamber.’
– ‘Echo Chamber’ – another epistolary based story, we follow a woman on an obsessive hunt for an mp3 file of a lost song. A former film star became an Avant Garde artist and musician. Urban legend has it that they only performed this specific song one time, at their final show ever, deep in a set of caves. During the show, every attendee blacked out, coming back while dancing and the musician was gone, never to be seen again.
Within the story, we learn of a single episode of an old entertainment-style show that obtained a copy of the song and played it, but the episode either never aired, or was only aired once and was destroyed, depending on whom you believe. Additionally, the host suffered a mental breakdown after hearing the song within the performance.
It all leads us to an intricate look at plagues, songs that become popular or are created around plague times and as each new section is shared – whether an email back and forth or DM transcription or text messages between people – the creep factor goes up exponentially. It was such an unsettling read and one that I’ll be thinking about for a long, long time.
What I didn’t like: While I did really enjoy every story, I will say – as always is the case – I struggle a lot with epistolary storytelling and this collection had a number of stories that utilize that method of storytelling. It’s a mode of storytelling that’ll often keep me at a distance or completely turn me off of what’s happening. In this case of the collection, two such stories really connected with me, which I was very happy with.
Why you should buy this: Gemma is easily one of the best writers out there currently, creating stories with depth, dread and layered sociopolitical commentary. Her writing is sublime and the way she tells her stories, you can decide to just enjoy the story itself, or, you can spend time making notes and looking deeper within the subtext that resides between each and every word.
This collection is a must read for all dark fiction lovers and I’d make the case that this one should be read just so you can experience ‘Echo Chamber’ in all of its glory.
Absolutely loved this collection.
First up, is ‘Little Horn: Stories’ by Canadian Master, Gemma Files.
It’s funny, because Gemma’s novel ‘Experimental Film,’ was a book I initially DNF’d, but then returned to try it once again and absolutely loved it. I had a lot of fun with her ‘A Book of Tongues’ novel, so when I saw she had a new short story collection coming, I decided I’d buy that and make it my next read from her.
Safe to say, Gemma’s a pro at long fiction and the short stuff, because each of these stories is nuanced, layered and bleak.
What I liked: Featuring fourteen stories – ranging from some shorter, quick reads to novelette length, Gemma weaves us through tales that all work to really grab your spine and crush it between bloody knuckles. Even some stories that begin a little bit on the brighter side soon turn black and grow blacker with each additional word added. It made for a heavy, heavy experience reading through these. I think the last time a collection was really this devoid of anything resembling a smile was ‘The Nameless Dark’ by T.E. Grau.
From the starting block, the first story sets us up nicely. ‘The Sanguintalist’ follows a necromancer on an investigation. This one just might be the story with ‘the most fun’ as it covers urban fantasy and horror equally. From that point on, its all bleakly downhill.
My favorite stories were;
– ‘Only Children’ – This was a very subtle story, but also blindingly horrendous. It follows a woman, now a mother, who as a child was the only one of her friends who didn’t go missing after they went to a specific place in their town. Stories of the boogeyman have remained over centuries, and Files highlights those, while also keeping it within the walls of what this story is telling. The woman seemingly managed to snap a photo of the boogeyman and so she educates her own son, about what to look for, as she believes the thing may come for him. Though, there may also be, other, more sinister motives behind her actions.
This would’ve been my favorite story of the collection if it wasn’t for one other one that absolutely hit every note for me, but I’ll discuss that one shortly. This story felt like an entire film wrapped up in five-thousand words and was dripping in palpable tension.
– ‘Hagstone’ – one of a handful of epistolary/mixed media stories within this collection, ‘Hagstone’ follows a woman analyzing and transferring old movie reels for what she believes is a job simply to have the film re-released as a limited Blu-ray. Told through emails between herself and a colleague as well as text and phone transcriptions and a few essay parts, we see this woman and her colleague uncover the true reasons and layered elements to why the film was even made and what it was trying to accomplish.
It was a slow-burn escalation as one character descends into madness and the story itself with absolutely remind readers of ‘Experimental Film’ on a number of levels. I think, for me personally, this one worked even more, or was heightened that much more, because of what I’d previously read with ‘Experimental Film.’
– ‘Little Horn’ – unabashed religious horror. I’ll actually leave it at that. It’s the final story in the collection and it easily caught me off guard and made me happy to see it wasn’t a throw away track at the end of an album. Unflinching.
– ‘Poor Butcher-Bird’ – if you know me, you know I do love me some brutal cult fiction and this one morphs from what seems like a straight ahead cult initiation story into something involving another subgenre and turns the story that much more bloody and sinister. A woman meets up with a cult she seemingly wants to join. It’s from there that she herself fakes them out, in order to be joined by her own ‘master.’ I’d be curious to know how many buckets of fake blood would need to be used if this story was to ever be filmed, because Gemma had no qualms with eviscerating everyone.
And now, time for my favorite story of the entire collection – and I need to add that this might be one of the best short stories you’ll ever read. It’s one of the best short stories I’ve ever read, that’s for certain.
‘Echo Chamber.’
– ‘Echo Chamber’ – another epistolary based story, we follow a woman on an obsessive hunt for an mp3 file of a lost song. A former film star became an Avant Garde artist and musician. Urban legend has it that they only performed this specific song one time, at their final show ever, deep in a set of caves. During the show, every attendee blacked out, coming back while dancing and the musician was gone, never to be seen again.
Within the story, we learn of a single episode of an old entertainment-style show that obtained a copy of the song and played it, but the episode either never aired, or was only aired once and was destroyed, depending on whom you believe. Additionally, the host suffered a mental breakdown after hearing the song within the performance.
It all leads us to an intricate look at plagues, songs that become popular or are created around plague times and as each new section is shared – whether an email back and forth or DM transcription or text messages between people – the creep factor goes up exponentially. It was such an unsettling read and one that I’ll be thinking about for a long, long time.
What I didn’t like: While I did really enjoy every story, I will say – as always is the case – I struggle a lot with epistolary storytelling and this collection had a number of stories that utilize that method of storytelling. It’s a mode of storytelling that’ll often keep me at a distance or completely turn me off of what’s happening. In this case of the collection, two such stories really connected with me, which I was very happy with.
Why you should buy this: Gemma is easily one of the best writers out there currently, creating stories with depth, dread and layered sociopolitical commentary. Her writing is sublime and the way she tells her stories, you can decide to just enjoy the story itself, or, you can spend time making notes and looking deeper within the subtext that resides between each and every word.
This collection is a must read for all dark fiction lovers and I’d make the case that this one should be read just so you can experience ‘Echo Chamber’ in all of its glory.
Absolutely loved this collection.
January 27, 2026
Even though I already knew most of the stories in here from other publications, this was a massively worthwhile purchase and read. Files knows her stuff, and my interests happily align, so, hey, one very happy consumer here. I also like her writing style, though I can believe some would find it... samey, across all the various tales and characters. I don't mind, for me there's variety enough.
October 18, 2025
BWAF Score: 7/10
Gemma Files has been slinging nightmare fuel across the page for damn near two decades, ever since she kicked off her career in the late ’90s with short stories that clawed their way into anthologies and magazines like they owned the joint. This Canadian powerhouse isn’t just a horror writer; she’s a journalist who’s dissected pop culture guts for outlets like Rue Morgue and Tor.com, and a film critic who’s probably watched more shitty B-movies than you’ve had hot dinners. Her debut novel, Experimental Film, didn’t just win the Shirley Jackson Award for its ghostly mindfuckery, it also snagged the Sunburst Award for excellence in Canadian speculative fiction. And let’s not forget she’s a two-time Bram Stoker Award champ, which basically means the horror bigwigs keep handing her trophies because she shows up with a chainsaw where others bring butter knives. She’s got five novels under her belt, plus a slew of poetry and comics that prove she’s as versatile as she is vicious. Files isn’t some flash-in-the-pan; she’s the real deal, a genre vet who’s been influencing the next wave of creeps while keeping her day job in the shadows.
Little Horn is like a fucked-up curio cabinet stuffed with ritual junk that vibrates with bad juju the second you crack it open. You’ve got fourteen stories here, each kicking off with its own creepy illustrated title page courtesy of Files herself, and a table of contents that sounds like a deranged witch’s Spotify playlist. The whole damn thing oozes craftsmanship and that kind of swagger that says, “Yeah, I hexed this book myself.”
Files writes like a choir director who’s secretly packing a sacrificial dagger and using it to conduct the symphony from hell. We’re talking blood, salt, chalk, bones, herbs, relics that might chomp your fingers off, and tunes that curse you just for humming along. She doesn’t treat rituals like some Halloween costume bullshit. Nah, it’s a verb, an action that turns bodies into war zones and trophies. Power’s the asshole script trying to dictate your identity, and her narrators are always eyeballing it like, “Do I gotta follow this crap, or can I torch it and scribble my own ending?”
Right out the gate, the voice grabs you by the throat. “The Sanguintalist” drops you into the world of a forensic necromancer who reads blood like it’s yesterday’s newspaper, and the tone is so casually gross you can practically taste the metallic tang and feel the cold slab under your ass. “Accidents and murders, that’s my meat” – boom, that’s her thesis, and it’s daring you to keep reading, you sick fuck.
“Hagstone” is a sneaky bastard that starts as a deep dive into restoring a lost 1975 folk-horror flick, complete with bitchy rants about ownership, dusty archives, and who the hell gets to gawk at this stuff. Then Files veers hard into folklore 101, schooling you on hagstones, those rocks with natural holes that supposedly let you peep alternate realities and maybe turn you into something else in the process. It’s brainy as shit without feeling like a lecture hall snoozefest, and it leaves you with that creepy itch, like you’ve spied on something that wasn’t meant for your prying eyes.
The title story, “Little Horn,” is a blasphemous road trip anthem starring two badass girls, one who’s just crowned herself queen of her own apocalypse, and a Lucifer who strolls into a bombed-out diner looking like a crossroads demon in a cheap pork-pie hat. The vibe bounces from savage beatdowns to flirty philosophy, then slams down on consent and free will like a holy water balloon full of piss. The killer line? That flat-out refusal: “I don’t have to fight you. I never did.” It’s the ultimate antimyth grenade, and it explodes all over your expectations.
Diving deeper: “The Sanguintalist” follows this blue-collar necromancer punching the clock, decoding crimes from the crimson splatter while setting boundaries like a burnout freelancer who’s seen one too many corpses twitch. The opener’s disgustingly delightful, packed with insect eggs, decay timers, and a voice that treats homicide like spreadsheet data. Procedural horror with a poet’s bitter guts spilled everywhere.
“Hagstone” masquerades as an academic file on lost films and distribution fuckery, then twists into a goddamn summoning ritual. Files riffs on media theory laced with folk horror, whispering that every film restoration is basically casting a spell. Flip the stone, peer through the hole, and bam – you’re seeing the future, or maybe it’s seeing you.
“Bb Minor, or the Suicide Choir: An Oral History” – shit, the title’s a giveaway. Music as a viral plague, community as the echo chamber that cranks it to lethal. Pieced-together voices build a legend, then flip the switch and watch it devour everything. Files gets band scenes and how they chew up their own, and the format’s perfect for the festering wound.
“Little Horn” steals the show, kicking off with end-times carnage that reads like a “fuck you��� note to civilization. “We lit that fucker up all together” ain’t subtle, and thank Satan for that. Lucifer shows up with his smarmy pitch about fate, the girls tell him to cram it, and they strut off into the sunset. I straight-up cackled and maybe threw a fist in the air like a dork.
Originality? Files loots the old reliquaries and archives, then tags her own graffiti all over ’em with a can of spray paint dipped in blood. Even nods to familiar tropes get twisted until they’re wrong in the most righteous way. This collection’s like a hymnbook defaced by a ragey choir dropout who swiped the sacristy blade.
Pacing’s mostly slow burn, the kind that singes your eyebrows before melting the whole altar. A few spots linger for atmosphere, but when the atmosphere’s gasoline fumes and whispered incantations, who’s bitching? The drop hits hard – “Hagstone” morphs from dusty scholarship to full-on possession by artifact provenance. Nasty trick, beautifully pulled.
Characters aren’t just robed extras; they’re mouthy, flawed humans with spines. In “Little Horn,” the Lucifer banter’s hilarious heresy that still packs an emotional punch. The script-rejection feels like a raw character moment before it goes cosmic. That’s writing that sticks the landing.
Scare factor? Plenty of “oh fuck” dread mixed with awe-struck wonder. The book’s séance vibe left me twitchy, like I’d stared into a mirror too long and something stared back. “We lit that fucker up” is metal as hell and genuinely chilling – fear’s in the fallout, the sticky choices that cling.
Style’s lyrical but not prissy, funny without dulling the edge. Files is a prose wizard with a sadistic grin and a prankster’s heart. Sentences throb like veins; images linger like stains. If flowery horror makes you gag, steer clear – this ain’t your pew.
At its rotten core, the collection keeps probing: Who names you? Who scripts your ass? Who profits off your agony? “Hagstone” gnaws at ownership till it bleeds – film rights, visions, audiences. Spoiler: Not the dickheads in charge. The hagstone’s your ticket to transformative peeping. In “Little Horn,” Lucifer dangles the crown and the playbook; the girls flip him off. Choice is the real blasphemy, refusal the holiest act. Apocalypse? Optional. Destiny? Corporate bullshit. Consent? Your secret shiv.
TL;DR: A savage, stunning batch of folk-occult yarns about power grabs, self-naming, and DIY doomsdays. Slow simmers to brutal blasts, voiced like a choir shoved through a grinder. Unmistakably badass. Buy it, you coward.
Recommended for: Choir geeks hexing in harmony. Archivists treating emails like spellbooks. Ex-altar servers with sticky fingers on the dagger. Anyone who hears B-flat minor and thinks, “Time to summon the beast.”
Not recommended for: Wusses who think séances are just candles and chill vibes. Readers who puke at salt lines, chalk doodles, or “we lit that fucker up.” Cat haters, crossroads avoiders, or free-will deniers. Lucifer fanboys who like their fate served mushy.
Gemma Files has been slinging nightmare fuel across the page for damn near two decades, ever since she kicked off her career in the late ’90s with short stories that clawed their way into anthologies and magazines like they owned the joint. This Canadian powerhouse isn’t just a horror writer; she’s a journalist who’s dissected pop culture guts for outlets like Rue Morgue and Tor.com, and a film critic who’s probably watched more shitty B-movies than you’ve had hot dinners. Her debut novel, Experimental Film, didn’t just win the Shirley Jackson Award for its ghostly mindfuckery, it also snagged the Sunburst Award for excellence in Canadian speculative fiction. And let’s not forget she’s a two-time Bram Stoker Award champ, which basically means the horror bigwigs keep handing her trophies because she shows up with a chainsaw where others bring butter knives. She’s got five novels under her belt, plus a slew of poetry and comics that prove she’s as versatile as she is vicious. Files isn’t some flash-in-the-pan; she’s the real deal, a genre vet who’s been influencing the next wave of creeps while keeping her day job in the shadows.
Little Horn is like a fucked-up curio cabinet stuffed with ritual junk that vibrates with bad juju the second you crack it open. You’ve got fourteen stories here, each kicking off with its own creepy illustrated title page courtesy of Files herself, and a table of contents that sounds like a deranged witch’s Spotify playlist. The whole damn thing oozes craftsmanship and that kind of swagger that says, “Yeah, I hexed this book myself.”
Files writes like a choir director who’s secretly packing a sacrificial dagger and using it to conduct the symphony from hell. We’re talking blood, salt, chalk, bones, herbs, relics that might chomp your fingers off, and tunes that curse you just for humming along. She doesn’t treat rituals like some Halloween costume bullshit. Nah, it’s a verb, an action that turns bodies into war zones and trophies. Power’s the asshole script trying to dictate your identity, and her narrators are always eyeballing it like, “Do I gotta follow this crap, or can I torch it and scribble my own ending?”
Right out the gate, the voice grabs you by the throat. “The Sanguintalist” drops you into the world of a forensic necromancer who reads blood like it’s yesterday’s newspaper, and the tone is so casually gross you can practically taste the metallic tang and feel the cold slab under your ass. “Accidents and murders, that’s my meat” – boom, that’s her thesis, and it’s daring you to keep reading, you sick fuck.
“Hagstone” is a sneaky bastard that starts as a deep dive into restoring a lost 1975 folk-horror flick, complete with bitchy rants about ownership, dusty archives, and who the hell gets to gawk at this stuff. Then Files veers hard into folklore 101, schooling you on hagstones, those rocks with natural holes that supposedly let you peep alternate realities and maybe turn you into something else in the process. It’s brainy as shit without feeling like a lecture hall snoozefest, and it leaves you with that creepy itch, like you’ve spied on something that wasn’t meant for your prying eyes.
The title story, “Little Horn,” is a blasphemous road trip anthem starring two badass girls, one who’s just crowned herself queen of her own apocalypse, and a Lucifer who strolls into a bombed-out diner looking like a crossroads demon in a cheap pork-pie hat. The vibe bounces from savage beatdowns to flirty philosophy, then slams down on consent and free will like a holy water balloon full of piss. The killer line? That flat-out refusal: “I don’t have to fight you. I never did.” It’s the ultimate antimyth grenade, and it explodes all over your expectations.
Diving deeper: “The Sanguintalist” follows this blue-collar necromancer punching the clock, decoding crimes from the crimson splatter while setting boundaries like a burnout freelancer who’s seen one too many corpses twitch. The opener’s disgustingly delightful, packed with insect eggs, decay timers, and a voice that treats homicide like spreadsheet data. Procedural horror with a poet’s bitter guts spilled everywhere.
“Hagstone” masquerades as an academic file on lost films and distribution fuckery, then twists into a goddamn summoning ritual. Files riffs on media theory laced with folk horror, whispering that every film restoration is basically casting a spell. Flip the stone, peer through the hole, and bam – you’re seeing the future, or maybe it’s seeing you.
“Bb Minor, or the Suicide Choir: An Oral History” – shit, the title’s a giveaway. Music as a viral plague, community as the echo chamber that cranks it to lethal. Pieced-together voices build a legend, then flip the switch and watch it devour everything. Files gets band scenes and how they chew up their own, and the format’s perfect for the festering wound.
“Little Horn” steals the show, kicking off with end-times carnage that reads like a “fuck you��� note to civilization. “We lit that fucker up all together” ain’t subtle, and thank Satan for that. Lucifer shows up with his smarmy pitch about fate, the girls tell him to cram it, and they strut off into the sunset. I straight-up cackled and maybe threw a fist in the air like a dork.
Originality? Files loots the old reliquaries and archives, then tags her own graffiti all over ’em with a can of spray paint dipped in blood. Even nods to familiar tropes get twisted until they’re wrong in the most righteous way. This collection’s like a hymnbook defaced by a ragey choir dropout who swiped the sacristy blade.
Pacing’s mostly slow burn, the kind that singes your eyebrows before melting the whole altar. A few spots linger for atmosphere, but when the atmosphere’s gasoline fumes and whispered incantations, who’s bitching? The drop hits hard – “Hagstone” morphs from dusty scholarship to full-on possession by artifact provenance. Nasty trick, beautifully pulled.
Characters aren’t just robed extras; they’re mouthy, flawed humans with spines. In “Little Horn,” the Lucifer banter’s hilarious heresy that still packs an emotional punch. The script-rejection feels like a raw character moment before it goes cosmic. That’s writing that sticks the landing.
Scare factor? Plenty of “oh fuck” dread mixed with awe-struck wonder. The book’s séance vibe left me twitchy, like I’d stared into a mirror too long and something stared back. “We lit that fucker up” is metal as hell and genuinely chilling – fear’s in the fallout, the sticky choices that cling.
Style’s lyrical but not prissy, funny without dulling the edge. Files is a prose wizard with a sadistic grin and a prankster’s heart. Sentences throb like veins; images linger like stains. If flowery horror makes you gag, steer clear – this ain’t your pew.
At its rotten core, the collection keeps probing: Who names you? Who scripts your ass? Who profits off your agony? “Hagstone” gnaws at ownership till it bleeds – film rights, visions, audiences. Spoiler: Not the dickheads in charge. The hagstone’s your ticket to transformative peeping. In “Little Horn,” Lucifer dangles the crown and the playbook; the girls flip him off. Choice is the real blasphemy, refusal the holiest act. Apocalypse? Optional. Destiny? Corporate bullshit. Consent? Your secret shiv.
TL;DR: A savage, stunning batch of folk-occult yarns about power grabs, self-naming, and DIY doomsdays. Slow simmers to brutal blasts, voiced like a choir shoved through a grinder. Unmistakably badass. Buy it, you coward.
Recommended for: Choir geeks hexing in harmony. Archivists treating emails like spellbooks. Ex-altar servers with sticky fingers on the dagger. Anyone who hears B-flat minor and thinks, “Time to summon the beast.”
Not recommended for: Wusses who think séances are just candles and chill vibes. Readers who puke at salt lines, chalk doodles, or “we lit that fucker up.” Cat haters, crossroads avoiders, or free-will deniers. Lucifer fanboys who like their fate served mushy.
November 5, 2025
This is an eclectic mix of supernatural, folk, and straight-up horror stories. While not all of the stories resonated with me, I enjoyed reading every single one. Gemma is a wizard with words, and her prose is a delight to read.
Favorite stories:
Poor Butcher-Bird
Yellowback
Little Horn
Favorite stories:
Poor Butcher-Bird
Yellowback
Little Horn
October 24, 2025
SO DARK. Damn she can write her ASS off.
December 7, 2025
Gemma Files is The Queen of short horror stories. “Bb Minor…” was my favorite. Really loved the drawings by the author attached to each story. Can’t wait for the next collection!
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