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Our Lord, The Worm
Carlyle, Missouri looks like any other unassuming river town along the mighty Bucolic environs, small historical districts where town legacies are kept alive, for better or worse, and a population made up of simple, salt of the earth people averse to change in any form. But when a promising new biochemical is released into that old, mighty river to help clean up a century of accumulated waste, pollution, and human hubris, things backfire, spectacularly.
Carlyle will be ground zero for change, not just on a societal level, but molecular. Biological.
As their sleepy little river town is transformed into a Dante-esque hellscape, it's up to a surly old Vietnam vet-turned biker, a new sheriff from the mean streets of Saint Louis, and a woman who has endured more than her share of domestic horrors to band together and escape, before they too, become unwilling proselytizers for the growing new congregation spawned from those old muddy
The Church of the Worm.
- GenresHorror
346 pages, Kindle Edition
Published December 12, 2025
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Displaying 1 - 17 of 17 reviews
December 15, 2025
BWAF Score: 7/10
TL;DR: Our Lord, the Worm is river-soaked eco infection horror that starts as a small town character piece and then kicks the doors in with apocalyptic body splatter. It is muddy, pissed off, and surprisingly tender, the kind of book you hand to people who like their creature features chewy with politics and actual feelings along with the gross shit.
Our Lord, The Worm by Richard Beauchamp is a Missouri river town plague novel where the monster is part parasite, part god, and part open sore in the American body. It reads like someone crossed The Blob with small town realism and then dunked the whole thing in the Mississippi during an algae bloom.
Beauchamp has been working the rural horror beat for a while, with Ozarks collections and frontier novellas that already showed a taste for dirt, rust, and bad decisions in the back forty. Here he levels up to full epic mode. You can feel that he lives out where the hills and hollers actually are, tramping the Missouri Ozarks with his wife and many pets, turning that landscape knowledge into weird, fleshy dread instead of cozy postcard shit. Our Lord, the Worm feels like the book where he says, fine, let’s burn down the whole river valley and see what crawls out.
The premise is simple and nasty. In the town of Carlyle, tucked against a toxic Mississippi, something new and ugly festers in the waters near Devil’s Bend. The town itself is a literal narrator, a sentient place talking to “little Willard,” the neurodivergent kid who wanders unseen through its streets. Around Willard we orbit Gus, a grizzled vet and survivalist, Errol, the Black sheriff who is tolerated but never truly accepted, and Linda, a woman dragging her own history of grief behind her boat. When the worm plague starts turning fish and then people into vessels for writhing “bad spaghetti,” Carlyle becomes ground zero for T-Day, an outbreak that rapidly scales from local nightmare to multi state catastrophe. The stakes are survival, sure, but also the question of what survives when the land and the river themselves are sick.
This novel really fucking commits and it commits hard to its point of view. Letting the town narrate big swathes of the story sounds like a gimmick, but Beauchamp makes it work. Carlyle is folksy, bitter, proud, and petty, like a Greek chorus that drinks Busch Light and side eyes the Baptists. Through that voice we get a sweep of local history, class tension, racial discomfort, and religious tradition, all before the first worm chews through an eyeball. Then the human POV chapters swoop down into tighter, grubbier interiority, especially with Gus and Errol, who both carry very different relationships to violence and authority. Willard’s sections hit in a different way, combining sweetness, confusion, and slowly encroaching body horror until his final transformation lands like a punch in the fucking throat.
Beauchamp’s writing is solid and often more ambitious than splatterpunk fans might expect. The prose has a rolling, river current rhythm, full of extended metaphors about soil, water, and bodies that occasionally overindulge but usually sing. He toggles between widescreen disaster reporting, claustrophobic infection scenes, and quiet, melancholy beats where people argue about bait or church potlucks. The structure, marked by day counts since exposure, gives the book a ticking clock, and the late game escalation into full national security meltdown feels earned rather than tacked on. Dialog is crunchy and lived in, especially whenever locals are bullshitting each other in diners or on boats. There are a few patches where exposition about agencies and acronyms drags, and one or two action beats feel like “movie gunfight” instead of grounded horror, which is part of why this gets docked some points instead of an all timer. But when the book is on, it really fucking cooks.
The gore is plentiful and specific. Worms thread through veins, burst from eyes and mouths, and churn under skin in ways that will make every itchy spot on your body feel suspect. The big set pieces, like the river turned mass graveyard and the outbreak statistics scrolling by while officials talk about casualty numbers higher than five thousand, have that sick, numbed scale that feels uncomfortably close to real disaster coverage. Then Beauchamp pulls you back to something intimate and awful, like Willard’s face erupting in “bad spaghetti” in front of a screaming stranger, and reminds you that every statistic is a single person’s fucked up last moment.
This is not thematically subtle, and that works. The worm is infection, sure, but it is also industrial pollution, government neglect, militarized overreaction, and the slow rot of a country that treats small towns as disposable. The Mississippi is poisoned long before the supernatural corruption swims in; the horror just makes visible what was already killing fish and people. Errol, as a Black sheriff in a mostly white rural town, becomes a walking pressure point for that system, and watching the state turn him into the face of the disaster is bleak as hell. Willard’s arc, from invisible kid to shambling vector guided by a new internal voice, hits on how vulnerable people get used as tools by forces way bigger than them. It’s muddy and sad, more elegy than victory; you close the book feeling like the river is still out there, still sick, and something hungry is riding the current.
Our Lord, the Worm feels like a big, messy, very alive entry in eco and infection horror, closer to the angry, place rooted stuff than sleek pandemic thrillers. In Beauchamp’s own body of work it reads as a culmination, taking the rural misery and supernatural weirdness from his Ozarks and frontier stories and blowing them up to a full on river apocalypse. It is not the most formally perfect release of the year, but it is one of the more distinct voices in the “the land is pissed, and so is God” corner of the genre.
A strong, wormy river epic with real heart and plenty of fucked up set pieces that occasionally sprawls, but earns its place on the shelf for anyone who likes their horror wet, angry, and crawling.
Read if you crave river mud, catfish guts, and eco horror that smells like algae and diesel.
Skip if you need minimal gore or tidy, metaphor only horror without actual worms in your shit.
TL;DR: Our Lord, the Worm is river-soaked eco infection horror that starts as a small town character piece and then kicks the doors in with apocalyptic body splatter. It is muddy, pissed off, and surprisingly tender, the kind of book you hand to people who like their creature features chewy with politics and actual feelings along with the gross shit.
Our Lord, The Worm by Richard Beauchamp is a Missouri river town plague novel where the monster is part parasite, part god, and part open sore in the American body. It reads like someone crossed The Blob with small town realism and then dunked the whole thing in the Mississippi during an algae bloom.
Beauchamp has been working the rural horror beat for a while, with Ozarks collections and frontier novellas that already showed a taste for dirt, rust, and bad decisions in the back forty. Here he levels up to full epic mode. You can feel that he lives out where the hills and hollers actually are, tramping the Missouri Ozarks with his wife and many pets, turning that landscape knowledge into weird, fleshy dread instead of cozy postcard shit. Our Lord, the Worm feels like the book where he says, fine, let’s burn down the whole river valley and see what crawls out.
The premise is simple and nasty. In the town of Carlyle, tucked against a toxic Mississippi, something new and ugly festers in the waters near Devil’s Bend. The town itself is a literal narrator, a sentient place talking to “little Willard,” the neurodivergent kid who wanders unseen through its streets. Around Willard we orbit Gus, a grizzled vet and survivalist, Errol, the Black sheriff who is tolerated but never truly accepted, and Linda, a woman dragging her own history of grief behind her boat. When the worm plague starts turning fish and then people into vessels for writhing “bad spaghetti,” Carlyle becomes ground zero for T-Day, an outbreak that rapidly scales from local nightmare to multi state catastrophe. The stakes are survival, sure, but also the question of what survives when the land and the river themselves are sick.
This novel really fucking commits and it commits hard to its point of view. Letting the town narrate big swathes of the story sounds like a gimmick, but Beauchamp makes it work. Carlyle is folksy, bitter, proud, and petty, like a Greek chorus that drinks Busch Light and side eyes the Baptists. Through that voice we get a sweep of local history, class tension, racial discomfort, and religious tradition, all before the first worm chews through an eyeball. Then the human POV chapters swoop down into tighter, grubbier interiority, especially with Gus and Errol, who both carry very different relationships to violence and authority. Willard’s sections hit in a different way, combining sweetness, confusion, and slowly encroaching body horror until his final transformation lands like a punch in the fucking throat.
Beauchamp’s writing is solid and often more ambitious than splatterpunk fans might expect. The prose has a rolling, river current rhythm, full of extended metaphors about soil, water, and bodies that occasionally overindulge but usually sing. He toggles between widescreen disaster reporting, claustrophobic infection scenes, and quiet, melancholy beats where people argue about bait or church potlucks. The structure, marked by day counts since exposure, gives the book a ticking clock, and the late game escalation into full national security meltdown feels earned rather than tacked on. Dialog is crunchy and lived in, especially whenever locals are bullshitting each other in diners or on boats. There are a few patches where exposition about agencies and acronyms drags, and one or two action beats feel like “movie gunfight” instead of grounded horror, which is part of why this gets docked some points instead of an all timer. But when the book is on, it really fucking cooks.
The gore is plentiful and specific. Worms thread through veins, burst from eyes and mouths, and churn under skin in ways that will make every itchy spot on your body feel suspect. The big set pieces, like the river turned mass graveyard and the outbreak statistics scrolling by while officials talk about casualty numbers higher than five thousand, have that sick, numbed scale that feels uncomfortably close to real disaster coverage. Then Beauchamp pulls you back to something intimate and awful, like Willard’s face erupting in “bad spaghetti” in front of a screaming stranger, and reminds you that every statistic is a single person’s fucked up last moment.
This is not thematically subtle, and that works. The worm is infection, sure, but it is also industrial pollution, government neglect, militarized overreaction, and the slow rot of a country that treats small towns as disposable. The Mississippi is poisoned long before the supernatural corruption swims in; the horror just makes visible what was already killing fish and people. Errol, as a Black sheriff in a mostly white rural town, becomes a walking pressure point for that system, and watching the state turn him into the face of the disaster is bleak as hell. Willard’s arc, from invisible kid to shambling vector guided by a new internal voice, hits on how vulnerable people get used as tools by forces way bigger than them. It’s muddy and sad, more elegy than victory; you close the book feeling like the river is still out there, still sick, and something hungry is riding the current.
Our Lord, the Worm feels like a big, messy, very alive entry in eco and infection horror, closer to the angry, place rooted stuff than sleek pandemic thrillers. In Beauchamp’s own body of work it reads as a culmination, taking the rural misery and supernatural weirdness from his Ozarks and frontier stories and blowing them up to a full on river apocalypse. It is not the most formally perfect release of the year, but it is one of the more distinct voices in the “the land is pissed, and so is God” corner of the genre.
A strong, wormy river epic with real heart and plenty of fucked up set pieces that occasionally sprawls, but earns its place on the shelf for anyone who likes their horror wet, angry, and crawling.
Read if you crave river mud, catfish guts, and eco horror that smells like algae and diesel.
Skip if you need minimal gore or tidy, metaphor only horror without actual worms in your shit.
Read
December 26, 2025“Our Lord, The Worm” by Richard Beauchamp is an eco horror story set in a small Missouri river town facing a terrible infection. The town itself narrates its demise, revealing the lives of townsfolk like Willard, Gus, and Errol as they deal with the horrific decay of their community.
Beauchamp’s writing is both vivid and engaging. The worm represents not just a sickness but also the harm done to the environment, making the horror feel real and relevant.
Overall, it’s a strong read for those who like horror with emotional weight, long lasting dread, and a heavy dash of body horror.
Beauchamp’s writing is both vivid and engaging. The worm represents not just a sickness but also the harm done to the environment, making the horror feel real and relevant.
Overall, it’s a strong read for those who like horror with emotional weight, long lasting dread, and a heavy dash of body horror.
February 26, 2026
Thanks to the man himself, Richard Beauchamp, for surprising me with a swell softback copy of this book, to read, review and enjoy. All views and opinions are my own.
-
As I type this, I am a short walk from “The Big Miss”, as Richard Beauchamp calls it. The scope and nature of the Mississippi, here in the Driftless Region, is somewhat different, compared to down river on the Southern Missouri side. Even so, reading a book like “Our Lord, The Worm” and being in such close proximity to the same river, that plays such a part in this book, often gave me pause whilst I was wadding further into Richard’s prose. Modern civilization has not been kind to this stretch of the river. Passing ships have long made a habit of dumping excess ballast, typically sand, impacting the channels and paths, damaging wild life and causing unseen hazards for other ships, not expecting charted, surprise sand bars. Beyond the boats and their surprise “pocket sand”, PFAS(forever chemicals) have been present in and around some if the river islands for almost a decade. The assumption here everyone carries is that the contamination is actually much more extensive. Yet another reason why we all filter our water here. I’m not even going to get into the rising salinity levels in the river due to repeated years of ice melt salt ending up in the river. This is merely a regional snapshot, a local taste of the environmental impact, being visited on these waters daily. With all that in mind, you can understand why, even though it was a work of fiction, I couldn’t help but look towards the river and wonder, as read Richard’s book .
Richard Beauchamp loves The Ozarks. This was something that was very clear to me, back when I had my first taste of his craft in his short story collection “Horror in The Highlands”. Beyond that, it’s not a simple thing to say, this man loves Missouri. I’m not talking about the political entity, that you see on a map. No, Richards love of Missouri, it’s varied topography, it’s lowlands, hollers, hills and valleys, River bottoms to Mountain Peaks. He does not shy away from that which is ugly in its history, its people, and he honors and celebrates that which is grand and beautiful. He embraces Missouri, like a loving child, embraces their mother. He isn’t the first author to be from a place, love it and write of it often. What would the history of literature be, if people didn’t write of such things before. That said, Richard does not treat Missouri with kid gloves, he doesn't sugar coat things. Reading his books, you learn quickly, that things will get down and dirty, downright grisly, right quick. The ugliness in the land, and in people is quickly laid bare. The rich crimson of blood, seeping into the soil, and out into the river.
There’s a concept found in writing, horror and otherwise, known as “Kill Your Darlings”. The basic idea is that, throughout the writing process, as a story takes shape, and characters evolve, authors must toss out supblots or elements. Narratives may have to be reshaped, because a character must be removed, or perhaps given the ax, instead of surviving to the end. How this is for each author is very personal, and I wouldn’t even attempt to guess what that looked like in regards to “Our Lord, The Worm”. When an entire river side community is “given the business”, so to speak, perhaps it’s pointless to ponder, at what point the author was forced to make the literary equivalent of “Sophie’s Choice.” With Carlyle Missouri, Richard has created a riverside town, that feels grounded, real. It’s a place, where people have a certain way of doing things. Where the amount of unspoken history, bad blood, and ugly secrets, could fill a library. If you have lived in small communities, you’ll probably know exactly what I mean. If You want something that purely focuses on such things, go watch “The Last Picture Show” or read some of Edgar Lee Masters “A Spoon River Anthology”. This is a Richard Beauchamp story, and everything is about to go to hell. He shows us, right quick, that peoples inner ugliness, and their capacity for monstrous Hubris, can mutate, evolve, into something truly terrifying. It’s a reminder how short the distance truly is from civilization to unhinged beast. Every time I thought, perhaps, things couldn’t get worse, I was proven very wrong. Our Lord, The Worm, will split you wide open, crush your heart, and scatter your senses. What Nick Cutter did with youth, innocence and the Atlantic, in ‘The Troop’, Richard cranks up, bringing it to bare on an entire town along the Mississippi. Creature Feature moves are on full display in this book, as well. Fans of Chuck Russel’s 1988 remake of the blob and either iteration of the film “The Crazies” will feel right at home with this book.
As militarization here in the states expands, Corporations greedily sacrifice natural resources and the future itself, to the feed the death cult of Capitalism ...as the communities effected struggle to maintain bonds, and survive. Amidst all this, Richard Beauchamp invites us to pause, look deep, and consider what are capable of, what we are willing to accept, to become, to believe.
As that famous tagline on the Film Poster for Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre asks :
“Who will survive, and what will be left of them?”
-
As I type this, I am a short walk from “The Big Miss”, as Richard Beauchamp calls it. The scope and nature of the Mississippi, here in the Driftless Region, is somewhat different, compared to down river on the Southern Missouri side. Even so, reading a book like “Our Lord, The Worm” and being in such close proximity to the same river, that plays such a part in this book, often gave me pause whilst I was wadding further into Richard’s prose. Modern civilization has not been kind to this stretch of the river. Passing ships have long made a habit of dumping excess ballast, typically sand, impacting the channels and paths, damaging wild life and causing unseen hazards for other ships, not expecting charted, surprise sand bars. Beyond the boats and their surprise “pocket sand”, PFAS(forever chemicals) have been present in and around some if the river islands for almost a decade. The assumption here everyone carries is that the contamination is actually much more extensive. Yet another reason why we all filter our water here. I’m not even going to get into the rising salinity levels in the river due to repeated years of ice melt salt ending up in the river. This is merely a regional snapshot, a local taste of the environmental impact, being visited on these waters daily. With all that in mind, you can understand why, even though it was a work of fiction, I couldn’t help but look towards the river and wonder, as read Richard’s book .
Richard Beauchamp loves The Ozarks. This was something that was very clear to me, back when I had my first taste of his craft in his short story collection “Horror in The Highlands”. Beyond that, it’s not a simple thing to say, this man loves Missouri. I’m not talking about the political entity, that you see on a map. No, Richards love of Missouri, it’s varied topography, it’s lowlands, hollers, hills and valleys, River bottoms to Mountain Peaks. He does not shy away from that which is ugly in its history, its people, and he honors and celebrates that which is grand and beautiful. He embraces Missouri, like a loving child, embraces their mother. He isn’t the first author to be from a place, love it and write of it often. What would the history of literature be, if people didn’t write of such things before. That said, Richard does not treat Missouri with kid gloves, he doesn't sugar coat things. Reading his books, you learn quickly, that things will get down and dirty, downright grisly, right quick. The ugliness in the land, and in people is quickly laid bare. The rich crimson of blood, seeping into the soil, and out into the river.
There’s a concept found in writing, horror and otherwise, known as “Kill Your Darlings”. The basic idea is that, throughout the writing process, as a story takes shape, and characters evolve, authors must toss out supblots or elements. Narratives may have to be reshaped, because a character must be removed, or perhaps given the ax, instead of surviving to the end. How this is for each author is very personal, and I wouldn’t even attempt to guess what that looked like in regards to “Our Lord, The Worm”. When an entire river side community is “given the business”, so to speak, perhaps it’s pointless to ponder, at what point the author was forced to make the literary equivalent of “Sophie’s Choice.” With Carlyle Missouri, Richard has created a riverside town, that feels grounded, real. It’s a place, where people have a certain way of doing things. Where the amount of unspoken history, bad blood, and ugly secrets, could fill a library. If you have lived in small communities, you’ll probably know exactly what I mean. If You want something that purely focuses on such things, go watch “The Last Picture Show” or read some of Edgar Lee Masters “A Spoon River Anthology”. This is a Richard Beauchamp story, and everything is about to go to hell. He shows us, right quick, that peoples inner ugliness, and their capacity for monstrous Hubris, can mutate, evolve, into something truly terrifying. It’s a reminder how short the distance truly is from civilization to unhinged beast. Every time I thought, perhaps, things couldn’t get worse, I was proven very wrong. Our Lord, The Worm, will split you wide open, crush your heart, and scatter your senses. What Nick Cutter did with youth, innocence and the Atlantic, in ‘The Troop’, Richard cranks up, bringing it to bare on an entire town along the Mississippi. Creature Feature moves are on full display in this book, as well. Fans of Chuck Russel’s 1988 remake of the blob and either iteration of the film “The Crazies” will feel right at home with this book.
As militarization here in the states expands, Corporations greedily sacrifice natural resources and the future itself, to the feed the death cult of Capitalism ...as the communities effected struggle to maintain bonds, and survive. Amidst all this, Richard Beauchamp invites us to pause, look deep, and consider what are capable of, what we are willing to accept, to become, to believe.
As that famous tagline on the Film Poster for Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre asks :
“Who will survive, and what will be left of them?”
May 15, 2026
Eeeww! I feel like I need a shower after that one!
As always, Beauchamp’s writing is as masterfully worded as his previous works, perhaps even more so with this eco horror titan.
Love the characters, especially Gus, who, I suppose, is meant to be unlikable in a sense, but, for me, those are the best characters because they’re the most real.
As far as the story, great concept (as disgusting as it is), and I think revolving it around a small town was the right choice. And I guess it’s scary in a way because, though I can’t say that this particular situation WOULD ever happen, it’s not far off from what COULD happen.
Other than that, definitely recommend the book, especially for disciples Stephen King, which to me, this seems to be fairly influenced by, although, Beauchamp, you certainly have your own voice, you redneck poet, you. Keep doing what you’re doing…
As always, Beauchamp’s writing is as masterfully worded as his previous works, perhaps even more so with this eco horror titan.
Love the characters, especially Gus, who, I suppose, is meant to be unlikable in a sense, but, for me, those are the best characters because they’re the most real.
As far as the story, great concept (as disgusting as it is), and I think revolving it around a small town was the right choice. And I guess it’s scary in a way because, though I can’t say that this particular situation WOULD ever happen, it’s not far off from what COULD happen.
Other than that, definitely recommend the book, especially for disciples Stephen King, which to me, this seems to be fairly influenced by, although, Beauchamp, you certainly have your own voice, you redneck poet, you. Keep doing what you’re doing…
December 23, 2025
Thank you to the author for providing a review copy.
As this will be one of my final books of the year, 2025 is definitely going out on a high note. Several of my favorite horror tropes combine for one helluva wild ride. This is eco horror that is built on a truly disturbing premise, to say nothing of the pretty intense body horror. Richard Beauchamp has written characters that could easily fall into stereotypes, but instead we get fully realized, morally grey characters with depth. And really, those characters are what make the book so good. 4.5 stars
As this will be one of my final books of the year, 2025 is definitely going out on a high note. Several of my favorite horror tropes combine for one helluva wild ride. This is eco horror that is built on a truly disturbing premise, to say nothing of the pretty intense body horror. Richard Beauchamp has written characters that could easily fall into stereotypes, but instead we get fully realized, morally grey characters with depth. And really, those characters are what make the book so good. 4.5 stars
Review of advance copy received from Author
Richard Beauchamp is quickly becoming a must-read author for me, so when I saw he had a new novel coming out this December, it felt like Christmas had come early. This was no lump of coal in my stocking, fortunately - instead, I unwrapped a late addition to my best of 2025 list.
Set in Carlyle, a small Missouri river town, Our Lord, The Worm initially takes some time to let us meet some of the local residents. We meet Gus, a Vietnam veteran involved with the sketchier side of the local motorcycle club; Linda, a victim of domestic abuse who made a deal with the devil to escape her situation; Errol, a Black sheriff protecting a town that doesn't want him there; and Willard, a mute teenager who is dismissed by those close to him but may just know more than he's letting on. It doesn't take long before the introductions are over and the story kicks into the next gear. A new biochemical is introduced to the river to clean it up but soon backfires. Carlyle becomes the centre of a new, dramatic change, and our protagonists are soon isolated and left in a fight for their survival.
While very different in tone and execution, I couldn't help but be reminded of Under The Dome – we follow a group of residents isolated in their own town, with something vast and dangerous looming. I love the kind of story that allows its location to feel like a character itself and those that show the complex relationships of the people within it. Friends, enemies, those with a secret together, and those with a mutual contempt - all brought together and being forced to unite under peril - I never get bored of those tropes. Beauchamp executes them perfectly here, with tension created just as much from the potential interpersonal powder kegs as it is from the external threat facing Carlyle.
That brings us to The Church Of The Worm. When the already fanatically religious residents begin to be affected by the newly introduced biochemical, things quickly escalate and create a twisted new belief system. If you like wince-inducing body horror, terrifying parasitic infections, and general bug and creature horror, this is the book for you. Beauchamp's flair for vivid descriptions is used to its fullest here, with some genuinely stomach-churning moments.
Our Lord, The Worm is an easy recommendation for any fan of complex characters, fast pacing, some brutal body horror and small-town, isolated locations. If you're looking for a great new read to finish 2025 with, this is a great option.
Set in Carlyle, a small Missouri river town, Our Lord, The Worm initially takes some time to let us meet some of the local residents. We meet Gus, a Vietnam veteran involved with the sketchier side of the local motorcycle club; Linda, a victim of domestic abuse who made a deal with the devil to escape her situation; Errol, a Black sheriff protecting a town that doesn't want him there; and Willard, a mute teenager who is dismissed by those close to him but may just know more than he's letting on. It doesn't take long before the introductions are over and the story kicks into the next gear. A new biochemical is introduced to the river to clean it up but soon backfires. Carlyle becomes the centre of a new, dramatic change, and our protagonists are soon isolated and left in a fight for their survival.
While very different in tone and execution, I couldn't help but be reminded of Under The Dome – we follow a group of residents isolated in their own town, with something vast and dangerous looming. I love the kind of story that allows its location to feel like a character itself and those that show the complex relationships of the people within it. Friends, enemies, those with a secret together, and those with a mutual contempt - all brought together and being forced to unite under peril - I never get bored of those tropes. Beauchamp executes them perfectly here, with tension created just as much from the potential interpersonal powder kegs as it is from the external threat facing Carlyle.
That brings us to The Church Of The Worm. When the already fanatically religious residents begin to be affected by the newly introduced biochemical, things quickly escalate and create a twisted new belief system. If you like wince-inducing body horror, terrifying parasitic infections, and general bug and creature horror, this is the book for you. Beauchamp's flair for vivid descriptions is used to its fullest here, with some genuinely stomach-churning moments.
Our Lord, The Worm is an easy recommendation for any fan of complex characters, fast pacing, some brutal body horror and small-town, isolated locations. If you're looking for a great new read to finish 2025 with, this is a great option.
December 31, 2025
Welp. What an incredibly bleak and dystopian story of disturbing body horror, heartbreaking heroics, and small town claustrophobia! Stunningly detailed, brimming with a sense of place, choking on an atmosphere of dread and drowning in escalating tension, it reads like the witness report from hell: the things witnessed by the main characters, the horrors they experienced first hand - the people of the small river town of Carlyle, Missouri never knew what hit 'em!
With strong "The Mist" vibes (or "Under The Dome," or any other equally brilliant tale of friends and enemies forced to work together against the unknown, their very survival at stake otherwise), "Our Lord, The Worm" brings familiar tropes of eco-horror, rural horror, body horror and cult horror together to relate a story of epic proportions (the book is about 400 pages!): as the residents of Carlyle get infected with a parasite worm, it falls to the shoulders of Errol, the new (and not much liked) sherriff, old Gus, a 'Nam vet (and prone to day-long benders, and Linda, who's faced years of domestic abuse and survived, to protect their town from the looming disaster - in fact, its fate is pretty much sealed, since by the time one realizes what's going on, the infections have already altered the daily life of the town - to the point that even religion has been affected, the parasite giving rise to the church of the Worm.
The wild card in all this is a 19-year-old mute boy, Willard, a highly interesting character though rather hard to like (or dislike), who seems however to have a talent for connecting with the less ordinary side of things. Never fully understanding what he's witnessing, while hearing a voice he never realizes who it belongs to, Willard provides the occasion for some unsettling moments of foreshadowing and even sets the heartbeat of the story!
This is a gripping, occasionally shocking, and fast-moving story, easy to become part of one's life while reading it. A lot of the story turns feel very real, especially the way the infection is dealt with on the government level. I loved the ending as well, a bit upsetting but good to the last letter. Highly recommended!
With strong "The Mist" vibes (or "Under The Dome," or any other equally brilliant tale of friends and enemies forced to work together against the unknown, their very survival at stake otherwise), "Our Lord, The Worm" brings familiar tropes of eco-horror, rural horror, body horror and cult horror together to relate a story of epic proportions (the book is about 400 pages!): as the residents of Carlyle get infected with a parasite worm, it falls to the shoulders of Errol, the new (and not much liked) sherriff, old Gus, a 'Nam vet (and prone to day-long benders, and Linda, who's faced years of domestic abuse and survived, to protect their town from the looming disaster - in fact, its fate is pretty much sealed, since by the time one realizes what's going on, the infections have already altered the daily life of the town - to the point that even religion has been affected, the parasite giving rise to the church of the Worm.
The wild card in all this is a 19-year-old mute boy, Willard, a highly interesting character though rather hard to like (or dislike), who seems however to have a talent for connecting with the less ordinary side of things. Never fully understanding what he's witnessing, while hearing a voice he never realizes who it belongs to, Willard provides the occasion for some unsettling moments of foreshadowing and even sets the heartbeat of the story!
This is a gripping, occasionally shocking, and fast-moving story, easy to become part of one's life while reading it. A lot of the story turns feel very real, especially the way the infection is dealt with on the government level. I loved the ending as well, a bit upsetting but good to the last letter. Highly recommended!
November 30, 2025
In this almost apocalyptic novel of terrifying proportions, a small town on the banks of the Mississippi river are invaded with slimy, disgusting, hungry work like creatures.
Told from several different character perspectives, this novel is an unrelenting nightmare of body horror, eco horror, and the lengths people will go to in order to survive.
There's something in the water by Carlyle. An algae that was supposed to eat all the toxic waste and plastic, making the river useable again. But the company behind it didn't think about the mutations it could cause. And pretty soon, the town finds itself trapped by government agencies as the worm like creatures invade any orifice they can find in order to birth more nightmares.
Things are going to get bloody, gruesome, and disgusting as we read about these bodily intrusions. They're not for the faint hearted. People are not only being infected but are dying in the most terrifying way possible as these creatures give "birth".
A sheriff out of his element, a grizzled vet who is now a drug dealing biker, and a woman with a dark past must find a way to spread the word and stop not only this infection but the government forces who are trying to destroy everyone to cover their tracks.
With non stop action, horrific scenes of body horror, and a pulse pounding narrative, this book will make you think twice before going for a swim. I highly recommend it.
I received an ARC of this book from the author. This review is voluntary and is my own personal opinion.
Told from several different character perspectives, this novel is an unrelenting nightmare of body horror, eco horror, and the lengths people will go to in order to survive.
There's something in the water by Carlyle. An algae that was supposed to eat all the toxic waste and plastic, making the river useable again. But the company behind it didn't think about the mutations it could cause. And pretty soon, the town finds itself trapped by government agencies as the worm like creatures invade any orifice they can find in order to birth more nightmares.
Things are going to get bloody, gruesome, and disgusting as we read about these bodily intrusions. They're not for the faint hearted. People are not only being infected but are dying in the most terrifying way possible as these creatures give "birth".
A sheriff out of his element, a grizzled vet who is now a drug dealing biker, and a woman with a dark past must find a way to spread the word and stop not only this infection but the government forces who are trying to destroy everyone to cover their tracks.
With non stop action, horrific scenes of body horror, and a pulse pounding narrative, this book will make you think twice before going for a swim. I highly recommend it.
I received an ARC of this book from the author. This review is voluntary and is my own personal opinion.
April 9, 2026
This book starts with a unique perspective: the Mississippi River sets the stage for what is about to occur. I was immediately drawn into the tale. The book is told from the POV of 4 characters: the local Sheriff, a Vietnam veteran, a woman who has survived horrible domestic abuse, and a young boy with severe mental handicaps.
A new biochemical has been released into the river and the residents of Carlyle, Missouri have been assured that it is safe. Unfortunately, this is far from the truth.
The author has done an amazing job of making the reader feel like they know these characters. They are very relatable and I felt a great deal of sympathy for their situations. Each of them has to figure out how to deal with the horrors that they endure.
Then, you have the local religious fanatics who seem to embrace the horrific creatures that are unleashed on the town. There is plenty of body horror and you will definitely cringe at some of the descriptions!
The narrator does a great job and his pacing and voices move the book along at a fast pace. If you enjoy eco-horror and can handle some pretty gross body horror, you will enjoy this book. The author is quickly becoming one of my favorites in the horror genre.
A new biochemical has been released into the river and the residents of Carlyle, Missouri have been assured that it is safe. Unfortunately, this is far from the truth.
The author has done an amazing job of making the reader feel like they know these characters. They are very relatable and I felt a great deal of sympathy for their situations. Each of them has to figure out how to deal with the horrors that they endure.
Then, you have the local religious fanatics who seem to embrace the horrific creatures that are unleashed on the town. There is plenty of body horror and you will definitely cringe at some of the descriptions!
The narrator does a great job and his pacing and voices move the book along at a fast pace. If you enjoy eco-horror and can handle some pretty gross body horror, you will enjoy this book. The author is quickly becoming one of my favorites in the horror genre.
December 24, 2025
🪱 A Squirmy Good Time 🪱
Beauchamp is one of my favorite indie authors, and "Our Lord, The Worm" really showcases his strengths:
- Blistering Pace
- Elevated Prose
- Hillbillies Copulating With Non-Living Things
- Brilliantly Described Carnage
- Orifice Excretions
Having read nearly everything that RB has written, I'd say this one proudly stands near the top of the list. The plot isn't overly intricate... corrupt gubment, avoidable ecological disaster, and uneducated yokels skinny dipping in the mire...
Where Beauchamp enhances the tale is through authentic dialogue, morally grey characters & horrific body horror (seriously... 😳) I don't think any new ground is tread here, but it still felt fresh & exciting. A few of the set pieces (flooded town, raging river) really helped create an immersive story.
If you prefer your horror southern-fried with a side of sloughed off flesh... "Our Lord, The Worm" is likely a winner for you... you just won't want spaghetti for a little while after you turn the last page. 🍝
Beauchamp is one of my favorite indie authors, and "Our Lord, The Worm" really showcases his strengths:
- Blistering Pace
- Elevated Prose
- Hillbillies Copulating With Non-Living Things
- Brilliantly Described Carnage
- Orifice Excretions
Having read nearly everything that RB has written, I'd say this one proudly stands near the top of the list. The plot isn't overly intricate... corrupt gubment, avoidable ecological disaster, and uneducated yokels skinny dipping in the mire...
Where Beauchamp enhances the tale is through authentic dialogue, morally grey characters & horrific body horror (seriously... 😳) I don't think any new ground is tread here, but it still felt fresh & exciting. A few of the set pieces (flooded town, raging river) really helped create an immersive story.
If you prefer your horror southern-fried with a side of sloughed off flesh... "Our Lord, The Worm" is likely a winner for you... you just won't want spaghetti for a little while after you turn the last page. 🍝
December 13, 2025
Good golly, Beauchamp is a deftly handed wordsmith. The first interlude is a masterpiece, both from the unique POV and the diction that is somehow realistically gritty and poetic at the same time. I feel like I could read a whole novel from that viewpoint alone.
As I read, it just kept getting better. There’s no filler here, every chapter fleshing out the town (and the horrors) more and more.
The horror: I hesitate to even try to give it a subgenre — plus, I feel like that would give unnecessary spoilers. But there’s fear, trauma, disgust and that dread of inevitability.
I expected to hate Gus: his character at the start seemed to have all the makings of the type of guys (or people) I can’t stand. But with each of his chapters, I saw more and more past my own personal biases and jeebus, I just love this guy.
——
I received an advance review copy for free, and I am leaving this review voluntarily.
As I read, it just kept getting better. There’s no filler here, every chapter fleshing out the town (and the horrors) more and more.
The horror: I hesitate to even try to give it a subgenre — plus, I feel like that would give unnecessary spoilers. But there’s fear, trauma, disgust and that dread of inevitability.
I expected to hate Gus: his character at the start seemed to have all the makings of the type of guys (or people) I can’t stand. But with each of his chapters, I saw more and more past my own personal biases and jeebus, I just love this guy.
——
I received an advance review copy for free, and I am leaving this review voluntarily.
April 20, 2026
Richard Beauchamp's skills really shines in this eco horror tale, displaying a strong southern voice in which fans of Ronald Kelly and Joe Lansdale will find pleasing. Our Lord, the Worm starts with the perspective of a small infected town, that introduces us to all of our main players, before jumping right into the terror that's invading its soil. Every character in this story is very well written and breathes right off the page, while Beauchamp shifts perspectives effortlessly, like a redneck Peter Straub. The prose are crisp and the pacing is perfect, and I couldn't get enough of this book. Easily one of my favorite reads of the year.
March 13, 2026
Three thought review:
What I liked: Very interesting premise. Well-developed characters I could identify with. Analogizing the I'm a midwesterner, it is always nice to see books set in my locale in places I recognize. Analogizing what the worms did with what fundamentalism does was excellent.
What I didn't like: Not much! A couple spelling errors, but it didn't detract from the story.
What I'll take away: Don't swim in the Mississippi river, fellers. And keep some fent on hand for emergencies.
What I liked: Very interesting premise. Well-developed characters I could identify with. Analogizing the I'm a midwesterner, it is always nice to see books set in my locale in places I recognize. Analogizing what the worms did with what fundamentalism does was excellent.
What I didn't like: Not much! A couple spelling errors, but it didn't detract from the story.
What I'll take away: Don't swim in the Mississippi river, fellers. And keep some fent on hand for emergencies.
January 15, 2026
If you loved The Troop by Nick Cutter you should read this... its better
Yet another masterpiece by Beauchamp. Since the first book I read by him I've loved Beauchamp's Ozark horror that shows that people can be both bad and good.
Our Lord, The Worm is a fantastic blend of eco horror and body horror in a small isolated town on Mississippi's banks. Three unlikely people have to band together to confront the evil that is invading their town and they all react in very human ways.
Yet another masterpiece by Beauchamp. Since the first book I read by him I've loved Beauchamp's Ozark horror that shows that people can be both bad and good.
Our Lord, The Worm is a fantastic blend of eco horror and body horror in a small isolated town on Mississippi's banks. Three unlikely people have to band together to confront the evil that is invading their town and they all react in very human ways.
December 9, 2025
This was a good story that is written from different perspectives. Once I read about the worms, I felt gross. I spent part of the story trying to remember the movie with the worms, then I remembered it. The Strain!!! Willard had me feeling sorry for him at different times throughout the story. I sat thinking that this could be a true story with cover ups everywhere.
January 31, 2026
Excellent Eco/Body Horror. Riveting prose. Three great characters in Gus, Linda and Errol.
Highly recommended.
Highly recommended.
April 22, 2026
If you like creepy, Cosmic Body Horror Than This Book is for you! It will get under your skin and leave you squirming.
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