In the Hills Above the Gristmill follows paranormal investigator Paisley Mott into the mining town of Grey Water Ridge — where the hills might harbor a blood-seeking mythical beast running amok.
“This was the first story for her channel that required her to get on an airplane. A backwoods preacher named Hollis Grimm had emailed her about coming out to the Great Smoky Mountains to investigate a series of strange and brutal deaths.”
But be careful about using terms like ‘mythical’ around these folks, because they believe the creature that settles scores in their woods to be one of divine intervention. In fact, local churchgoers — and their leader — consider the alleged killer to be holy, and it would be hazardous to your health to speak otherwise in their presence.
“‘It may seem like a joke to the outside world, but a large part of our county’s history, and Grey Water Ridge particularly, involved that so-called mythical creature. Nearly every resident who’s been here more than a few years has a story about him.’”
Along with the feeling of isolation, immediately there’s a sense of deception in Grey Water Ridge; a subtle hint that something is amiss within the quiet confines of this old mountain town. The wrongness could conceivably be attributed to its antiquated feel caused by a resistance to growth and change, or just a classic case of neglect brought on by town mismanagement . . . or perhaps something even darker and with deeper meaning, as skillful Miss Mott digs into land records and discovers missing documents that are bound to raise suspicions.
“She was either dealing with a bona fide serial killing bigfoot, or a bat-shit crazy, redneck, preacher. Either way it would make for some good content.”
I must say that Paisley Mott is just an outstanding main character. She opens up in scenes that reveal her heart and her vulnerabilities in such a way that it would be almost inhuman not to become a fan of hers. She is endearing, incredibly well-realized, and simply a soul you will think about after closing the book. You might even accidentally find yourself looking her up online, hoping to find the link to subscribe to her vlog and enjoy more of her personality.
“Paisley was quiet most of the time. Not because she had nothing to say, she just didn’t normally feel like saying it. She instead would just silently judge everyone else. But when the camera turned on it was like she was someone else. She was strong, confident, sexy, and powerful.”
Mr. Ellis is a studied writer with a very clever attention to detail. He’s a cool crossbreed between ‘80s Stephen King and ‘90s MTV, lightly seasoned with the suspense of Koontz-comma-Dean, garnished with garden-variety trimmings of today’s social media scene.
He cooks up brief but beefy chapters that promote easy page-turning for any reading level. Each passage is meaty with meaning, for he doesn’t dawdle with his words. His cinematic approach is obvious early on, evident throughout, and virtually all of his storytelling angles are ingested easily for their very visual feel.
At first I couldn’t pinpoint the key reason why the storytelling style was so easy to read. I knew there was something comforting about it, sure, but I also knew there was backstory behind the comfort. In fact, I didn’t learn why I felt so at ease in the Author’s hands until I recognized his rhythm within an intensely executed action sequence, with evidence — if not a couple Easter eggs — perhaps collected only by another keen-eyed Koontz-reader. On a personal level, when gunfire opened up at Raven Bloom in Hyacinth’s absence, I was transported back to my earliest days of reading thriller fiction, for the taut construction of the scene made for a nostalgic treat to read.
There was a key moment early on, specifically at a crime scene in the hills, where I did wonder if the Author showed his hand too early; if not the whole hand, perhaps the dominant card. Whether or not this turns out to be the case, soon after the scene there are elements introduced that changed the dynamics and posted a stop sign in the story, effectively halting my jumping to premature conclusions.
A huge highlight is the eye-opening scene at the cabin involving the sheriff, which is orchestrated with a conductor’s finesse from beginning to end. All the way around, extremely well done. The discovery leading to a palpable sense of relief, only to be ripped away by a very unexpected turn of events. This scene could arguably be the book’s most horrific — if not signature — moment.
Simply put, this book was delicious. It’s that first drink on Friday evening after a long week of work; it’s a hot-buttered biscuit with a side of bacon on Saturday morning. It’s that lazy-day matinee with your friends on summer break, where you might’ve laughed out loud one moment and clutched your seat the next. It’s that movie you just watched last week and many times before, but you find yourself watching it again for a follow-up shot of the feel-goods.
It is all of that . . .
And it’s also my favorite read this year.
Cinematic and suspenseful, tons of fun and capped off with an especially satisfying ending, In the Hills Above the Gristmill reads like a favorite movie, with playback potential written all over it.