Fans pick 71 books like Out There Screaming

I’ll confess something to you, here and now, that I might not admit to a book club: I haven’t read this whole collection yet. Yeah, that’s right, I said it. I took this book on an airplane with me, read all the stories but one, and accidentally left it behind in my airline seat compartment for some lucky stranger to find behind the inflight magazine.

But the titular story alone had me bawling in economy class, suddenly realizing I’m an awful, awful daughter, and unless you’ve got no soul, you’ll tear up too.

This is a love-it or hate-it novel. Either you find it tiresome, or you give yourself over whole-heartedly to its unique madness. It has at its heart a film, The Navidson Record, a documentary about a photojournalist who moves his family into a pretty house and discovers that the house is bigger on the inside than the outside, and getting bigger.

As he and his friends try to explore the limits of the house, it rearranges itself around them. The film is described in the text by an old man, complete with a mountain of scholarly footnotes by a tattoo artist. But this book is also powered by a genuinely unsettling, often terrifying descent into hell. It’s a deranged funhouse of a novel that you will probably never forget. 

I could not predict this book. I love how dark and disturbing it was. It led me down a path of psychological vertigo. By the end, I had exhausted all possible predictions and guessed wrong.

The shock of the twist wrung me out dry. I’m a big fan of books that can take you on a turbulent journey and then deposit you onto uneven ground, leaving you to question your own reality. Was it all real, or was it a part of some awful, waking dream?

Gabino Iglesias has become a phenomenon in horror through a lot of hustle and plain hard work. His 2022 novel cemented his reputation as the king of border horror.

This novel follows the fate of Mario, a man broken by debt due to his family’s crushing medical bills. With a failing marriage, he reluctantly takes a job as a hitman, agreeing to do one last job hijacking a cartel’s cash shipment before it can reach Mexico.

Mario reluctantly works with his meth-addicted friend and a cartel insider. To make this dangerous endeavor worse, enter supernatural horrors that shocked me—and I am not easily shocked.

Is there blood? Of course! Gore? Plenty! Monsters and demons? Yes! You are guaranteed to lose sleep after reading this novel.

What? Another book written in the 1900s? But bear with me, friends. There’s a reason de Beauvoir’s known as the “Mother of Modern Feminism” (and life partner of “Father of Existentialism” Jean-Paul Sartre, whom she’s buried alongside though they never actually had kids together or even shared a home).

Just as a film can shock us to tears when we recognize ourselves or those we love in it, de Beauvoir’s classic showed me some unsavory parts of myself. 

V. (Violet) Castro’s debut novel, released in 2021, put her on the horror map, and for good reason.

I loved how she blended Mexican legend and culture to tell a supernatural horror story that is rich in detail, dialogue, and dark humor. The setting is a Texas wedding held on a renovated farm.

But very bad things start to happen, all seemingly tied to a legend of a 1950s murder of a Mexican farmworker. But—so people say—the woman’s death piqued the interest of the Aztec Goddess of Death, who pledges herself to the murdered woman.

Castro’s expert storytelling upends classic tropes to make this book an exhilarating and frightening literary ride that is smart and timely.

I had already sold my novel when my publisher highly recommended that I read this book, which—like my own novel—is a modern retelling of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. I devoured it in two sittings.

Tsai’s story is a biracial, queer, gender-fluid retelling that modernizes and expands Shelley’s themes of alienation and the dangers of unchecked scientific experimentation.

While Tsai explores such weighty themes as gender identity, racism, and medical ethics, there is no skimping on the horror that will haunt your dreams.

H.G. Wells’s The Island of Doctor Moreau, published in 1896, is one of his most intriguing—and frightening. Moreau has created human hybrid beings via surgical experimentation on live animals.

In Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s retelling of the Wells classic, she goes further than the original’s philosophical themes by exploring the political, sociological, and cultural conflicts that arise from colorism, colonialism, and sexism.

In a fascinating twist on Wells’s narrative, she sets her novel in 19th-century Mexico during the Caste War of Yucatán, when the indigenous Maya people rebelled against the Mexicans and Europeans who subjugated them to work their ranches and farms. 

She also centers much of her tale on Moreau’s hybrid beings. It is, quite simply, a thrilling novel that is as horrifying as it is thought-provoking.

"There is a despair that goes deeper than existence; it runs to the marrow of consciousness, to the seat of the soul."

In this brief but brilliant masterpiece, the afterlife is a (nearly) infinite library. That doesn't sound so bad, right? Just wait. With each page turn, I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into a state of existential dread. Immersive, heartbreaking, and profound, I would've been happy to stay in this hell a good while longer.

"No faces, no eyes. Not if you want to survive."

Riley lives in a lonely world where a single look drives people into frenzied violence. Stay alive by staying away from people. This state of affairs has become routine to her: "It's horrifying. Then it's weird. Then it's just inconvenient."

But she considers risking it all when a new neighbor moves in down the street. Your Shadow Half Remains is a beautifully written meditation on love, isolation, paranoia, and so much more. I couldn't put this one down.