Excerpts Horror Read an Excerpt From These Familiar Walls by C.J. Dotson Preteen Amber ignores her family’s misgivings when she befriends the troubled new kid in the neighborhood… By C.J. Dotson | Published on March 31, 2026 Comment 0 Share New Share We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from These Familiar Walls by C.J. Dotson, a suburban horror novel publishing with St. Martin’s Press on April 14th. In 1998, desperate loneliness pushes preteen Amber to ignore the misgivings of her family, particularly her younger sister, when she befriends the troubled new kid in the neighborhood—a boy with dead eyes, a fascination with fire, and no remorse. Their turbulent relationship is brief but creates lasting consequences.Twenty-two years later, in 2020, he resurfaces to kill Amber’s parents, and is in turn betrayed by his accomplice and killed in Amber’s childhood home.After the deaths, Amber inherits the house and, in an effort to save money, moves in with her husband and two children, hoping to reclaim some sense of stability in the grief and chaos surrounding her. Instead, she finds that the familiar walls are haunted by more than just bitter memories and lockdown stress. She shifts in and out of dreamlike trances, her reflection won’t meet her gaze, and a menacing voice whispers to her from the gathering shadows. Although she tried to brush off the strange happenings as stress-fueled hallucinations, Amber is soon forced to admit that something much more real—and more dangerous—haunts her family. But Amber has deadly secrets of her own, and she must resolve these long-buried truths or lose the life she’s contrived for herself. A Secret Place May 2020 Amber made her way to the room off the hall to the garage, formerly her and Hannah’s playroom, where she’d had the movers leave her home office supplies. As Ben called the kids to lunch, Amber shut and locked the door. She turned, letting her gaze wander. If she set her desk in the corner under the window, filing cabinet and printer in arm’s reach, the room would still be half empty. Maybe she could get a small sofa, and the built-in shelves were perfect for jigsaw puzzles and books. Tightly wound muscles in her back loosened, and Amber savored a bubble of growing pleasure in her chest; her office, a space for no one else, and the quiet to work in it, all alone. The movers had left the furniture along the wall farthest from the window, and boxes filled the middle of the room. Amber shifted the cardboard stacks out of the way. When she lifted the last box, the contents within slid with a series of soft clack-clacks. Opening that one first, she found a surprising number of candles, a handful of trinkets, a little green lighter, and a small decorative mirror with an oversized, ornate frame. Amber had no plan for these things, but it might be nice to arrange them on the built-in shelves, at least until she had a better idea. She started with a candle, a vanilla-scented pillar of creamy off-white. She set it on the shelf, scooped the lighter out of the box, and lit the wick. The soothing glow heightened the relaxation of this much-needed alone time. Amber let her gaze linger for a moment on the small flame. Next, she pulled the little mirror from the box. As she turned, an impression of motion in her peripheral vision made her pause. She glanced back down at the glass, and when she blinked—was her reflection slower to open its eyes than she’d been? The impression left as fast as it had come, and she saw nothing more than her face, tired and small in the overwrought frame. Come to think of it, Amber didn’t actually like that mirror much. Rather than prop it up next to the candle, she set it to one side, face down. The next candle came in a glass jar, dark green, with three wicks. She set it next to the first, began to turn away, then paused and picked up the lighter. Eyeing her desk, considering whether she could lift it or if she’d have to drag it across the carpet, Amber touched the flame to each wick. Artificial pine scent mingled with the vanilla. Lifting the desk proved possible, if strenuous. Amber walked it halfway across the small space before she set it down, leaned over, and pulled another candle from the box. This one was pink, in a holder with beads on it, and she lit it as well and set it with the others before she finished moving her desk. Everything would be right where she wanted it. When had she last felt this content? On her way back across the room, she stopped to fish out another candle, bright red and never burned. She lit it and set it down. A handful of tealights followed. Her wheeled office chair rolled easily to the desk. She put a sculpted-wax sea turtle candle on the shelf, one she’d had for so long she didn’t remember getting it, and lit the wick. Like the desk, the filing cabinet was too heavy to move in one go. That was okay, Amber didn’t have to rush. While she paused, she lit two more candles. A smooth, shiny wax sphere in swirling, glittering shades of brown came next, but the shelf was too full. That candle went onto the next one up. She set another simple pillar next to it and lit them both. Three more tealights fit in one hand. Two thin candles in old fashioned holders went one on each end. Time to start unpacking the office supplies. First, Amber reached into the box of decorations again. She felt around, paused, and glanced in at a clutter of odds and ends. She pushed aside a framed photo of her wedding day and moved a clumsy, handmade mug from Xander. No more candles. Irritation marred Amber’s relaxation. She wanted to light another candle. The annoyance gave way to perplexity. Wasn’t it strange that she’d run out? Hadn’t she just been surprised by the number of candles in this box? Amber turned to the shelves and her last scrap of soothing calm melted away. Nearly twenty candles flickered there, the flames small but numerous enough that the room had grown warm. The tall ones singed blackening spots onto the bottom of the shelf above them. Grimacing, Amber leaned forward and blew them all out. Ribbons of smoke drifted up from the wicks and Amber stared, her mind moving slowly. Why had she lit that many candles? She retraced her actions and shook her head. The furniture was arranged how she wanted it, she’d been working until the moment before, but the details were fuzzy. Strange. “I’m tired,” she told herself, surprised by the rasp in her voice. “It’s been a long couple days and I just had a… a weird blank moment.” The wicks left the room vaguely smoky, a scent that brought Nathan Teldegardo to mind, as he’d been the summer they’d met. A smell of smoke had always hung around him, sometimes faint but never missing. All the tension she’d banished while setting up her office crawled back up her spine, across her shoulders. Her one relaxing moment, spoiled. She wasn’t ready to go out again and put all the priority back on her role of parent and wife, but it was either that or keep working in the too-hot room, trying to ignore her unease and the hint of smoke. Rubbing her temples, Amber went out to face the rest of the day with a hesitant stride. From These Familiar Walls by C. J. Dotson. Copyright © 2026 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group. Buy the Book These Familiar Walls C.J. 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