Uncanny

UNCANNY — One of Them Is Already Dead

On a storm-lashed night in the remote English countryside, Professor Earnest Grossman, a renowned psychiatrist, summons five private clients to an exclusive group session. Each has survived a horrifying, life-threatening ordeal. Each carries the scars of trauma. And each believes they are still alive.

What they don’t know is that Grossman is certain one of them never survived at all.

As the evening unfolds, the guests are guided through their darkest memories, recounting near-death experiences steeped in fear, guilt, and denial. With the help of his trusted assistant, Grossman listens for the truth hidden within their stories—the moment that will reveal which presence in the room does not belong among the living. As the storm rages outside, the line between life and death begins to dissolve, and by morning the spirit must face the truth… or remain forever trapped.

UNCANNY by Mark L’Estrange is an atmospheric horror novel exploring grief, psychological trauma, and the terror of refusing to let go. Haunting and intimate, it is a chilling meditation on revelation, acceptance, and the ghosts we become when we cannot move on.

Discover UNCANNY today and step into a night where the dead are closer than they appear.

Excerpt from the book

Melissa Sykes extracted her key from the main door to her Victorian building and placed it in her mouth so that she could retrieve her suitcases from the stoop.

As usual, it had taken her three attempts to make it turn successfully and grant her access. Like the rest of her fellow tenants, she had become increasingly frustrated at informing their landlord that the lock needed attention, only to be fobbed off with yet another promise that it would be dealt with forthwith.

Their building was a rent-controlled dwelling due to its age and cultural significance which their landlord constantly complained about and used as an excuse for not being able to afford to attend to what he considered to be the more minor repairs over the larger structural ones.

Most times it seemed a small price to pay for being able to live in the middle of London for a reasonably modest rent, but there were times, such as now, when she had her arms full, and the key refused to work that made Melissa want to scream and take her landlord to court for failing to perform his duty of reasonable care sufficiently.

Possessions in hand, she elbowed the door open, catching it with her foot as she entered so that she could slam it shut without having to relinquish her hold on her belongings.

Once inside, she stopped for a moment and took a couple of deep breaths to help calm her down.

Another negative aspect of living in the centre of town was the fact that the nearest parking space was often several streets away. Even though their council charged them a pretty price for the privilege of parking within the borough, their annual reminder came with the proviso that even with a valid permit there was no guarantee of finding a space as that same council allowed non-residents to park for an extortionate hourly charge.

At six o’clock on a Friday afternoon, Melissa had driven around the streets for at least twenty minutes before finally managing to squeeze her Mini between two badly parked mammoth Range Rovers, four streets away from her building.

Having regained her composure, Melissa lugged her suitcases, vanity case, and the plastic bag which the Police had supplied her to transport her bloody and dirty clothing home from the station in towards the lift which served the six-floor dwelling.

She managed to nudge the lift call button with her elbow and was relieved to hear the machine come to life above her. On occasion when one of her fellow tenants or their guests had not closed the gated lift doors properly, she had been forced to climb the multiple steps to reach her floor. Living on the top floor provided her with a magnificent view over the city, but on such occasions, it did not compensate for the trudge she had to endure to make her way up to her flat.