The ghosts of our past can haunt us for years. Whether it be the memory of a loved one who’s passed on, a mistake that led to regret, or a health struggle stemming from previous trauma, the effects of tragedy can live on long after its occurrence. Horror has a long history of exploring trauma, and A.G.A Wilmot’s novel Withered is no different. Wilmot takes a look at how the citizens of a small town grapple with these ghosts, and how it affects their daily lives. Surrounding it all is a mystery and eventual reveal that rattles the community to its very core.

Withered is a delightful exploration into the secrets of a small town, the nature of loss, and how we cope with grief. The story centers around 18-year-old Ellis Lang, moving with their mother Robyn to Robyn’s hometown of Black Stone. Ellis is a protagonist with their fair share of hardship, between a death in the family, struggles with their body and gender image, and a lack of connections in their new town. The crux of the plot however, and indeed what jumps out to the reader at first, is the home Ellis and their mother move into. The house at the end of Cherry Lane, as it is referred to by the people of Black Stone, is widely rumored to be haunted. Much of the story combines the exploration of horror with Ellis’ own struggles, ensuring that the central theme of grief and loss sings throughout all aspects of the narrative. While it stumbles at times with its pacing, it manages to finish strong and deliver a satisfying conclusion.

Ellis is a non-binary protagonist, and the way the novel depicts their struggles with body dysmorphia, loss, and their own identity is one of its biggest strengths. There’s a genuineness to their story, tons of little details that offer insight into their mental space and keep the character grounded very much in our world (despite the nature of the novel). From how Wilmot illustrates Ellis’ battle with body dysmorphia and self-image, to how Ellis’ themself references said battle when describing themself to other people, these issues are given space to breathe and are properly addressed. I found myself relating to a lot of how Ellis viewed their experiences even though I personally am not non-binary. The conversations between Ellis and their therapist dotted throughout the novel are of particular note here, as much of Ellis’ introspection comes directly from these chats. One moment between the pair in particular had me nodding along in recognition, as Ellis described being honest with a new friend about their trauma as “putting all my crap out there right away and seeing if she could stand the smell.”

Wilmot’s use of the legend surrounding Ellis’ house is like a childhood  rumour on steroids, and it’s delightful to read. An experience common to many children is the idea of “neighborhood horror”, the strange or odd part of the community that everyone recognizes on some level but avoids speaking of. Whether it’s a neighbor with reclusive tendencies, a mysteriously empty home, or (in my case) a foreclosed and run down home where strange noises could occasionally be heard from, these are the types of stories that children create full on legends about. The house at the end of Cherry lane follows much of the same ideas, but taken even further. The belief that the house is haunted is not a simple fairytale, but a very real belief that much of the people of Black Stone hold. This rumor is so widespread in the small town that on move-in day, Ellis spots several people staring at them moving in, and other people their age pester them about living in the haunted house. It’s part of the mythos of this small town, a story that everyone has an opinion on. Ghost sightings and strange noises from the house are common reports to the local authorities, with some stories going even further. There is mention at one point that some hooligans tried setting the house on fire to bring it down, but that it ultimately failed, with the house none the worse for wear. It’s the classic “tall tale” of a small town done very well, and much of how the townspeople react to the oddities of their community are very interesting to watch.

Wilmot labels the book as a “queer, paranormal horror novel in the style of showrunner Mike Flannagan” and for the most part I’d agree with that description. However, where the book differs a bit in comparison to Flannagan’s works is the mystery aspect included with the horror. While this mystery of the nature of the house does drive the plot forward, it wasn’t what ultimately kept my attention, unlike with Flannagan’s works such as Midnight Mass. The mystery of the house is made apparent early on, and eagle-eyed readers will probably be able to figure out what’s going on by about halfway into the novel. What did draw my attention is the story behind the house, and how Ellis grows as they learn more about it. Much of the struggles and tragedy surrounding the house mirror Ellis’ own, both equipping them to deal with the horror and allowing them to work through the trauma they’ve endured. 

Ellis as a protagonist helps to humanize the horror within, a vulnerability that gives the book a refreshing angle. There’s a bit of “slice of life” to the story, watching Ellis get their first job, make friends, and even experience love for the first time. This is ultimately a positive, but has its issues. Wilmot’s writing style tends to focus heavily on description at times, and this combined with the slow pace of the book’s first few chapters means things feel a bit sluggish. Once the novel finds its footing however, and the pacing issues largely go away, what we’re left with is a compelling character arc for our protagonist.

But this is still meant to be a horror tale, and fans of body horror, fear not! While not always at the forefront, there are definitely some gruesome images depicted within the novel, and Wilmot is not afraid to make the reader’s stomach queasy. One scene in particular had me grimacing as I read, turning my stomach into knots as I learned just how dense with tissue the human heart is. It’s sure to make readers cringe in a good way.

The focus on the paranormal is perhaps where the book shines the most, and it takes the forefront far more than the more overt style of horror. The book is filled with strange little coincidences, little curiosities that make themselves more apparent later on, and questions about the nature of life and death. I really enjoyed reading through the ways the paranormal affects everyone in the novel, and how many have learned to live with these strange occurrences. There are no easy answers to be found in these pages, no simple solutions to the events described, and much of the paranormal drama at the heart of the book’s conflict feels like that of another world, not meant to be completely understood by human minds. Ellis and his friend come up with their own answers, but even they are not sure if those are the right ones. All they can do is accept what happens, and find a way to live with it, something that very much mirrors Ellis’ journey and how they begin to cope with their own trauma.

Perhaps fittingly, there are no easy answers to the trauma found in Withered, nor clean ones. Healing is a messy, uncomfortable process, and Withered makes no attempt to hide or undercut this fact. It’s a process that forces us to look deep inside and ask ourselves the questions we might already know the answers to. It involves a level of acceptance of our flaws that can be scary at times, but necessary all the same. Ellis’ journey demonstrates this in a compelling way, as it’s this realization that allows them to heal and help others heal on their journeys.

“Sometimes… sometimes you think a thing’s a threat, a danger, like it’s got you trapped. Like it’s not what you want, not exactly, but… you’re wrong to treat it like it’s your enemy. You’re wrong, because it’s… it’s actually protecting you. It’s keeping you strong, it’s… keeping you alive.” – Ellis Lang