Excerpt from Hungry Ghosts by Kevin Jared Hosein, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

'You lyin if you say you aint want to see the Missus in a two-piece. I'd pay a pretty penny for that, I tellin you.' He whistled.

'Your mouth gonna get you in trouble, Baig,' Hans said, shaking his head.

'Only with Robbie. Robbie aint never covet another woman in he whole life—'

'Enjoy your weekend, Mr Baig!' Robinson cut him off. 'Be safe, Hans.' Then stepped on the gas.

* * *

In the night, a loud racket came from downstairs. Even through the clatter of rain, she heard it clear. A continuous rapping. Someone, or something, banging at the front door. She gripped onto the balustrade that shouldered the staircase, heart racing as the banging persisted. Then turned around and returned to the bedroom, making as little noise as possible. Lifted her pillow and rested her palm upon Dalton's gun.

Vishnu had a tendency to bump his head into things. The dog was going blind, which made Marlee a little nervous. She couldn't depend on Vishnu to sound the alarm. The damn dog was of no use to her bumbling about the porch and getting its head stuck between the wooden spindles. But this was too loud to be a dog.

There was someone out there.

At night, the lights of the house called attention to itself. Like the noctilucae of a secluded river. It all looked like something out of a dark fairy tale. Past a certain point on the grounds, there was a significant cleft between the light and dark. A point where the dark opened up like a whale's mouth. Where Marlee had come from, there was always something happening in the night. The echoes of a drunkard stumbling into the street. The distant washing of the sea. The echoes of affronted dogs. Cats leaping, knocking over garbage lids.

Dalton always had records playing at night. He never snapped his fingers, never danced to any of it. Marlee supposed he kept the music on for greater reasons than enjoyment. It made the house feel more populated than it was. Perhaps, she thought, he was also aware of how isolated they were. When the music came off, the silence that followed was jarring and immediate. There would be the toads and the crickets and the cicadas and the tak tak tak tak of anole lizards – all a reminder of how far they were from another human soul.

She peered out of the upstairs window. Through the blanket of rain, the porch, where he usually parked his pickup, was still in view. Still empty. She sat at her vanity, the banging downstairs getting louder and louder. The mirror showed a haggard face – eyes sunken, jaw heavy with worry. She combed her hair to calm herself. Then the banging stopped.

But there was something else now.

A light creaking. Even through the rain, she heard it.

The brush fell from her hand and the fear rose up, clutched her throat.

She paced downstairs, gun in hand. Nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw it – the door open, wavering slightly as if it had just been tampered with. Had it been open this whole time? The sound of the banging – was it the wind rattling it against its frame? Sometimes only a modicum of force can evaluate the difference between open and closed. In and out. Life and death.

She kept a cat's stare at it for a full minute, until she was suddenly reminded of the gothic allure of the night. The crickets in tandem with the toads. The stars and the clouds and the rain and the moon and all the secrets hidden in the darkness that the Northern Range overlooked. All seeming in harmony with itself. But step outside and the wolves were waiting.

She crept towards the door, each step feeling like the ground could give way. Like the very foundation that she stood on could betray her at any second. Even if that happened, she thought, she had to keep going forward. When she got to the porch, her heart jumped.

A figure in the corner.

Vishnu, his big panting mouth curved into a silly smile. The loud wind swept the rain onto the porch. Just as she half turned to the door, she noticed something on the white rattan mini-table.

Excerpted from Hungry Ghosts by Kevin Jared Hosein. Copyright © 2023 by Kevin Jared Hosein. Excerpted by permission of Ecco. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.