The Blackhouse: A Novel

“Fans of Tana French will embrace author Johnstone's skill at weaving supernatural and setting-as-character aspects into her story, and readers of Lisa Jewell will enjoy her unexpected plotting and character development. The caliber of Johnstone's writing and masterful storytelling will delight both. This richly evocative story exists at the point where love, fear, guilt, bad decisions, psychosis, and mythology collide.” — Kirkus , Starred Review “Atmospheric, thrilling, and utterly captivating . ” — Booklist “A uniquely claustrophobic and disconcerting tale with notes of otherworldliness.” — Book Riot “ Spins Norse legends, Hebridean superstitions, Bronze Age history and canny Scottish wisdom into a deeply absorbing and wildly atmospheric mystery about the dangerous brew of self-loathing, familial duty and guilt. Johnstone cleverly sets revelations, sometimes sinister, always startling, across her plot... the alchemy of place, plot and character is the white-bright light at the core of Johnstone's novel.” — Minneapolis Star Tribune “[An] eerie gothic thriller... this ghost story ultimately packs a gale-force wallop. Johnstone is a writer to watch.” — Publisher s Weekly “Read THE BLACKHOUSE with the lights on, wrapped in a cozy blanket... The early spring of the Scottish isle will chill your bones, along with the darkness of the book. It's as unsettling as the ocean in the stormy seas and as enigmatic as the Norse myths that accompany it. And the twists — oh, the twists.” — Book Reporter “Johnstone fashions a gripping narrative awash with multiple shocks and secrets. A perfect choice for a winter evening, The Blackhouse freezes the blood as it churns the brain.” —Jay Strafford, Fredericksburg Free Lance Star “Provides pulse-pounding panic.” — Popsugar “Atmospheric and compellingxa0with an excellent sense of place, this literary thriller is somehow both uplifting and heart-breaking, with some very unexpected twists!” — Catherinexa0Cooper, author of The Chalet and The Chateau “One of the most atmospheric novels of the year... cements her reputation as a rising queen of the gothic.” — Crime Reads “One of the best suspense novels of the year... Richly atmospheric, gothic, eerie, and pulse-pounding... Multi-layered and mystical, The Blackhouse will hook you, reel you in, and capture your imagination until the last thrilling twist. — Mystery and Suspense Magazine Carole Johnstone is the award-winning author of the novels Mirrorland and The Blackhouse . She lives in the Highlands of Scotland, although her heart belongs to the wild islands of the Outer Hebrides. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Prologue Prologue It wasn’t the screams he remembered most, although they crashed to shore inside the howling, furious wind and ricocheted for hours around the high cliffs above the beach. It wasn’t the storm or the roaring, foaming waves that carved great snaking wounds through the wet sand and stole its shape from under his feet. It wasn’t the dark or the flashing torchlight. Or the frantic hours of men pushing boats into the wild surf: motorboats, fishing boats, even old wooden sgoths . All to be smashed into the bay’s high headlands or hurled back onto the shore like stones from a slingshot. It wasn’t the long, tired wails of the women whose silhouettes stood in a clifftop vanguard ahead of the silver-starred inland sky. Nor those waving white arms out on the rocks, which became slower and less frequent as the screamed chorus grew quieter. And it wasn’t the wondering about which of those arms, those bobbing heads that disappeared and sometimes reappeared, belonged to his father. It wasn’t even the eerie silence that came after. The exhaustion of energy and grief and hope. The exhaustion of wind and rain and thunder and sea. It was the tide bell out on those rocks. Its low, heavy ring growing ever more muffled under the weight of water and all that time. And it was the black tower casting an invisible shadow over the sand and bay and calming waves. They were always what he remembered the most. Sometimes they were all he could think about. The tide bell. And the black tower. And knowing that every man on those rocks would never come back. Because of him. Because of what he’d wanted. Because of what he’d done. Read more