I have a real affinity for stories that play with liminal spaces — places where geometry doesn’t quite make sense — so I was genuinely excited to dive into The No-End House. I was hoping for a classic haunted house tale or maybe something leaning into the psychological horror of A Short Stay in Hell.

What I got instead was a rushed story about uninteresting characters encountering midget Nazis (yes, really), dinosaurs, stolen kidneys, and Jason Voorhees. Absurd and implausible situations don’t automatically make for a compelling narrative, and here, they mostly felt random rather than unsettling.

To its credit, the book takes an interesting turn near the very end — the kind of shift that could have redeemed the arc and tied everything together — but instead it settles for an ambiguous, well-worn conclusion.

In the end, The No-End House wasn’t the eerie, reality-bending story I’d hoped for. You could easily skip this one and not miss much.