“The first time I read this book, I was so frightened I hid under the bed—and read itagain.”—Lemony Snicket, author of A Series of Unfortunate Events "Thrillingly scary and impossible to put down. Don’t read it alone!" —Jonathan Stroud, author of Lockwood & Co For fans of Small Spaces and Goosebumps comes a delightfully creepy tale of a girl who must defend her family home from a babysitter with a monstrous secret! Gwen doesn’t want to admit that everything has been different since her mom died. There’s no time for all these feelings now that she has her younger brother and twin sisters to look after. Especially not after the move into their late grandmother’s creaky old house on a tiny, damp island where someone—or something—is waiting for them. Esme Laverne. Gwen isn’t fooled by the beautiful babysitter with the hungry eyes and too-sharp teeth, even though everyone else is. How does no one notice the sinister threats beneath her sickly sweet words? It quickly becomes clear that if Gwen wants Esme gone, she’ll have to handle it herself. In order to protect her family, Gwen will have to fight off terrifying creatures and literal nightmares come to life. But as rot begins to eat away at the house’s walls and Esme’s power grows, Gwen must face everything she’s been running from and embrace what she’s truly scared of before she can defeat the monster in her home. . . for good. Praise for Gloam : “The first time I read this book, I was so frightened I hid under the bed—and read it again.”— Lemony Snicket “Mackay’s debut is well constructed, gripping audiences from the very first pages as the author explores grief, terror, and familial bonds… Thrilling and chilling, with a standout protagonist. ” — Kirkus “Debut author Mackay delivers a classic tale of children’s horror that’s as chilling as it is heartfelt. ” — Booklist “The nightmare fuel that Mackay brings to bear against each of the children draws brilliantly on phobic triggers and the terror of the unknown … [The] atmospheric effects […] will keep readers up at night.” — The Horn Book “I’ve read a lot of middle-grade horror, and this is one of the boldest debuts I’ve come across. Gloam definitely lingers, so don’t sleep on it.” — My Spooky Ways on Instagram “I was hooked from page one and finished it in less than 24 hours. I devoured this book and so far it's one of my top 10 books of 2025 .” — Library Girl Reading Jack Mackay is a writer, theater-maker and horror enthusiast. Though he’s currently floating around somewhere near York, his heart is in the Midlands, in his grandparents’ creaky old house. He has written stories since he was four years old. He is also the co-founder of Griffonage Theatre, a York-based company with a taste for the madcap and macabre. He loves his family, his dog, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and K-pop. The House on Gloam Island At the bleakest edge of the world, crammed into a car that was much too small for five people, Gwen watched as Gloam Island loomed closer and closer. If she had been told a few months ago that this place would one day be her home, she would have laughed, then cried, then she probably would have punched a wall. “I’m squashed,” said Hazel. “I’m hungry,” said Hester. Hazel and Hester Clayton-­Fenn were twins, six years old and identical to the pore, dark-­haired and freckled with matching button noses. They writhed against their seat belts. Gwen was sitting in the passenger seat with her suitcase in the footwell. She was both squashed and hungry, but she was thirteen, which meant she was old enough to keep her complaints to herself. She returned her attention to her notebook, where she was writing her latest story. This one was going to be a bestseller and she couldn’t afford to get distracted. “How much longer?” muttered Roger. Roger was ten. His full name was Roger Clayton-­Fenn Junior, after their grandfather, Roger Senior, although he had died soon after the twins were born, so there wasn’t much need for the distinction anymore. With his elbows wedged between the twins’ car seats, Roger Junior glowered through his curly fringe. “Nearly there, kids,” said Henry, who was driving. It was the fifth time he’d said it in the last hour. “Nearly there, now.” The sea was beginning to tickle the edges of the causeway as Henry’s absurd little car raced toward land. By night, the road would be underwater, erasing the only way on or off the island. Not that it mattered—­Gloam didn’t get much traffic. One visitor in late autumn was uncommon. A family was a phenomenon. Hazel peered out the window. “The sea’s almost touching the road,” she said. “Don’t be silly,” said Henry, with a nervous glance at the lapping water. “We’ve got plenty of time.” But he sped up, all the same. Henry became much cheerier when they left the causeway behind for the tiny village of Gloaming. Gwen was privately relieved that his poor time management hadn’t led to their drowning. The children’s