In this “chilling, profound” (Josh Malerman, New York Times bestselling author of Bird Box and Malorie ) horror story based on true events, the President’s late son haunts the White House, breaking the spirit of what remains of the First Family and the divided America beyond the residence’s walls. The year is 1853. President-elect Franklin Pierce is traveling with his family to Washington, DC, when tragedy strikes. In an instant, their train runs off the rails, violently flinging passengers about the cabin. But when the great iron machine finally comes to rest, the only casualty is the President-elect’s beloved son, Bennie, which casts Franklin’s presidency in a pal of sorrow and grief. As Franklin moves into the White House, he begins to notice that something bizarre is happening. Strange sounds coming from the walls and ceiling, creepy voices that seem to echo out of time itself, and visions of spirits crushed under the weight of American history. But when First Lady Jane Pierce brings in the most noted Spiritualists of the day, the Fox sisters, for a séance, the barrier between this world and the next is torn asunder. Something horrible comes through and takes up residence alongside Franklin and Jane in the walls of the very mansion itself. Only by overcoming their grief and confronting their darkest secrets can Jane and Franklin hope to rid themselves—and America—from the entity that seeks to make the White House its permanent home. "Legitimately creepy... Recommended for fans of historical fiction with a bite, like that of Alma Katsu."-- "Booklist" "Andrew Pyper shows us the White House as we've never seen it before. Haunted. Possessed. And occupied by a demon . The Residence shows the depths of sadness and madness possible through grief. A Gothic horror story that is rich with emotional complexity and as beautiful as it is terrifying." -Alma Katsu, author of The Deep and The Hunger " The Residence is a supernatural thriller steeped in the melancholic and macabre. The kind of ghost story that will keep you up at night. A vivid nightmare of a book." --Iain Reid, author of I'm Thinking of Ending Things and Foe "Andrew Pyper's work never fails to amaze and The Residence is no exception. He is the rare writer who always manages to create a fun, scary page-turner that is also deeply literate and achingly human." --Jeff Lemire, Eisner Award-winning author of Descender and Essex County "The only thing more bewitching than a ghost in the White House is putting its story in the hands of Andrew Pyper. Herein lies the coupling of the uncanny with the all-too-real, and the glow from such a pairing lights the way to a chilling, profound reading." --Josh Malerman, New York Times Bestselling author of Bird Box and Malorie . Andrew Pyper (1968–2025) was the internationally bestselling author of fourteen novels, including The Homecoming, The Only Child, The Damned, and The Demonologist , which won the International Thriller Writers award for Best Hardcover Novel, as well as The Killing Circle , which was selected a New York Times Best Crime Novel of the Year. He lived in Toronto with his family. Chapter 1 1 For the weeks that followed the accident, Jane stayed in her bed, refusing food, weighing how to free herself from her life. She would lose herself in clouds of paregoric. She would slit her wrists with Franklin’s straight razor. She would suffer, as she deserved to. Moving into the White House was not among the options she considered. She knew her husband was trying, in his helpless way, to reach her. He wrote her the most gentle letters from Washington. He told her how much he missed her. How he grieved too, but that together they may provide some comfort to each other. It was lovely. It made no difference. Go to him. She covered her head in pillows. It didn’t stop the voice from finding her. There is one more step on the path. Only you can let me in. Even her screams couldn’t muffle its words. Open the door for me. And I can open the door for you. There was no way. It was the only way. She started out. When she reached Baltimore she took a suite in the Exchange Hotel and sent word to Franklin asking if he would come. It was the day before the inauguration. He left the capital immediately. She opened the door before he could knock. He hadn’t seen her in a number of days and was reminded she was at her most beautiful when she had time to perfect her anguish. “I feel I ought to ask if I can come in,” he said. “You are my husband. I cannot hold you.” It was a reply in which he tried to detect a trace of affection—the hold you , the possessive my husband —but no. Her tone as flat as a solicitor advising a client as to the extent of his property rights. The room was overdecorated. Too small for the gold-painted Charles X chairs and the chandelier hung so low Franklin had to duck to pass under. It put Jane at an advantage, as s