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Walking through his own house at night, a fifteen-year-old thinks he sees another person stepping through a doorway. Instead of the people who could be there, his mother or his brother, the figure reminds him of his long-gone father, who died mysteriously before his family left the reservation. When he follows it he discovers his house is bigger and deeper than he knew. The house is the kind of wrong place where you can lose yourself and find things you'd rather not have. Over the course of a few nights, the boy tries to map out his house in an effort that puts his little brother in the worst danger, and puts him in the position to save them . . . at terrible cost.
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This isn't a haunted/weird house story. It certainly is a type of ghost story, but it's also a story about fathers and sons and generational trauma and Native identity. It's one of those stories that I know is good and I felt some type of way, but if you asked me to explain those feelings were, I'd have no way to put it into words.
My next Stephen Graham Jones work to read is [b:The Only Good Indians|52180399|The Only Good Indians|Stephen Graham Jones|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1601545259l/52180399._SY75_.jpg|71431671], and I'm very much looking forward to it after this.