Ghost Mountain: Witches & Wanderers

I’ll admit, I approached *Ghost Mountain* skeptical of yet another ‘Southern Gothic horror’ collection, but Clevenger’s work is something rawer—less *True Detective* monologue, more backroad cautionary tale told by someone who’s seen the things they’re warning you about. Plaushin’s narration is a masterclass in restraint; he resists the urge to ham up the dialect (a pitfall in this genre) and instead lets the horror seep in through the cracks of his delivery. The standout story, *‘The Haint in the Holler,’* uses a missing persons case to explore how grief warps time, and Plaushin’s voice grows progressively more unhinged as the protagonist’s sanity frays. It’s a brilliant choice, making the supernatural feel like a natural extension of human despair. That said, the collection isn’t without stumbles. *‘Witch-Bottle Blues’* drags in its middle, leaning too hard on atmospheric repetition without enough narrative payoff, and Plaushin’s otherwise stellar performance occasionally falters with female voices—his attempts at a ‘hag’ tone veer into caricature in *‘The Bone Orchard.’* But these are minor quibbles in an audiobook that otherwise nails its eerie, lived-in vibe. The production is crisp, with no distracting edits, and the stories’ contemporary settings (a failing coal town, a meth-riddled trailer park) ground the horror in a way that feels urgent, not nostalgic. If you’re tired of horror that feels like a museum piece, this is the audiobook to play on a lonely drive through the dark—just don’t be surprised if you start checking the backseat.