"Change the locks, bolt the windows, and say your prayers—once this haunted novel creeps inside your house, it's crawling right under your skin." —CLAY MCLEOD CHAPMAN
"Smartly written, swoony, and deliciously creepy. I couldn't put it down." —COURTNEY SUMMERS
A cozy horror following a young woman on the heels of a major breakup who finds the perfect flatshare—only to discover there’s an unwanted tenant haunting the building who will stop at nothing to reclaim the house for herself.

Becks had forgotten how much she hated apartment-hunting. After years of living with her picture-perfect girlfriend in their picture-perfect flat, Becks is single again and far too old for the couch-surfing of her early twenties. The flatshare in the Peckham Victorian on Windrush Avenue seems perfect; it’s basically in her budget, and, most importantly, it’s a room of her own free from her ex’s disapproving gaze. Plus, her new flatmates seem nice: Cress is the sort of glamorous straight girl Becks would have had a crisis over in middle school, and Niall buys Becks a pint on FIFA nights. And then there’s Jamie—shockingly nice, charming Jamie—with his long, black hair and taut, muscular forearms.

The new apartment offers Becks the fresh start she’s been craving, but she can’t help but feel as though there’s something…off about her new digs. She chalks up her pre-sleep paralysis to late-onset night terrors, but it’s harder to explain away the frigid cold and the weird, scratching noises that seem to be coming from the boarded-up fireplace in her bedroom. And then, there are the splotches of black mold on the wall that look an awful lot like handprints…

Turns out, there’s a bit of a problem with the previous tenants. Broke and dealing with an unsympathetic landlord, Becks and Jamie must push aside their fears—and their growing feelings for each other—to take down the vengeful spirit haunting their apartment before it’s too late.

Swoony and scary in equal measure, The Housemate is a page-turning, spine-tingling read, where the only thing scarier than a cursed apartment is the looming deadline of next month’s rent.

J. J. A. Harwood