Holy. Hell.
Alan, Donald, Rick, Bernard and Tommy are the kind of inseparable friends that have been together since grade school, and while they have very different personalities, they are always there for each other. This picture-perfect New England portrait of male friendship gets it's first crack when a careless driver hits Tommy as he gets off a school bus when the boys are in high school. Their friend's tragic death becomes a shadow hanging over the group that the four buddies can't seem to shake off, as if this premature ending had also snuffed out something in them.
They don't grow up to be successful adults, by any stretch of the imagination: Alan lands a security guard job and never tries to move beyond that, Donald drops out of college and develops a drinking problem, Rick ends up in jail for a stint, and after a knee injury, Bernard is discharged from the Marines and winds up selling used cars to make ends meet. They lead uneventful and mediocre lives in their small, run-down coastal Massachusetts town when another tragedy suddenly shakes them up: Bernard hangs himself in his cousin's basement, where he was squatting after his house got repossessed. The remaining three friends can't help but feel guilty, as Bernard had tried to reach them all in the week before his suicide, and none of them had bothered to return his calls. The motivations behind his act seem unexplained until Rick gets a cassette in the mail, a cassette Bernard sent him just before hanging himself.
On that tape, Bernard serves his old friends some really harsh truths, but also reveals some frightening truths about himself, letting them to wonder: was their old pall insane, or was he, as hinted, a killer? Will the changing of seasons shed some more lights on who Bernard really was, as promised by that disturbing recording? They knew he was a solitary man with a tendency to bend the truth a little bit, but did they really know him at all?
The story is told from Alan's perspective, and it is undeniable that he is a sad character from the first few pages: stuck in an unsolvable professional rut, married to a woman he loves but with whom he had no more chemistry, looking after his alcoholic friend but unable to truly help him. He is, in a way, waiting for something to happen, and when certain things come to the surface, he feels like he has no choice but to try and see what else is hiding in plain sight about his old friend's life, like figuring this mystery out might give him a sense of purpose he's never had.
Gifune creates a bleak and heavy atmosphere from the first few pages: wet New England winter, sad little broken town, pathetic characters that you feel disdain for, but that you also want to hug even if you know there's nothing that could possibly comfort those three. I was very impressed with those beautifully crafted yet horribly damaged characters: they felt completely believable, the blood and gut mechanisms behind stereotypes we know so well. They make this book much more sophisticated than a run-of-the-mill horror novel: this is not a comfortable read! I'm a wimp when it comes to that kind of stuff, so I kept it for daylight hours, but it was hard to look away when time came for me to switch reading gears.
The plot is also very cleverly structured, punctuated with glimpses into a perfectly normal-seeming past, suddenly tainted by a surreal present. I found the prose vivid, almost cinematic - which made the whole think extra-creepy with some creepy sprinkled on top because I had a detailed visual of the events as I read on. This was my first book by Gifune, but it definitely won't be my last! A very intelligent and powerful literary horror novel that I enthusiatically recommended!