If I remember my late-90s reading diet accurately, good Richard Laymon is on par with bad Dean Koontz, and good Dean Koontz is on par with bad Stephen King. I guess I'd put The House Next Door up there with fairly good Stephen King, and might even be tempted to describe it as “Christine with a house”- except that Siddons's novel came out in '78, just as King's own career was taking off, and therefore predates Christine by a couple of years. Given that King apparently reveres The House Next Door, I wouldn't be surprised if it had a big influence on him.
There are a number of elements here that put me in mind of King, actually, from those that tend to annoy me (the overall quaintness and folksiness, for example, suggested by character names like Buddy and Pie- yes, that's actually the name of a married couple- as well as Siddons' not-very-subtle habit of instructing readers what to think of various characters as soon as they appear), to those I really like, such as the narrative structure that works so well in a few of my favorite King stories ('Salem's Lot, The Mist, Storm of the Century)- specifically, the kind of story where tension slowly builds in a tight-knit community menaced by some supernatural evil, human nature ultimately proving to be just as frightening as the supernatural threat itself.
Furthermore, on the positive side, the nature of the haunting in this novel seems fairly unusual to me. Typically we expect that a haunted house is going to be very old, at least one brutal murder will have taken place there, and the entity doing the haunting is more likely than not one of the victims. That's just your standard ghost-hunting and parapsychology. In this case, however, the house in question is brand new, designed by a young architect named Kim (who seems vaguely, unsettlingly in thrall to his creation), and built on the vacant lot next door to the residence of newly-arrived Colquitt Kennedy (yes, that's the main character's name) and her husband Walter, who have just moved to this well-off residential neighborhood somewhere in South Carolina. And there's something about the very nebulousness of the threat from this newly-constructed house (so nebulous at times that the reader might start to wonder if the threat truly exists outside of Colquitt's imagination) that is pretty unnerving, and makes it difficult to mark the limits of the evil's reach. If you were living next to a house that was possessed by an evil entity, after all, would you feel entirely certain that you were safe, just so long as you never physically crossed the threshold of that house? I don't think I would make that assumption, personally. So how far away would be safe? There's not exactly an owner's manual to deal with this situation. And unlike a lot of haunted house stories, furthermore, there's no character here with occult authority- no exorcist or medium, not even an eccentric Art Bell-type radio host- to offer even a fleeting sense that events can be understood and brought under control.
Siddons also takes her time exploring something that I've always wished more ghost/horror stories would. Namely, what it would take in our world- the one in which stories of ghosts and hauntings are a huge part of culture and popular entertainment, and in which I think most people comfortably understand them to be just that, a form of escapism- to convince a typical person that there was actually something wrong with their house or apartment. In my case, though I try to be open-minded, I think it would take a lot; but I also think that if I were truly convinced, it would be like waking up in another world. Everything would be different. Adjusting to belief in the supernatural wouldn't be easy. And whereas most supernatural stories skip past that kind of uncertainty in a perfunctory scene or two ("But...vampires aren't real!" ), the writer eager to get to the part where the characters have to band together and fight back against whatever the threat is, Siddons does a good job here of lingering in that uncertainty, exploiting its dread, even leaving a bit of doubt in the reader's mind deep into the novel. I kept expecting to become bored just as soon as a pit of hell opened underneath the house and the front door grew fangs and the characters armed themselves with holy water; but thankfully, that's not really where the book goes.
On the other hand, while I appreciated Siddons's storytelling impulse to have the other characters in Colquitt's social circle slowly turn on her due to her increasingly hysterical (or so it seems to them) warnings about the demonic house, the vitriolic nature of their anger (supposedly fueled by concern for the town's "reputation") never quite translated for me. Skepticism I could understand. Concern for Colquitt's mental health, sure. But anger? Maybe there is a larger allegory here about suburban America and the way its residents will react to anyone who seems to be interrupting their tranquility, for any reason. Or maybe there's a more conservative reading that would perceive Colquitt as warning us about the infiltration into our suburban communities of godless influences such as Communism and heavy-metal music, her neighbors sadly oblivious to these Satanic threats. Still, it didn't make a lot of sense to me. At a certain point, I told myself that I simply had to accept these characters' cultural differences, just as I do when I read about 1860s St. Petersburg society in Dostoevsky, or about the lives of Thomas Mann's bourgeois characters. But I found it even harder to swallow things like Colquitt and her husband's unwillingness to describe in detail to their friends and neighbors one particular disquieting experience they end up having in the house, an anecdote that could theoretically have persuaded their friends to believe that the house posed a real danger to the community. And sure, the experience was a little perverse and embarrassing. But you've got a freaking demonic house lurking next door to you, and you don't know what this thing is capable of. You really don't. You'd think that would be the main issue here, and that personal modesty could take a backseat. But I guess social etiquette dies hard.
This speaks to a slight difference with King, which is that King's characters tend to be, if not necessarily working class (admittedly, ~33.3% of them happen to be independently wealthy prolific horror authors with bibliographies suspiciously reminiscent of Stephen King's), then at least a lot less pretentious and class-conscious than the characters here, and therefore a little easier to spend time with. It's something I tried my best to ignore from the point early on when I realized I was actually supposed to like Colquitt and Walter (I didn't), but the attitude I feel comfortable attributing to Siddons actually plays a key role at the very end of the novel, when a certain character's susceptibility to let's just call it demonic possession is affirmed by the evidence that their parentage is questionable, and that they may not actually come from a "respectable" family after all. This is supposed to be a real ominous revelation, but it only works if you share Siddons's apparent disdain for people born into non-nuclear families. Furthermore, if anything, I would assume the opposite about possession. Isn't it almost a cliche that wealthy, "respectable" southern families harbor dark secrets and live under old-timey curses?
Overall though, despite a few complaints, this is an enjoyable horror novel with a good small-town atmosphere, written by an author with an understanding of suspense and dread. Glancing through Siddons's bibliography, however, I don't notice any other novels that seem to be about, say, Satanic children, possessed houses, killer crocodiles, homicidal classic cars, human sacrifice, cursed amulets, spooky Tarot readers, occult takeovers of small towns, television channels that are actually portals to other dimensions, hotels that are actually portals to hell, children who use their psychic powers for evil, or mutated insects dragging commuters into the darkness of the New York subway system. It's a shame. Her other books instead look like respectable high-society romances, which means I won't be reading them, but it also makes her lone foray into the supernatural a little more impressive.