The Caretaker is a horror novel by Marcus Kliewer and published by Bantam. It is due for release on 23 April 2026. This review is intended to be free of spoilers, but none of us are perfect. Consider yourself warned! I was provided with a review copy by the publishers. There are affiliate links at the end of this review.
Blurb
Follow the Rites…
Nothing less than the survival of humanity is at stake.
From Marcus Kliewer, a new ‘titan of the macabre and unsettling’ (Erin A. Craig, #1 New York Times bestselling author), comes a supernatural horror about a young woman who accepts a caretaking job from Craigslist, only to discover the position has consequences far greater―and more dangerous―than she ever could have imagined.
EXCITING OPPORTUNITY:
Caretaker urgently needed. Three days of work. Competitive pay. Serious applicants ONLY.
Macy Mullins can’t say why the job posting grabbed her attention―it had the pull of a fisherman’s lure, barbed hook and all―vaguely ominous. But after an endless string of failed job interviews, she’s not exactly in the position to be picky. She has rent to pay, groceries to buy, and a younger sister to provide for.
Besides, it’s only three days’ work…
Three days, cooped up in a stranger’s house, surrounded by Oregon Coast wilderness.
What starts as a peculiar side gig soon becomes a waking nightmare. An incomprehensible evil may dwell on this property―and Macy Mullins might just be the only thing standing between it, and the rest of humanity.
Follow the Rites…
Follow the Rites…
Follow the Rites…
..— / ….. / —..
Review
Marcus Kliewer’s The Caretaker is a novel that thrives on atmosphere. It doesn’t rush, it doesn’t shout, and it doesn’t rely on the usual horror scaffolding of shocks and spectacle. Instead, it builds its tension the way a house settles at night; slowly, subtly, and with a sense that something is shifting just out of sight. It’s a book that rewards patience and, while it isn’t flawless, it’s pretty damn good.
At the centre of the story is Macy, a young woman adrift after the death of her father and the slow unravelling of her life. She’s grieving, exhausted, and barely functioning when she accepts a weekend caretaker job at a remote house perched on the edge of the woods. The job seems simple enough, but the rules she’s asked to follow (the rituals, the prohibitions, the strange tasks) immediately signal that something is deeply wrong. Kliewer is very good at building this kind of creeping dread. The house feels alive from the moment Macy steps inside, and the sense of being watched, judged, or tested never really lets up.
Macy herself is a complicated figure. She’s flawed in ways that feel intentionally abrasive: impulsive, avoidant, and often paralysed by her own self‑doubt. There were moments when her choices frustrated me, but they also felt true to the version of her we’re given. She’s someone who has been hollowed out by grief and is stumbling through a situation she’s wildly unprepared for. Kliewer doesn’t try to make her likeable; he makes her human, and that’s a more interesting choice. Whether readers connect with her will vary, but I appreciated the attempt to write a protagonist who isn’t conveniently capable or narratively tidy.
The novel’s pacing is quite uneven, especially in the middle third. A few sequences linger too long, and some of the rituals begin to blur together. But once the story tightens its grip, it moves with real momentum. The final stretch is tense, claustrophobic, and filled with the kind of imagery that really sticks in the mind well after an initial reading. Kliewer takes ordinary objects and imbues them with a sense of wrongness – a colour, a sound, a gesture – until the familiar becomes quietly threatening.
The ending will divide readers. It’s abrupt, ambiguous, and refuses to tie up every thread. Personally, I found the lack of explanation fitting; horror often loses its power when over‑explained, and the lingering uncertainty here feels intentional. Still, I understand why some readers might want more clarity or closure. The book does leave you with questions, but they’re the kind that deepen the experience rather than cheapen it.
What really manages to elevate The Caretaker is its mood. Kliewer understands that horror doesn’t need to be loud to be effective. The isolation of the setting, the oppressive quiet of the house, the rituals that feel both arbitrary and essential; all of it builds toward a sense of dread that’s hard to shake. It’s a story about grief, vulnerability, and the ways we can be manipulated when we’re desperate for direction or meaning.
It’s not as sharp or surprising as Marcus Kliewer’s previous novel, We Used to Live Here, but it’s a confident, eerie follow‑up that shows Kliewer is developing a distinctive voice in psychological horror. Imperfect, yes, but atmospheric, memorable, and genuinely unsettling.
Rating: 4/5
No Rerolls 