C
Cheyenne Joy Mijdam
📍 The netherlands
I am an active book reviewer and reader. I try to read a book a day. I love reading thrillers, psychological thrillers, horror and suspense novels- preferably books with high tension, emotional depth and plot twist. My dark and twisty little mind loves a good- brain damaging, in need of therapy- after reading kind of book. I also always leave a personal, honest, raw and usually humorous review, with the focus on how the book made me feel.
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★★★★★
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ ARC Review
Legend of the Blackshore by Tamara Rector
First of all—Tamara, thank you. Truly. For trusting me with this book and for dropping me into a world that didn’t just invite me in, but locked the door behind me and whispered “you’re not leaving yet.” I didn’t want to leave. Still don’t.
Now listen. I don’t usually read books like this anymore. I used to. Back when Stephen King and Dean Koontz wrecked my childhood in the best possible way. Somewhere along the road, I drifted. And then this book came along and went, “Hey. Remember fear? Remember wonder? Remember that punch-in-the-gut feeling?”
Yeah. That.
This story doesn’t creep in politely. It kicks the door down. Page one—bam—I was there. Standing next to the boys. Jesse. Nathan. Feeling the weight of friendship, the recklessness of being young, the kind of loyalty that feels unbreakable until life tests it with fire.
And then there’s Autumn. Of course there is. The girl. The kind everyone gravitates toward. Brave, beautiful, talented, loved. The kind of girl you pretend not to envy but absolutely do. I know I did. Who wouldn’t want to be her? Or at least be near her light.
This book is dark. Not “look how edgy I am” dark—but honest dark. Children, murder, mayhem, chaos, fear, secrets that rot if left buried. Friendship that both saves and destroys. It’s messy. It’s intense. It’s uncomfortable in the exact way it should be.
And somehow—because Tamara clearly enjoys emotional damage—it also carries magic. A message in a bottle. A pirate. Suspense coiled tight like a held breath. That eerie sense that something is wrong, has always been wrong, and now you’re finally old enough to see it.
When a book becomes hard to say goodbye to, when you feel that quiet, hollow “oh… it’s over” moment—you know it earned its stars.
So yes.
Five stars.
Five majestic, well-earned stars.
Because this story doesn’t just stay with you—it haunts you a little. And honestly? I like my books that way.
Reviewed 2 weeks ago

★★★★★
First of all: thank you for this ARC. And thanks to Inside Story for casually handing me a book that made me side-eye every car, elevator, traffic light, and vaguely intelligent appliance in my house. Love that for my anxiety.
From page one, I was in. No warm-up lap. No polite introductions. Eric Keller writes in a way that doesn’t ask for permission—you’re just suddenly there, surviving alongside these people whether you like it or not. Feeling the panic. The chaos. The very real “oh, this is bad bad” energy.
Grace and Samuel? Yeah. Those two wrecked me. Equal parts heartbreak and admiration. The kind of characters that make you want to cry and clap at the same time. Together they stand, and I stood with them—even when my emotional stability didn’t.
And here’s the truly terrifying part: this doesn’t feel far-fetched. This feels possible. Near-future, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it possible. I kept thinking, what would I do? Answer: probably die early. But still. The thought experiment alone is enough to ruin your commute.
While reading, I wasn’t just watching—I was there. Fighting. Supporting. Feeling every bruise, every loss, every ounce of grief and determination. That pressure of time slipping through your fingers. That awful realization that you don’t know what you have until it’s actively being ripped away. It played in my head like a movie—honestly, this would make one hell of a series.
That said (and here’s me being annoyingly honest): the ending didn’t quite hit five-star territory for me. Like some movies, you ease into it, bond with your favorites, become part of the chaos… and then it’s just over. A little too abrupt. I also noticed some dialogue repetition—moments where fewer words would’ve hit harder.
Still? I loved this story. It’s brutal. It’s intense. Is the “technology turning on us” concept entirely new? No. But this takes it to the extreme. No motives. No villains monologuing. Just machines doing what machines do—without mercy, without reason, and without caring who you are.
I won’t say more. You deserve to experience the slow erosion of trust in your car, your smart home, and your sense of control all by yourself.
If you like feeling paranoid, morally cornered, and forced to ask how far would I go, and what actually matters?—don’t skip this book.
If you don’t like dead bodies piling up… maybe hop into your Tesla, turn the radio up, and pretend this book never happened.
You’ve been warned.
From page one, I was in. No warm-up lap. No polite introductions. Eric Keller writes in a way that doesn’t ask for permission—you’re just suddenly there, surviving alongside these people whether you like it or not. Feeling the panic. The chaos. The very real “oh, this is bad bad” energy.
Grace and Samuel? Yeah. Those two wrecked me. Equal parts heartbreak and admiration. The kind of characters that make you want to cry and clap at the same time. Together they stand, and I stood with them—even when my emotional stability didn’t.
And here’s the truly terrifying part: this doesn’t feel far-fetched. This feels possible. Near-future, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it possible. I kept thinking, what would I do? Answer: probably die early. But still. The thought experiment alone is enough to ruin your commute.
While reading, I wasn’t just watching—I was there. Fighting. Supporting. Feeling every bruise, every loss, every ounce of grief and determination. That pressure of time slipping through your fingers. That awful realization that you don’t know what you have until it’s actively being ripped away. It played in my head like a movie—honestly, this would make one hell of a series.
That said (and here’s me being annoyingly honest): the ending didn’t quite hit five-star territory for me. Like some movies, you ease into it, bond with your favorites, become part of the chaos… and then it’s just over. A little too abrupt. I also noticed some dialogue repetition—moments where fewer words would’ve hit harder.
Still? I loved this story. It’s brutal. It’s intense. Is the “technology turning on us” concept entirely new? No. But this takes it to the extreme. No motives. No villains monologuing. Just machines doing what machines do—without mercy, without reason, and without caring who you are.
I won’t say more. You deserve to experience the slow erosion of trust in your car, your smart home, and your sense of control all by yourself.
If you like feeling paranoid, morally cornered, and forced to ask how far would I go, and what actually matters?—don’t skip this book.
If you don’t like dead bodies piling up… maybe hop into your Tesla, turn the radio up, and pretend this book never happened.
You’ve been warned.
Reviewed 3 weeks ago

★★★★★
First things first—thank you Bekka for letting me read this ARC, and a special thanks to Inside Story for basically inviting me into a psychological mind-bending cluster f*ck that politely sat down in my brain and refused to leave.
Let me start with a quote from the book:
“I didn’t look away. I should have. I know that now. But I couldn’t, not then, and definitely not now.”
Yeah. That sentence right there? That’s exactly how this book works. Because I also didn’t look away. I probably should have. For my sleep schedule. For my sanity. For the part of my brain that enjoys not staring at the dark ceiling at 2 a.m. while listening to every suspicious creak my house suddenly decides to make. But nope. Too late. The damage was done.
This story is… honestly impressive in a slightly disturbing way. Every sentence feels deliberate. Calculated. Like the author knew exactly what emotional nerve she was poking and just kept pressing it to see what would happen. I found myself rereading lines, blinking twice, pausing, thinking wait… what did I just read? Not because it was confusing—but because it was layered. The kind of writing that quietly sits in your brain and starts rearranging the furniture.
And the central idea is creepy as hell when you really think about it.
What if someone slowly teaches you to become something you never chose to be?
No yelling. No obvious punishment. No dramatic villain speeches. Just silence. Little clues. A bit of affection here and there. Patience. Time.
Time to observe.
Time to mold.
Time to learn what someone expects from you… without them ever actually saying it.
Manipulation is the beating heart of this story. But the uncomfortable part is that you’re never completely sure who’s holding the strings. Who is the monster? Who is being made into one? I’m not answering that. I’m not that cruel. You’ll have to suffer through that realization yourself.
Which brings me to my rating.
Four and a half beautifully manipulative, slightly murderous stars.
I almost loved every single word in this book. Almost. At a few points the repetition made me twitch a little. But honestly? That might just be my impatient brain. I have the self-control of a caffeinated squirrel, and the characters in this book clearly operate on a much more calculated level than I ever will.
To leave you with something that captures the quiet menace of this story, here’s another line:
“Sometimes, you decide silence is safer than answers.”
And from me to you: sometimes silence protects you.
But sometimes the truth is the only thing that actually sets you free.
Let me start with a quote from the book:
“I didn’t look away. I should have. I know that now. But I couldn’t, not then, and definitely not now.”
Yeah. That sentence right there? That’s exactly how this book works. Because I also didn’t look away. I probably should have. For my sleep schedule. For my sanity. For the part of my brain that enjoys not staring at the dark ceiling at 2 a.m. while listening to every suspicious creak my house suddenly decides to make. But nope. Too late. The damage was done.
This story is… honestly impressive in a slightly disturbing way. Every sentence feels deliberate. Calculated. Like the author knew exactly what emotional nerve she was poking and just kept pressing it to see what would happen. I found myself rereading lines, blinking twice, pausing, thinking wait… what did I just read? Not because it was confusing—but because it was layered. The kind of writing that quietly sits in your brain and starts rearranging the furniture.
And the central idea is creepy as hell when you really think about it.
What if someone slowly teaches you to become something you never chose to be?
No yelling. No obvious punishment. No dramatic villain speeches. Just silence. Little clues. A bit of affection here and there. Patience. Time.
Time to observe.
Time to mold.
Time to learn what someone expects from you… without them ever actually saying it.
Manipulation is the beating heart of this story. But the uncomfortable part is that you’re never completely sure who’s holding the strings. Who is the monster? Who is being made into one? I’m not answering that. I’m not that cruel. You’ll have to suffer through that realization yourself.
Which brings me to my rating.
Four and a half beautifully manipulative, slightly murderous stars.
I almost loved every single word in this book. Almost. At a few points the repetition made me twitch a little. But honestly? That might just be my impatient brain. I have the self-control of a caffeinated squirrel, and the characters in this book clearly operate on a much more calculated level than I ever will.
To leave you with something that captures the quiet menace of this story, here’s another line:
“Sometimes, you decide silence is safer than answers.”
And from me to you: sometimes silence protects you.
But sometimes the truth is the only thing that actually sets you free.
Reviewed 3 weeks ago





































































































































































































































































































































