Bunny | SE Tolsen

t's 2018, and Silas and Rosa have just sold their first script. The only problem is that before they can get any money for it, they have to do some rewrites, and they only have a few weeks to do it. They live in New York, and it's not cheap, and so, even though rewriting his work to fit the capitalist machine goes against everything Silas believes in, they decide to quit their jobs and leave New York to write permanently until their deadline is up.

Silas's mother, Lou Lou, and his Aunt, Bunny, live in the woods outside the small town of Hamner in New England. To save money while they write, the couple and their dog son Goober decide to move to the childhood home. The trauma Silas experienced as a child all leads back to this house and the two sisters who live there, and it's the reason he hasn't returned in years.

Lou Lou would often go on dates with inappropriate men, and she would leave Silas in the care of his aunt, Bunny. It is fair to say that both his mother and her sister had problems with alcohol, and years later, his aunt's addiction has all but taken over her life. Returning to the house, Silas finds the elderly women merely existing on the property, grotesque forms of their former selves. Bunny wanders the woods at night, and is never without a cigarette between her lips, and a mug of gin clutched in her bony hands. She still terrifies Silas, and Rosa and their dog Goober are not excluded from the feelings of unease that hang over the place like a death shroud.

It doesn't take long before strange things start happening in the house, and the woods beyond. Even the small town seems to have an odd vibe. Though as strange as the town is, nothing is quite as terrifying as his family home, and the people that live there, and Bunny has become more disturbing than ever.

Bunny's plot flashes between the 2018 present and the years 1994 and 1995 when Silas was a boy, and he experienced such terror that he would end up in therapy, and filled with resentment. The nostalgia wrapped around the 90s infuses the novel with an atmosphere not unlike early Stephen King and his penchant for Maine locations. S.E. Tolsen, the name of the novel's writing duo it is worth noting are damn good writers as evident in this paragraph:

The backyard is tarry black; no moon. Even the starlight seems reluctant to make the journey down through the night sky. And yet, there in the no man's land of his backyard glows the aqua light of his ringing phone, like the fallen teardrop of an enfeebled god.

Bunny is two things: a symbol of the perils of alcoholism, and a physical manifestation of fear. Her presence is grotesque and an example of the visceral horror that gives slasher films of the '70s and '80s the gag reflex we appreciate having. As well as being a fantastic ode to the horror tropes of old, Bunny is also a truly terrifying novel, and it should feel quite at home on the bookshelf next to King and all the best horror writers both alive and dead.

There’s a certain comfort in the ordinary. The sway of trees beyond the kitchen window as you wash your dinner dishes. The soft clatter of acorns falling from a tree. The reassuring crunch of gravel underfoot when you’re walking on your own.

After reading Bunny, these small pockets of solace suddenly feel less safe.

S.E. Tolsen’s novel is not the kind of horror that politely taps at the door of your imagination. It creeps in under your skin and makes you feel uncomfortable in your own body.

And that’s the beauty of this novel.

There are horror stories that sit with you like a slow rot, like Stephen King's The Shining, a novel that makes you feel almost unaware of the incorporeal. Then there are those that catch you off-guard and hit you between the eyes with terror, like Ari Aster’s Hereditary.

Bunny effortlessly marries both.

And as with each of these horror classics, Bunny’s darkness isn’t confined to the supernatural. It lies in the horrors that lie in our own hearts … the horrors we all too often pass on to our children.

The struggle with addiction that drives so much of the tension in Bunny is born from the same place as Jack Torrance (The Shining) and Annie Graham’s (Hereditary) hurt comes from. The hurt that we simply can’t face.

“…you don’t talk about a problem at hand, you talk around it until everyone forgets.” Rose reflects when she sees how differently her family approaches trauma to Silas’s family.

And that’s where Tolsen perfectly marries the horror of addiction and Lovecraftian creatures hiding in the forest. Because the true depths of both are hidden in what we don’t see.

Bunny is not just about the presence that makes our hairs stand on end when we enter the woods. It’s about the cold that fills the pit in our stomachs when we’re left in our own company.

When I received this book to review, I was prepared for the discomfort. And I did shiver with terror within the first ten pages. But I didn't expect to have my heart broken in almost every chapter. And still, with every page, I was reminded that there is always hope.

This is horror writing done right.

Unnerving from beginning to end, 'Bunny' didn’t disappoint.

The plot is simple: Struggling husband-and-wife screenwriters, Silas and Rose, take their dog, Goober, back to Silas’s childhood home, hoping to finish a project that might be their big break. Something sinister awaits them, though, in the form of Silas’s Aunt Bunny…

In the hands of SE Tolsen, the simple plot becomes unique. They seem to have the ability to effortlessly superimpose realistic issues (alcoholism, animal cruelty, abuse) with otherworldly ones, and that makes for one great novel!

It’s difficult to find horror with an underlying eeriness from beginning to end (without it feeling contrived), but 'Bunny' manages to do it, all while being a possession story that strays from the traditional theological approach (which is such a breath of fresh air).

As for the characters, every one of them is well-rounded—and I do mean every one. I was surprised at how attached I became to the dogs in this book. So much so that, at times, it was Goober who kept me from putting it down and going to bed.

I have to say, though, there was a point at the end that I thought would have me knocking off a star—but I’m glad I was wrong. SE Tolsen tied the ends of their story into a bow that left me pleasantly satisfied for the genre.

*I received this book from the publisher in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Bunny by S.E. Tolsen - 5 Stars

Bunny by S.E. Tolsen is an extraordinary psychological horror that pushes the boundaries of the genre in ways that will leave readers captivated and disturbed. Written under the pen name of S.E. Tolsen, the book is a collaboration between the talented husband-and-wife duo, Emma Olsen and Vere Tindale. Published by Mirari Press and represented by the Lennon-Ritchie Agency, Bunny offers a unique and haunting experience.

The novel centers around Silas and Rose, a pair of screenwriters who, in hopes of securing a big break, visit Silas' childhood home to work on revisions for their latest project. However, their creative retreat soon takes a sinister turn, thanks to the presence of Aunty Bunny: an eccentric and troubled woman who was once a stunning beauty but is now a reclusive alcoholic with a strange and unsettling demeanor. Aunty Bunny's mysterious nocturnal disappearances into the woods add an eerie layer to the tension that builds throughout the story.

While Bunny certainly delivers a chilling horror experience, its true brilliance lies in the deeper exploration of human relationships. The novel delves into the complexities of parental, marital, and even pet relationships, skillfully analyzing the dynamics of love, resentment, and self-preservation. Tolsen expertly dissects how we can simultaneously care for and despise those closest to us, weaving these emotional intricacies into a spine-tingling narrative.

Bunny is much more than just a horror novel. It's a profound meditation on the darkness that resides within us all. With its masterful blend of psychological tension and emotional depth, this book is an unforgettable read. Highly recommended for anyone looking for a fresh and thought-provoking take on the genre.

I received this book from Mirari Press in exchange for an honest review.

Silas never really escaped his childhood. Not the woods. Not the memories. And certainly not Aunt Bunny. When he and his girlfriend Rose are forced to return to his family home, he finds himself pulled back into a world where addiction, darkness, and an ancient presence lurking in the trees all bleed into one terrifying truth: the past doesn’t let go easily.

Let me just confess upfront: I’ve avoided horror for years. Too many nightmares, too many “what if something’s behind me right now?” moments. But Bunny lured me in — and I’m glad it did. From the very first page (the prologue genuinely scared the daylights out of me), I knew this was going to be a different kind of reading experience. I may have cracked it open at 4:30 in the morning one day, but you can be sure I never touched it again outside daylight hours. This is not a book you casually read before bed.

What gripped me most was the atmosphere. Tolsen has a gift for setting — the woods feel alive, watching, breathing, like another character in the story. The writing is sharp, immersive, and unnervingly beautiful, pulling you straight into Silas’s dread-soaked world. And while I expected some hope to break through, the ending landed darker than I imagined — but in a way that felt right, true to the story’s relentless pull.

It’s a tale about family, addiction, and how love can fight against the shadows… but sometimes, love isn’t enough to banish them completely.

A solid five stars from me. I absolutely loved this — even as it made me shiver. If you’re a fan of Stephen King’s slow-burn dread or the eerie, nostalgic terror of Stranger Things, this is one for your shelf. Just… maybe keep the lights on.