Where the Grass Don’t Grow and Vultures Sing is a gritty and unsettling collection of twelve speculative fiction stories that mix horror, science fiction, and dark fantasy into a cocktail that’s as jarring as it is addictive. Rosick sets the tone with raw, twisted narratives full of morally ambiguous characters and grotesque, often bleak, realities. Each story paints a picture of a world that’s almost like ours, but far more violent, broken, and bizarre. Whether it’s alien overlords feasting on human suffering, ghostly reckonings in small-town America, or dystopian futures ruled by invasive surveillance and social decay, Rosick pulls no punches. His introduction frames the collection as the culmination of decades of writing and rejection, driven by a persistent, almost obsessive need to tell the truth in the form of fiction.

Reading these stories felt like being dragged through a dream that’s halfway between terrifying and tragic. Rosick’s prose is coarse and visceral. In “For the Entertainment of the Gods,” for example, I felt a mix of horror and awe, watching the protagonist endure a psychic deathmatch for the amusement of alien gods. It wasn’t just the violence that disturbed me; it was the idea of what people would trade for survival. “Death Calls on Mr. Smith” is a slow, aching story about aging and the crushing weight of grief that never heals. Rosick’s ability to flip between brutal and tender in just a few pages surprised me.

Some stories felt a bit too on the nose or a little rushed toward their endings, like “The Covenant of the ARC,” which was strong in setup but heavy in its dystopian commentary. There were moments where I wanted a deeper dive or just a bit more finesse in the delivery. Still, the strength of Rosick’s voice and the conviction behind each story made up for the occasional rough patch. What I appreciated most was the honesty. These aren’t sanitized, neatly packaged tales. They’re messy, human, and more than a little feral. They reminded me of the kind of stories that live in the back of your mind, buried under the daily routine, waiting to crawl out when you least expect them.

If you’ve got a soft spot for dark speculative fiction that punches hard and lingers longer, this collection is worth your time. Fans of writers like Philip K. Dick, Clive Barker, or Joe Lansdale will feel right at home in Rosick’s unsettling worlds. Where the Grass Don’t Grow and Vultures Sing reads like a haunted mixtape of pulp nightmares.

Pages: 289 : ASIN : B0F1Z4GPG5