The novel follows Joey Carpenter, a teenage boy caught between the ordinary trials of growing up and the monstrous legacy of Kamp Kromwell, a summer camp haunted by tragedy, folklore, and something darker that won’t stay buried. It weaves Joey’s personal journey of survival, identity, and trauma with the eerie history of Jasper Mill and the cursed land it sits on. The story blends horror, coming-of-age, and queer self-discovery into a narrative that feels both chilling and raw, moving from gothic lore about the crooked oak tree to Joey’s painful memories of abuse and his attempts to reclaim his life.

Reading this book stirred up a whole mess of feelings in me. The writing is sharp and biting, like it wants to cut the reader open just to show what bleeds underneath. Other times it lingers in the shadows, letting dread seep in slowly. I was unsettled more than once, not just by the supernatural elements but by the human ones. The portrayal of Sam Barnes made my skin crawl, and the way the author shows Joey’s shame and survival felt almost too close for comfort. But that’s what hooked me. It’s horror that doesn’t rely only on monsters in the woods, but on the monsters we know too well.

The story moves from ghost stories to camp drama to deeply personal confessions, and yet that unevenness feels true to life. Memories don’t line up neatly, trauma doesn’t follow a straight path, and the narrative mirrors that jagged rhythm. Grea’s style veers between gritty and tender, and I loved the shifts. There were moments of humor that broke through the darkness, and they mattered because they reminded me that life is never just one thing. I also admired how unapologetic the book is about queerness. It doesn’t smooth over the rough parts or wrap them up in platitudes. It leaves the edges sharp, and that honesty made the story feel alive.

Kamp Kromwell reminded me of a strange marriage between Stephen King’s It and Boy Erased by Garrard Conley. Like King’s work, it builds its terror through folklore, small-town legends, and the slow creep of something monstrous hiding in the shadows, yet it also grounds itself in the personal anguish of a boy dealing with abuse and identity. Where Conley’s memoir is brutally honest about the shame and secrecy of growing up gay in a hostile environment, Grea filters that same raw vulnerability through a horror lens, giving the trauma both a literal and supernatural shape.

Pages: 294 | ASIN : B0FHC149LJ