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Reflections in the Dark: A Horror-Noir
Jason Garman’s Reflections in the Dark is a horror-noir that treats reality like a crime scene and every mirror like a witness that knows more than it should. The book opens on ideas of consciousness, reflection, and fractured identity, then threads those ideas through a story that moves between police procedural, cosmic nightmare, and grief-soaked character study. Reed Ashland, the burned-out academic drawn toward impossible visions, and Detective Maria Voss, the sharp Chicago homicide detective trying to make sense of ritualistic murders, give the novel its two strongest currents. Together they make the book feel grounded and unstable at the same time, which is exactly the right tension for a story this interested in perception.
The author doesn’t treat the horror as decoration. The horror is the book’s language. It shows up in the imagery, the rhythms of the sentences, and the way ordinary spaces keep turning strange. A bedroom, a precinct, a parking garage, a hospital room, all of them become charged with the sense that something is leaning in from just outside the known world. There’s a line early on, “Reality is a story badly translated from another dimension,” and it works because it feels like a mission statement for the whole novel. That’s the kind of book this is: moody, philosophical, and deeply committed to making disorientation feel intimate rather than abstract.
It’s also a character-driven book, which gives the weirdness some real emotional weight. Reed could’ve been just the classic unraveling visionary, but he’s more damaged and human than that. Maria could’ve been just the hard-edged detective, but she carries fatigue, intelligence, and tenderness in a way that keeps her from ever feeling stock. Even the supporting relationships help round out the novel’s world, especially the glimpses of family life, old love, and accumulated loss. Those parts matter because they keep the book from floating off into pure abstraction. When the story says, “We live inside ambiguity’s prison,” it isn’t only talking about metaphysics. It’s also talking about grief, guilt, and the way people keep moving through lives they don’t fully understand.
The prose is rich, stylized, and often intentionally feverish. Garman clearly loves image-making, and when he’s in rhythm, the book can feel like it’s casting a spell. This is a novel that wants you to sink into its atmosphere more than race through its plot mechanics. The procedural spine is there, and the mystery keeps tightening, but the real pull is the mood of it all: the cracked clocks, the broken mirrors, the recurring 3:33, the sense that language itself is starting to warp. I kept coming back to how confidently the novel blends the hard-boiled and the surreal. It’s not shy about being strange, and that confidence gives it personality.
Reflections in the Dark feels less like a simple whodunit and more like a descent into a worldview, one where identity, memory, and evil keep slipping out of their usual shapes. It’s a book that wants to unsettle you, but it also wants to linger with damaged people trying to make meaning out of what’s happened to them. That combination gives it its own pulse. This is a debut that knows its obsessions and leans into them fully: mirrors, thresholds, sorrow, perception, and the awful possibility that something might be looking back. For readers who like horror with noir bones and a surreal edge, this one has a lot to chew on.
Pages: 288 | ASIN : B0GSLH62NF
Coexistence and Domination
Black Forest Protocol is an alternate-history thriller in which a UFO crash in Nazi Germany forces an SS officer to confront the gulf between domination and preservation when the regime tries to weaponize a sacred alien presence. What sparked the idea of placing a first-contact story inside Nazi Germany?
There had been reports and a number of journals/books dedicated to the Black Forest crash in 1936. This is roughly 10 years before the Roswell incident. Through my research on the rise of the Nazi regime, German manufacturing made extensive technological leaps from 1936 through 1939, prior to the invasion of Poland. It mirrored the technological leaps the US made post-Roswell. I used creative license to involve the Nazi SS and advanced technology/alien abilities that would have been used to reshape a totalitarian regime reality to fit ideology.
How did you approach writing Ernst Falk so that his moral awakening felt gradual and believable rather than heroic from the start?
The key was to start with competence instead of conscience. Falk is intelligent, disciplined, and emotionally detached. He isn’t written as a monster or a secret hero—he’s a professional who follows systems without questioning them. That makes his starting point believable and grounded. From there, I avoided any sudden “moral epiphany.” Instead, his change happens through accumulated friction: small moments that feel off, observations he can’t fully explain, and emotional reactions he initially suppresses. Importantly, he fails repeatedly. He hesitates, rationalizes, and makes the wrong choices even after he begins to feel doubt. That delay is what makes the awakening feel real—he understands before he acts. Finally, his awakening comes with cost, not reward. He loses certainty, identity, and alignment with the system that once defined him. He doesn’t become heroic—he becomes unable to ignore the truth.
The aliens feel mournful, vulnerable, and almost sacred. What did you want them to represent beyond their role in the plot?
The aliens were meant to represent a form of intelligence untouched by human corruption, that is something gentle, restrained, and morally unbroken. Their vulnerability highlights the contrast between coexistence and domination, making humanity’s instinct to control feel invasive rather than justified. They serve as a mirror to Falk and the reader, suggesting that intelligence doesn’t have to lead to cruelty—and that what we often call progress may actually be a loss of something more sacred.
How did you balance the book’s eldritch atmosphere and allegorical reach with the historical weight of writing about the Third Reich?
I balanced the eldritch atmosphere with the historical weight of the Third Reich by keeping the human reality grounded and specific, never abstracting or stylizing the regime’s brutality, while letting the cosmic elements emerge as a destabilizing force around it. The horror doesn’t replace history; it intensifies it, exposing the dangers of ideology, control, and moral certainty when confronted with the unknowable. By anchoring the story in authentic human behavior and consequence, the allegory expands the meaning without diminishing the reality.
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SS officer Ernst Falk is stationed on a quiet rural post when the forest itself seems to recoil, where animals vanish, the air vibrates, and the night splits open with a light no human technology should be able to produce. By dawn, a seamless metallic object lies embedded in the earth, warping the trees around it and defying every known law of physics.
It is not wreckage.
It is not dead.
And it is not alone.
Hidden beneath the pines, Falk and a small team of scientists discover survivors, beings not of this world, wounded and terrified. What should have become humanity’s first moment of cosmic contact instead becomes a nightmare of secrecy and ambition. The Nazi regime seals the forest, erases witnesses, and delivers the discovery into the hands of the SS and the Ahnenerbe, who see not life but opportunity.
As alien technology is dismantled and alien biology harvested, a terrifying project takes shape: the Blackforest Protocol. Under the direction of fanatical ideologues, the crash is transformed into a weapons program, a genetic experiment, and a propaganda miracle meant to fuse extraterrestrial power with Nazi myth.
But the forest is changing.
The survivors are not silent.
And Falk begins to realize the visitors did not come as conquerors-but as explorers, carrying knowledge that was never meant to be bent into instruments of domination.
Decades later, the consequences of what happened in the Black Forest resurface, dragging the modern world into a buried legacy of stolen technology, erased crimes, and a truth powerful enough to destabilize history itself.
Blending historical horror, science fiction, and psychological suspense, Blackforest Protocol is a chilling alternate-history thriller about first contact gone wrong, where humanity’s greatest discovery becomes its most unforgivable crime, and the forest that witnessed it refuses to forget.
Alive and Forgotten
The Lights of Greyfare follows a burned-out journalist who goes to a small seaside town on assignment, and she discovers the small town is hiding terrifying secrets. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
Greyfare began as a place in my imagination long before it had a name. I’ve always been fascinated by towns that seem both alive and forgotten, where the fog feels like another resident and silence carries its own folklore. I wanted a setting that could reflect Katherine Calder’s unraveling, a place where her grief and addiction would meet an environment that seemed to breathe and press back against her. Maine’s coastal isolation gave me the perfect canvas for that tension, where a story about strange lights could spiral into something much darker.
What intrigues you about the horror and paranormal genres that led you to write this book?
Horror has always been about intimacy, about getting uncomfortably close to the things we would rather avoid. The paranormal allows those inner struggles to manifest outward, in ways that are unsettling but true. Kat’s sarcasm, self-destruction, and longing all take shape in Greyfare’s uncanny atmosphere. I love that horror lets us put grief, obsession, and identity into forms that are at once monstrous and heartbreakingly human. It’s not about shock alone, it’s about resonance… leaving the reader haunted in ways they didn’t expect.
Were you able to achieve everything you wanted with the characters in the novel?
Kat fought me every step of the way. She’s painfully real. I wanted her inner spirals, her addictions, and her sharp humor to feel unvarnished, and I think that comes through. Some of the townspeople surprised me, too, especially in how their secrets entwined with hers. I don’t believe in tying everything up neatly. I prefer characters who linger with you after the last page.
What is the next book that you are working on, and when can your fans expect it to be out?
I’m currently in the early stages of my next novel. It will return to the gothic tradition, a story shaped by architecture, community, and the way hidden histories leave their mark on the living. While it won’t be set in Greyfare, it will share that same interest in place as a character. I hope to share more in the coming year. In the meantime, readers can follow updates and join my mailing list through my website, https://junoguadalupe.com/.
Author Links: GoodReads | Website | Amazon
A gothic horror novel about grief, obsession, and the monsters we become when the sea calls our name.
After a brutal divorce and the loss of everything she thought she was, journalist Katherine Calder is on assignment to the fog-drenched town of Greyfare. She’s come to write, to recover, and to disappear for a little while. But Greyfare has other plans.
The town is strange. Too quiet. Full of faces that seem familiar, even when they shouldn’t be. At night, something walks the shore—a reflection of Kat that mimics her, imperfectly. The harbor groans with secrets, and the townspeople cling to ancient traditions they won’t talk about.
When Kat meets Dean, a reclusive widower with a weather-beaten boat and a haunted past, she feels herself unraveling in ways that are both terrifying and intoxicating. Their bond deepens, even as Kat uncovers hints of a centuries-old pact—one that demands sacrifice to keep the devils in the deep.
But the sea is waking.
And Kat may already be part of the offering.
Darkly lyrical and emotionally charged, The Lights of Greyfare is a supernatural descent into love, memory, and the terror of losing yourself to something older than the tide. Perfect for fans of The Haunting of Hill House, this is a horror novel that lingers long after the last page
