So Scowler was my first Daniel Kraus book.

It will not be my last.

If you’re a fan of horror — the kind of horror that doesn’t come from specters or werewolves or other creatures outside the world as we know it — then you will want to pick this book up. It is not, and I repeat myself here, it is not for the weak stomached or weak of heart. This book is brutal and depicts some of the most horrific scenes I’ve ever read. The kind of scenes that involved putting the book down mid-scene so I could collect myself before soldiering on. It’s not done to be sensational, though. It’s the reality of the story.

The year is 1981. It’s August. It’s hot. It’s rural Iowa. Oh, also there’s the possibility of large meteorites falling to the earth (does this sound eerie or what?). Nineteen-year-old Ry’s little sister lost one of her teeth and neither of them can find it lying anywhere on their dead family farm.

But the farm wasn’t always dead. When Ry’s father was there, he made sure the place was thriving. He watched over it carefully. He watched over all of them, in fact, with the kind of eyes and hands a man dying for control and power did. Ry’s mother Jo Beth was one subject of Marvin’s need for power: she wasn’t allowed to sew or mend clothing, despite having a talent for it. Marvin didn’t want anyone thinking that he wasn’t being a good enough farmer that he had to employ his wife in another job to make ends meet.

There was more than that, though. Marvin was the picture of an abusive husband and abusive father. Scowler is told in alternating time lines, beginning in those couple of days in 1981 and then flashing back to 1971 and 1972. This was the height of Marvin’s worst behavior. When he did something absolutely terrible to Ry and did something even harsher to Jo Beth. The kind of thing that forced Ry to help his mother. To pull her out of the window and toward freedom.

It was then when Marvin went to jail.

It was also then that Jo Beth pursued her own interest in sewing. When she made the dress that lived in the room upstairs. When she let the farm die.

As readers, we’re sucked into the back story, wherein Ry seeks solace in three of his childhood toys: Mr. Furrington (a stuffed animal), Jesus Christ (a figurine), and the Scowler (the ugliest, most misshapen and disgusting toy to exist). Throughout his therapy sessions and throughout the book, we learn that while these may or may not be real objects — depending entirely on your reading — we do learn that these three objects are aspects of Ry’s personality. More on that in a second.

Flash back to 1981. There’s a knock at the door, and it’s a stranger wandering by. This is odd and unsettling to the Burke family because, well, they live in the middle of no where. It’s not like strangers just wander to their farm in the middle of no where Iowa. But this isn’t any old stranger: it’s a prison escapee.

There was an explosion at the high security jail. He got out.

And so did Marvin. Now, more than one meteorite is about the crash land on the Burke’s land.

Ry’s repression and compartmentalization of his fear toward Marvin manifested after he went to jail, and now that Marvin’s back, it’s coming out again. Where we learned that Ry was forced to rid himself of his three toys, we also discover he needs them to work through the pain and torture about to befall him and his family again now that dad’s back. And while he may not have the objects themselves, he knows he has to tap into those aspects of his personality in order to make heads or tails of what to do to protect his family. He doesn’t want what happened to his mother to happen again, and he certain doesn’t want it to happen to his sister, either.

Enter Scowler.

Much as Ry wants to be a good kid and much as he doesn’t want to employ the same sort of violence that his father relied upon too much to get what it was he wanted, Ry knows he has to channel the spirit of Scowler. It scares him to do this. Even though it’s clear Marvin is still as problematic as he was when he was in jail — especially now that he thinks selling the meteorite that’s crashed onto the farm will be the solution to all of the family’s problems — Ry can’t let himself be angry. He can’t let out the Scowler inside.

That is, until he does. Until it’s become clear that his father will continue to hurt, haunt, and manipulate the family until he gets what he wants. Until he destroys what it his Jo Beth loves. Until he physically destroys Ry. Until he begins to destroy Sarah, too.

Scowler is dark, disturbing, and brutal. There is plenty of blood shed. There is more than blood shed. There is a body count and — spoiler warning — there might be a dead animal in this one, too. Kraus knows horror, so know that going in. You’re not going to be getting anything sappy or anything half-hearted here, which is what makes this a powerful read. There are no shortcuts. Marvin is one of the ugliest characters I’ve read in a long time. It’s so easy to like Ry, too, and maybe what makes him so likable and sympathetic isn’t his situation; it’s the fact he wants nothing more than to not be like his dad. He knows the way that abusive home lives work. He knows the chances are there he could become like his dad. That’s precisely why he’s so hesitant to embrace Scowler.

That’s also why the 1980s setting in this book works. Aside from allowing some of the important plot points to be sidestepped (the jail destruction would have been Googled in a second in today’s world and the police would have been on it), what makes the setting important is the question of whether or not Ry will become a good person or whether he’s destined to turn into the kind of man his father was. We don’t get to know if there is a happily ever after or if there ever will be. There’s only the end we’re given, which isn’t really closed. And that’s the way an ending in a book like this should be. Even if we’re given many answers throughout the story, walking away with as many — if not more questions — is what makes a good horror story successful.

Kraus doesn’t just deliver a great story, though. His writing is strong and solid, and the depictions of horrific events doesn’t make you question how bad things are. You know. You know who these characters are and what they’re going through is palpable. I marked a number of really great passages throughout, but my favorite line is this (it’s a bit of a spoiler but by this point, it should be clear the entire review cannot be written without spoiler): “Being made of liquid and bone, rather than cloth and steel, might make you more breakable, but being breakable, he decided, was a thrilling thing.”

Hand Scowler off to your readers who want dark realistic fiction that could only be best described as horror. Readers looking for books like Stephen King’s will find much to enjoy here. Michael Grant, who blurbed the book, called it the “demon offspring of Stephen King’s The Shining and Hitchcock’s Psycho” and having knowledge of both those reference, I’ll say that’s about as spot on as you can get. I think readers who dig books in the style of Adam Rapp or Blythe Woolston will find much here. It’s all about how ugly we humans can be and are to one another. This is one of the most memorable books I’ve read in a long time.

Scowler is available today through Random House. Review copy delivered personally to me at ALA (thanks, Kristen Kittscher).