There’s something deeply unsettling about the idea that the spaces we inhabit might somehow possess us rather than the other way around. In Marcus Kliewer’s chilling debut novel, “We Used to Live Here,” this concept isn’t just explored—it’s twisted into a labyrinthine nightmare that will have readers questioning their own perception of reality long after turning the final page.
When Eve Palmer and her girlfriend Charlie purchase an old house at 3709 Heritage Lane with plans to flip it, they have no idea they’re stepping into a space where the very fabric of reality bends and breaks. The horror begins innocuously enough with a knock on the door—a family claiming to have once lived in the house asks for a tour. Led by the charismatic Thomas Faust, they seem harmless at first glance. Eve, a chronic people-pleaser, reluctantly lets them in, setting off a cascading series of increasingly bizarre and terrifying events.
What follows is a masterclass in psychological horror that plays on our deepest anxieties: What if everything we know about ourselves is wrong? What if our identity could be erased and rewritten? And what if the people we love most insist we are someone else entirely?
The Architecture of Dread
Kliewer’s storytelling is remarkably confident for a debut novelist. The book’s structure itself mimics the disorienting nature of the house at its center, interspersing the main narrative with cryptic “documents”—case files, transcripts, and mysterious reports that hint at the house’s history and true nature. This mosaic approach could easily become gimmicky in less skilled hands, but Kliewer uses it to build tension while subtly seeding clues that reward attentive readers.
The prose is taut and atmospheric, with a sharp eye for the small details that turn ordinary spaces sinister:
“As she pursued the tracks with Shylo by her side, the old pines around them whispered and bellowed, as if holding some ancient council. As if they might spring to life and banish the intruders.”
The novel excels particularly in its pacing. What begins as mild social discomfort—houseguests who won’t leave—gradually transforms into existential terror as Eve finds herself trapped in a version of reality where she is “Emma Faust,” Thomas’s troubled sister. The escalation is so methodical, so carefully calibrated, that readers might not realize how deep into the nightmare they’ve descended until it’s too late to turn back.
Identity in Crisis
At its core, “We Used to Live Here” is a profound meditation on identity and how easily it can be unmade. Eve’s struggle to hold onto herself as the world insists she is someone else speaks to universal anxieties about belonging and self-knowledge. Kliewer writes this unraveling with painful precision:
“Despite the fact that Charlie looked just as she always had: the short black hair, the mismatched eyes, the light freckles dusting her cheeks… Some half-remembered version of Thomas’s words played in her mind: Alison thought everyone around her was an imposter, that the real versions of us had somehow been replaced.”
The novel’s queer representation deserves particular praise. Eve and Charlie’s relationship isn’t treated as exceptional or as a plot point—it simply is. Their queerness exists without explanation or apology, a refreshing approach in a genre that sometimes still treats LGBTQ+ characters as novelties or metaphors.
The Fault Lines
For all its strengths, the novel isn’t without flaws. Its greatest virtue—the disorientating, reality-bending narrative—occasionally becomes its weakness. Some readers may find themselves lost in the maze Kliewer has constructed, particularly in the final third where reality splinters most dramatically.
The resolution, too, leaves many questions deliberately unanswered. While this ambiguity serves the cosmic horror undertones, it may frustrate readers who prefer their narratives neatly resolved. The ending feels somewhat rushed compared to the meticulously paced build-up that precedes it.
Additionally, the violence that erupts in the story’s climax might be too graphic for some readers. Kliewer doesn’t shy away from disturbing imagery, particularly in the confrontation between Eve and Thomas:
“Eve swung the hammer—claw end first—into the side of his face. It lodged into his jaw with a deafening CRACK.”
A Haunting Debut
What makes “We Used to Live Here” particularly impressive is that it’s Kliewer’s first novel. The book began as a series on Reddit’s r/NoSleep forum before being expanded into a full-length work (and soon to be adapted as a Netflix original film). This origin shows in the best possible way—the story has the addictive quality of internet horror, with each chapter urging readers toward one more page, one more revelation.
Comparisons to horror masters like Shirley Jackson (“The Haunting of Hill House”) and Mark Z. Danielewski (“House of Leaves”) are inevitable. Like Jackson, Kliewer excels at psychological horror and unreliable narration. Like Danielewski, he plays with form and makes the house itself a character of terrifying proportions. Yet “We Used to Live Here” establishes its own unique voice in the genre.
Who Should Read This
This novel will appeal to fans of:
- Psychological horror that prioritizes mounting dread over jump scares
- Reality-bending narratives like “The Raw Shark Texts” by Steven Hall or films like “Jacob’s Ladder”
- Haunted house stories with a modern twist
- Unreliable narration that keeps you guessing what’s real
- Horror that explores identity and existential themes
Those who prefer straightforward narratives or are sensitive to depictions of violence and mental health struggles might want to approach with caution.
Final Thoughts: The Lasting Echoes
“We Used to Live Here” lingers in the mind long after reading, partly because its central questions remain tantalizingly unresolved. Was the house genuinely supernatural, bending reality around its inhabitants? Was Eve experiencing a psychotic break? Or is the truth something even more disturbing?
Like the cryptic symbols carved throughout the house in the story, Kliewer’s novel invites interpretation without insisting on a single correct reading. It’s this quality that elevates the book from a mere fright fest to something more thoughtful and enduring.
For a debut novel, “We Used to Live Here” announces Kliewer as a formidable new voice in horror fiction—one who understands that the most terrifying monsters aren’t those that lurk in the dark, but the ones that make us question the very foundations of our reality. It’s not just about things that go bump in the night; it’s about the night itself changing around you, and finding yourself suddenly a stranger in what you thought was home.
Strengths:
- Innovative narrative structure
- Masterful building of psychological tension
- Compelling exploration of identity and reality
- Strong, natural queer representation
- Haunting atmosphere that pervades every page
Areas for Improvement:
- Occasionally confusing plot developments
- Some readers might find the ambiguous ending unsatisfying
- Graphic violence might be excessive for some tastes
“We Used to Live Here” establishes Marcus Kliewer as a writer to watch in the horror genre. Like the house at 3709 Heritage Lane, his debut novel appears deceptively simple from the outside but contains labyrinths of terror within. Just be careful when you step through the door—you might not come out as the same person who entered.