Sour Candy

What in the supernatural gaslighting hell did I just read? 

(Look, bestie, some of the links in this post are affiliate links. What does that mean for you? Absolutely nothing changes—except if you decide to buy the book (or 12, no judgment), I might earn a tiny commission. Like, crumbs. Pennies. Enough to maybe afford therapy after this novella.

It won’t cost you extra, but it does help me keep this chaos-fueled book spiral going, one breakdown at a time. So click responsibly. Or recklessly. I support both.)

No seriously, what?? Because I opened “Sour Candy” by Kealan Patrick Burke expecting a quick creepy bite—and instead got dragged headfirst into a full-blown cosmic nightmare, complete with shrieking children, warped realities, and eldritch PTA members who clearly need Jesus. Or a cleansing fire. Maybe both.

Phil Pendleton Was Just Vibing

Our boy Phil was out here living the dream. Peacefully childfree. Just trying to buy a damn chocolate bar. Minding his own business.

And then, BAM 

 “Here’s your son, bestie! You’ve always had him!” says reality.

 Photos? Updated.

Memories? Implanted.

Strangers? All in on it.

Phil is now a dad. Against his will. Against our will. And the little hellspawn calling him “dad” has the stare of a taxidermied Furby and the vocal range of a fire alarm in a blender.

This novella? This novella?? It escalates faster than a BookTok feud. The dread is constant, creeping, cold—like eldritch fingers spider-walking up your spine. It doesn’t stop. It doesn’t even pause for breath. Burke gives you zero time to process anything before you're falling down the rabbit hole screaming “WHAT IS HAPPENING?”

And the world?? The world believes it. You start doubting yourself.

Gaslighting Level: Cthulhu-certified.

The Horror Hits Different 

Let me paint the descent:

His teeth? Gone.

His health? Crumbling.

His grip on reality? Snapped like a sour straw.

And somewhere in the shadows, a candy cult is licking its demonic lips, chanting in cavities and corn syrup.

This is not your regular haunted house story. It’s supernatural psychological terror, spiked with candy metaphors and deep existential rot. And yes, I loved every acidic second of it.

Rating: 4 sour stars out of 5

Why not 5? Because listen—I needed one more morsel of lore. Just a bit more context on the Candyverse. Who are these sugar demons? What is their agenda? Are they hiring? (Asking for a friend.)

BUT. If you want a horror novella that punches like a Warhead, lingers like a curse, and leaves you suspicious of every child and checkout aisle?

 This. Is. Your. Book. 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go stare at my childhood photos and question everything.

Amazon: Sour Candy

Have you read “Sour Candy”? Do you also fear the crinkle of a wrapper now? Let me know in the comments or