There's Someone Inside Your House

There's Someone Inside Your House

by Stephanie Perkins


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A New York Times bestseller!

"The best new horror of the season." –Mashable

"There’s Someone Inside Your House is equal parts heart-stopping horror and steamy romance. It’s tons of bloody fun." –HelloGiggles

"Turn on—all—the lights before reading this hair-raiser full of serious Scream vibes." –Seventeen

It's been almost a year since Makani Young came to live with her grandmother in landlocked Nebraska, and she's still adjusting to her new life. And still haunted by her past in Hawaii.

Then, one by one, the students of her small town high school begin to die in a series of gruesome murders, each with increasing and grotesque flair. As the terror grows closer and the hunt intensifies for the killer, Makani will be forced to confront her own dark secrets.
Stephanie Perkins, bestselling author of Anna and the French Kiss, returns with a fresh take on the classic teen slasher story that’s fun, quick-witted, and completely impossible to put down. 

"There's Someone Inside Your House is a heart-pounding page-turner with an outstanding cast of characters, a deliciously creepy setting, and an absolutely merciless body count. Best read at night with big bowl of popcorn, this is a killer addition to the slasher genre written by one of the best contemporary YA writers around." —Courtney Summers, author of All the Rage and Cracked Up to Be

"Perkins deftly builds the suspense like a pro.... Readers will be sleeping with one eye open." —Booklist

"Perkins lulls readers into a false sense of security before twisting the knife." —Publishers Weekly

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780142424988
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Publication date: 08/28/2018
Edition description: Reprint
Pages: 320
Sales rank: 65,080
Product dimensions: 5.50(w) x 8.31(h) x 0.84(d)
Age Range: 14 Years

About the Author

Stephanie Perkins is the New York Times bestselling author of Anna and the French Kiss. She has always worked with books—first as a bookseller, then as a librarian, and now as a novelist. Stephanie lives in the mountains of North Carolina with her husband. Every room of their house is painted a different color of the rainbow.

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One

The egg-shaped timer was on the welcome mat when she came home.

Haley Whitehall glanced over her shoulder, as if expecting someone behind her. Far in the distance, a red combine rolled through the sallow cornfields. Her father. Harvest time. Her mother was still at work, too, a dental technician at the only practice in town. Which one of them had left it here?The decaying porch boards sagged and splintered beneath Haley’s shifting weight as she picked up the timer. It rattled in her hand. The day had been cold, but the plastic eggshell was warm. Faintly so.

Her phone rang. It was Brooke, of course.

“How’s the blood?” Haley asked.

Her best friend groaned. “A nightmare.”

Haley went inside, and the screen door banged closed behind her. “Any chance that means Ms. Colfax will drop it?” She marched straight to the kitchen, slinging her backpack onto its black-and-white checkerboard floor. Sustenance. This afternoon’s rehearsal had been particularly grueling.

“Never.” Brooke snorted. “She’ll never drop it. Who needs common sense when you have ambition?”

Haley set the timer back on the countertop—where it belonged—and opened the refrigerator. “Normally, I’d argue for ambition. But. I’m really not looking forward to being drowned in corn syrup.”

“If I had the money, I’d buy the professional-grade stuff myself. Cleaning up the auditorium will be hell, even with all the tarps and plastic sheeting.”

Most theatrical productions of Sweeney Todd used at least some amount of fake blood—razors with hidden squeeze bulbs, gel capsules in the mouth, false clothing-fronts to conceal bloodstained doubles underneath. Additional mayhem could be implied with red curtains or red lights or a frenzied crescendo of screaming violins.

Unfortunately, their high school’s musical director, Ms. Colfax, had an unquenchable zeal for drama by all its definitions. Last year’s production of Peter Pan, for which she’d rented actual flying harnesses all the way from New York City, had resulted in the broken bones of both Wendy and Michael Darling. This year, Ms. Colfax didn’t just want the demon barber to slit his customers’ throats. She wanted to shower the first three rows with their blood. She referred to this section of the auditorium as the “Splatter Belt.”

Brooke was the stage manager. An honor, for sure, but it came with the impossible task of trying to steer Ms. Colfax toward sanity. 

It wasn’t going well.

Haley held the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she loaded her arms with packages of deli-sliced turkey and provolone, a bag of prewashed lettuce, and jar of Miracle Whip. “Shayna must be flipping her shit.”

“Shayna is definitely flipping her shit,” Brooke said.

Shayna was their temperamental—often volatile—costume designer. It was hard enough to find decent costumes in rural Nebraska with a budget of zero, but now she had to deal with bloodstain removal on top of it.

“Poor Shayna.” Haley dumped the ingredients onto the counter. She grabbed the closest loaf of bread, wheat with some kind of herb, which her mother had baked the night before. Her mother baked to relax. She used a bread maker, but still. It was nice.

“Poor Brooke,” Brooke said.

“Poor Brooke,” Haley agreed.

“And how was Jonathan today? Any better?”

Haley hesitated. “You didn’t hear him?”

“I was running splatter tests in the parking lot.”

Haley was playing Mrs. Lovett, and Shayna’s boyfriend Jonathan was playing Sweeney, the female and male leads. Still only a junior, Haley had been getting leads in drama club and solos in show choir for the last two years. Both a performer and powerful contralto, she was simply better than her peers. A natural. Impossible to overlook.

Jonathan was . . . above average. And he was charismatic, which helped his stage presence. However, this particular musical was well beyond his capabilities. He’d been struggling with “Epiphany,” his most challenging solo song, for weeks. His transitions held all the smoothness of someone stumbling across a bull snake in a tool shed, but even those were nothing compared to the way that he’d been massacring his duets.

Brooke seemed to sense Haley’s reluctance to gossip. “Oh, come on. If you don’t spill, you’ll only make me feel guilty for venting about everybody else.”

“It’s just . . .” Haley spread a gloppy coat of Miracle Whip onto the bread and then tossed the dirty butter knife into the sink. She’d wash it off later. “We spent the entire rehearsal on ‘A Little Priest.’ And not even the whole thing! The same few bars, over and over and over. For two freaking hours.”


“You know that part where we sing different lines simultaneously? And our voices are supposed to be, like, tumbling over each other in excitement?”

“When Sweeney finally figured out that Mrs. Lovett wants to dispose of his victims by baking their flesh into her pies?” Brooke’s voice was a wicked grin.

“It was a disaster.” Haley carried her plate into the living room, but she didn’t sit. She paced. “I don’t think Jonathan can do it. I mean, I seriously think his brain can’t do it. He can sing in unison, he can sing harmony—”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of,” Haley conceded. “But if someone else is singing different words? He keeps stopping and restarting. Like he’s trying to work through an aneurysm.”

Brooke laughed.

“It’s why I left early. I felt like such a bitch, but God. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“No one would ever call you a bitch.”

Haley swallowed a huge bite of turkey. It was a balancing act—cradling the phone, holding the plate, eating the sandwich, pacing the room—but she didn’t notice. She was worried. “Jonathan would.”

“Jonathan shouldn’t have gotten the part.”

“Do you think I should call him and apologize?”

“No. No. Why?”

“For being short with him.”

“It’s not your fault he can’t handle Sondheim.”

This was true, but Haley still felt ashamed for getting so frustrated. For walking out of rehearsal. She plopped onto the ancient corduroy couch, one of the many relics from when the farmhouse had belonged to her grandparents, and sighed. Brooke said something else in best-friend solidarity, but Haley’s phone chose that moment to do its usual thing.

“What’d you say? My connection is going in and out.”

“So call me from the landline.”

Haley glanced at the cordless, which was perched on an end table only a few feet away. Too much effort. “It’s fine now,” she lied.

Brooke circled the conversation back around to her current hardships as stage manager, and Haley allowed herself to drift away. She could only hear a third of Brooke’s ranting, anyway. The rest was static.

She stared out the windows and finished her sandwich. The sun hung low on the horizon. It shone through the cornfields, making the brittle stalks appear soft and dull. Her father was still out there. Somewhere. This time of year, he didn’t let a single ray go to waste. The world looked abandoned. It was the opposite of the loud, colorful, enthusiastic group of people she’d left behind at school. She should have stuck it out. She hated the quiet isolation that permeated her house. It was exhausting in its own way.

Haley made sympathetic noises into the phone—though she had no idea what she was sympathizing with—and stood. She walked her plate back to the kitchen, rinsed off the crumbs, and popped open the dishwasher.

The only thing inside it was a dirty butter knife.

Haley glanced at the sink, which was empty. A frown appeared between her brows. She put the plate into the dishwasher and shook her head.

“Even if we can get the sprayer working,” Brooke was saying, their connection suddenly clear, “I’m not sure enough people will even want to sit in the first three rows. I mean, who goes to the theater to wear ponchos and get drenched in blood?”

Haley sensed that her friend needed vocal reassurance. “It’s Halloween weekend. People will buy the tickets. They’ll think it’s fun.” She took a step toward the stairs, toward her bedroom, and her sneaker connected with a small, hard object. It shot across the floor tiles, skidding and rattling and clattering and clanging, until it smacked into the bottom of the pantry.

It was the egg timer.

Haley’s heart stopped. Just for a moment.

An uneasy prickling grew under her skin as she moved toward the pantry door, which one of her parents had left ajar. She pushed it closed with her fingertips and then picked up the timer, slowly. As if it were heavy. She could have sworn she’d set it on the countertop, but she must have dropped it to the floor along with her backpack.

“. . . still listening?”

The voice barely reached her ears. “Sorry?”

“I asked if you were still listening to me.”

“Sorry,” Haley said again. She stared at the timer. “I must be more tired than I thought. I think I’m gonna crash until my mom gets home.”

They hung up, and Haley shoved the phone into the front right pocket of her jeans. She placed the timer back on the countertop. The timer was smooth and white. Innocuous. Haley couldn’t pinpoint why, exactly, but the damn thing unsettled her.

She trekked upstairs and went directly to bed, collapsing in a weary heap, kicking off her sneakers, too drained to unlace them. The phone jabbed at her hip. She pulled it from her pocket and slung it onto her nightstand. The setting sun pierced through her window at a perfect, irritating angle, and she winced and rolled over.

She fell asleep instantly.


Haley startled awake. Her heart was pounding, and the house was dark.

She exhaled—a long, unclenching, diaphragm-deep breath. And that was when her brain processed the noise. The noise that had woken her up.


Haley’s blood chilled. She rolled over to face the nightstand. Her phone was gone, and in its place, right at eye level, was the egg timer.

It went off.

Chapter Two

The next morning, the entire school was buzzing about two things: the brutal slaying of Haley Whitehall and Ollie Larsson’s newly pinkened hair.

“You’d think they’d care less about the hair,” Makani said.

“This is Osborne, Nebraska.” Her friend Darby sucked up the last drops of his gas station iced coffee. “Population: twenty-six hundred. A boy with pink hair is as scandalous as the death of a beloved student.”

They stared through Darby’s windshield and across the parking lot to where Ollie was leaning against the brick wall of the front office. He was reading a paperback and pointedly ignoring the ­whispers—and not-whispers—of the other students.

“I heard her throat was slit in three places.” Makani paused. The car’s windows were down, so she lowered her voice. “Carved up to look like a smiley face.”

The straw dropped from Darby’s mouth. “That’s awful. Who told you that?”

She shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s just what I heard.”

“Oh God. And the day hasn’t even begun.”

A long face with kohl-blackened eyes popped up beside the ­passenger-side window. “Well, I heard—”

Makani jumped. “Jesus, Alex.”

“—that Ollie is the one who did it. And that he used her blood to dye his hair.”

Makani and Darby stared at her, agape.

“I’m kidding. Obviously.” She opened the back door, tossed in her trumpet case, and slid inside. The car was their morning hangout. “But someone here will say it.”

There was too much truth in her joke. Makani winced.

Alex kicked the back of Makani’s seat with a royal-blue combat boot. An exclamation point. “I don’t believe it. You still have a thing for him, don’t you?”

Unfortunately, yes.

Of course she still had a thing for Ollie.

From the moment Makani Young arrived in Nebraska, she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. He was, without a doubt, the ­strangest-looking guy at Osborne High. But that also made him the most interesting. Ollie had a skinny frame with hip bones that jutted out in a way that reminded her of sex, and cheekbones so prominent they reminded her of a skull—the illusion of which was enhanced by his blond, invisible eyebrows. He always wore dark jeans and a plain, black T-shirt. A silver ring—a thin hoop in the center of his bottom lip—was his only adornment. He kind of looked like a skeleton.

Makani tilted her head. But maybe less so, now that his white-blond hair was a shocking hot pink.

“I remember when you had a thing for him,” Darby said to Alex.

“Yeah, like, in eighth grade. Until I realized he’s a full-time loner. He’s not interested in going out with anyone who attends this school.” With a rare and embarrassed afterthought, Alex grimaced. “Sorry, Makani.”

Makani and Ollie had hooked up last summer. Sort of. Thankfully, the only people who knew about it were sitting here in Darby’s car.

“It’s fine,” Makani said, because it was easier than saying it wasn’t.

There were a lot of rumors about Ollie: That he only slept with older women; that he only slept with older men; that he sold opioids stolen from his brother’s police station; that he once almost drowned in the shallow part of the river. That—when he was rescued—he was both blind drunk and buck naked.

Then again, their school was small. There were rumors about everyone.

Makani knew better than to believe any of them outright. Rumors, even the true ones, never told a complete story. She avoided most of her classmates for that very reason. Self-preservation. Recognizing a similarly dismal soul, Darby and Alex had taken her in when she’d been forced to relocate from Hawaii midway through her junior year. Her parents were embattled in an ugly divorce, so they’d shipped her off to live with her grandmother for some normalcy.

Normalcy. With her grandmother. In the middle ofnowhere.

At least, that’s how Makani told the story to her friends. And, much like a rumor, it did contain a kernel of truth. It was just missing the rest of the cob.

Her parents had never paid much attention to her, even in the best of times, and they’d only recently separated when the incident at the beach occurred. After that . . . they couldn’t look at her at all anymore. She didn’t like looking at herself, either.

She deserved this exile.

Now it was mid-October, and Makani had been in Osborne for almost a year. She was a senior, and so were Darby and Alex. Their mutual interest was counting down the days until graduation. Makani wasn’t sure where she’d go next, but she certainly wasn’t staying here.

“Can we return to the important subject?” Darby asked. “Haley is dead. And no one knows who killed her, and that freaks my shit out.”

“I thought you didn’t like Haley,” Alex said, pulling her dyed-black hair into a complicated twist that required a large number of chunky plastic barrettes. She was the closest thing their school had to a Goth, if you didn’t count Ollie.

Makani didn’t.

Their exteriors were both comprised of black clothing and thin, pointy body parts, but Alex was hard and aggressive. She demanded to be noticed. While Ollie was as soft and silent as the night sky.

“I didn’t dislike Haley.” Darby tucked his thumbs under his suspenders, which he wore every day along with a plaid shirt and sensible trousers. He was short and stocky, and he dressed like a dapper old man. 
“I didn’t know her,” Darby continued. “She seemed nice enough.”

Alex snapped in a barrette that resembled an evil Hello Kitty. “Isn’t it weird how the moment someone dies everyone becomes her bestest friend?”

Darby scowled. “I didn’t say that. Jeez.”

Makani let them bicker it out before stepping in. She always did. “Do you think one of her parents did it? I’ve heard in cases like this, it’s usually a family member.”

“Or a boyfriend,” Darby said. “Was she dating anyone?”

Makani and Alex shrugged.

All three stared at their passing classmates and fell into an unusual silence. “It’s sad,” Darby finally said. “It’s just . . . terrible.”

Makani and Alex nodded. It was.

“I mean, what kind of person would do something like that?” he asked.

A sickening wave of shame rolled throughout Makani’s body. It’s not the same, she reminded herself. I’m not that kind of person. But when the warning bell rang—three sterile chimes—she bolted from the cramped hatchback as if there were an actual emergency. Darby and Alex groaned as they extricated themselves, too caught up in their own gloom to register her odd behavior. Makani exhaled slowly and readjusted her clothing to make sure that she was decent. Unlike her friends, she did have curves.

“Maybe it was a serial killer,” Alex said as they headed toward first period. “A long-haul trucker on his way through town! These days, serial killers are always truck drivers.”

Makani felt the welcome return of skepticism. “Says who?”

“The FBI.”

“My dad is a truck driver,” Darby said.

Alex grinned.

“Stop smiling.” Darby glowered at her. “Or people will think you did it.”

By lunchtime, Alex’s tasteless joke about the source of Ollie’s hair dye had spread. Makani had heard more than one student whispering about his possible guilt. It infuriated her. Ollie was an anomaly, sure. But that didn’t make him a killer. Furthermore, she’d never seen him talk to, or even look at, Haley Whitehall.

And Makani had studied him a lot.

She was upset, despite understanding that the rumors were exactly that—fabrications created to distract them from the unknown. The unknown was too frightening. Makani had also overheard a group of academic overachievers gossiping about Zachary Loup, the school’s resident burnout. She didn’t think he was guilty, either, but at least he was a better suspect. Zachary was an asshole. He wasn’t even nice to his friends.

Most students, however, were agreed on the real suspects: Haley’s family. Maybe a boyfriend. No one knew of a boyfriend, but perhaps she’d had one in secret.

Girls often had secrets.

The thought churned inside Makani’s stomach like a rotten apple. As Darby and Alex speculated, she pushed away her paper boat of French fries and glanced around.

Nearly all of the 342 students were here in the nucleus of the campus, completely surrounded by brown-brick buildings. The quad was plain. Dreary. There were no tables or benches, only a few stunted trees scattered about, so students sat on the concrete ground. Unwind a spool of barbed wire, and it could have been a prison yard. But even prisoners were given tables and benches. A dry fountain filled with dead leaves—no one could remember ever having seen the stone lion shoot a stream of water from its open mouth—rested in the center like a mausoleum.

This time of year, the weather was unpredictable. Some days were warm, but most were cold. Today was almost warm, so the quad was crowded and the cafeteria was empty. Makani zipped up her hoodie, shivering. Her school in Kailua-Kona was always warm. The air had smelled like flowers and coffee and fruit, and it had tasted as salty as the Pacific, which glistened beside the parking lots and football fields.

Osborne smelled like diesel, tasted like despair, and was surrounded by an ocean of corn. Stupid corn. So much corn.

Alex grabbed a handful of Makani’s uneaten fries. “What about someone in show choir? Or drama club?”

Darby scoffed. “What, like, Haley’s understudy?”

“Isn’t that the person the Masterpiece detective would investigate?” Alex asked.

“The what-now?”

“Sherlock, Morse, Poirot. Wallander. Tennison.”

“I only know one of those names.” Darby dipped his pizza into a glob of ranch dressing. “Why don’t you watch normal television?”

“I’m just saying, let’s not rule anyone out yet.”

Makani was still staring at the fountain. “I hope it’s not a student.”

“It’s not,” Darby said.

“Please,” Alex said. “Angry teenagers do shit like this all the time.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but they show up at school with an arsenal of automatic weapons. They don’t go after people in their homes. With knives.

Makani muffled her ears with her fists. “Okay, enough. Stop it.”

Darby ducked his head, abashed. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. School shootings were real. With real murderers and real victims. Haley’s death felt one step removed from reality, because it didn’t seem like something that could happen to them. The crime was too specific. There must have been a reason for it. A horrible and misguided reason, but a reason nonetheless.

Makani turned to look at them, backpedaling the conversation in an attempt to downplay her reaction. “Well . . . Jessica didn’t do it.”

Alex raised her eyebrows. “Jessica?”

“Jessica Boyd. The understudy.” Makani rolled her eyes when Alex smirked. “I only know she’s the understudy, because I heard somebody else say it. But can you honestly imagine her killing anyone?”

“You’re right,” Alex said. “That does seem unlikely.” Jessica Boyd was a delicate wisp of a thing. It was difficult to imagine her even flushing a dead goldfish. “But did you guys notice that Haley’s best friend didn’t come to school today?”

“Because Brooke is in mourning.” Darby was exasperated. “Like I would be if this happened to one of you.

Alex leaned forward conspiratorially. “Think about it. Haley was one of the most talented students here. Everyone knew that she’d leave us for someplace bigger and better—Broadway, Hollywood. Whatever. She was the kind of person who should be totally stuck up, but . . . she wasn’t. People liked her. Which always means someone didn’t like her. Resented her.”

Makani’s nose wrinkled. “And you think it was her best friend?”

“No one even knew Haley,” Darby said, “unless they were in the drama club or Vocalmotion.” Vocalmotion was, regrettably, the self-chosen name of the show choir. Osborne High only had three respectable organizations: the drama and choral departments, which had a nearly one-hundred-percent overlap, and the football team.

It was Nebraska. Of course their school took football seriously.

“But that’s exactly what I’m saying!” Alex said. “Nobody else knew her. So doesn’t it make sense that one of her friends did it? Out of jealousy?”

“Should we be worried? Are you plotting to kill us?” Makani asked.

“Ugh,” Darby said.

Alex sighed. “You guys are no fun.”

“I believe I warned you this morning,” Darby said, “not to appear so excited.”

The wind picked up, and it shook a paper banner on the other side of the quad. An advertisement for Sweeney Todd.Each letter dripped with garish, hand-painted blood, and two long swaths of dark red tulle draped down from opposite corners like theater curtains. A gust heaved the tulle into the air, where it danced and writhed. Makani felt a chill touch her spine. Her name meant wind in Hawaiian, but she wasn’t superstitious about it. Except when she was. They should stop talking about Haley.

“It’s tactless,” she said, unable to help herself. She nodded toward the banner. “The ‘Splatter Belt.’ Do you think they’ll cancel it?”

Alex swallowed the last greasy fry. “They’d better not. That was the first school function that I’ve ever planned on attending. Willingly,” she added. She was in the marching band, which meant she was forced to attend the football games.

Darby stared her down until she made eye contact.

“What? It seemed like fun!” she said. “Getting covered in fake blood.”

Makani snorted. “There’s that word again. Fun.

Faux wistfulness spread across Darby’s face. “I remember when you used to collect plastic horses and Pokémon cards, and your life goal was to work for Pixar.”

“Lower your voice, dickpunch.” But Alex grinned.

A back-and-forth taunting of childhood hobbies and idiosyncrasies ensued, and Makani, as it so often happened, found herself excluded. Her attention waned, and her gaze drifted across the quad. It was almost time. Any minute now, and . . .


Her heart plummeted as Ollie appeared from the depths of the locker bay to throw away an empty plastic grocery bag. This was his daily routine appearance. He always ate a packed lunch in an uninhabited nook behind the old lockers, and then he always disappeared into the main building. He would finish this hour in the library.

Makani felt a familiar pang of sorrow. Ollie was so alone.

A small group of football players stood beneath the Sweeney banner, blocking the entrance to the building. Her muscles tensed as Matt Butler—Osborne’s golden boy, its prize running back—said something as Ollie approached. Whatever it was, Ollie didn’t react. Matt said something else. Ollie didn’t react. Matt flicked his thumb and index finger at Ollie’s hair. His friends laughed, but Ollie still didn’t react. It was agonizing to watch.

A meaty guy with an absurd name, Buddy or Bubba, she thought, jumped up and snatched at the tulle, and the right half of the banner ripped and collapsed downward. He laughed even harder as Ollie was forced to duck, but the pleasure was short-lived.

Matt gestured angrily at the wreckage. “Hey, man! Show some respect.”

The outburst carried across the quad. It took Buddy or Bubba several seconds to make the connection between the ruined banner and Haley, but as his expression transformed from confusion into humiliation, he was faced with a choice—either admit to a wrongdoing or double down. He doubled down. Shoving Matt’s shoulder, he set off a furious chain reaction of even more shoving until they were no longer blocking the entrance.

The escalating action held the student body in rapt attention. Only Makani stared elsewhere. Ollie still hadn’t moved. He’d kept it together, but it was clear that the football players had unnerved him. She was on her feet.

“No,” Darby said. “Makani. No.

Alex shook her head, and her barrettes clicked against one another. “Ollie doesn’t deserve your help. Or pity. Or whatever it is you’re feeling right now.”

Makani smoothed the front of her hoodie. She was already walking away.

“You never listen to us,” Darby called out. “Why don’t you ever listen to us?”

Alex sighed. “Good luck, gumdrop.”

This thing—this unbearable weight and pressure—that had been boiling inside Makani for months was about to erupt. Ollie might not deserve her help, but she still felt compelled to try. Maybe it was because she wished someone at her previous school had helped her. Or maybe it was because of Haley, a horrific situation already beyond anyone’s help. Makani glanced back at her friends with a shrug. When she turned forward, Ollie was staring at her. He didn’t look nervous or angry, or even curious.

He looked wary.

Makani strode toward him in a bold path. She always stood out among their peers. Their skin was several shades lighter than her brown complexion, and her surf-inspired wardrobe was several shades brighter than their Midwestern sensibility. She wore her hair big—in its natural curly coils—and she moved with a confident sway in her hips. It was a false confidence, designed so that people wouldn’t ask questions.

Ollie glanced one last time at the jocks, still shouting and posturing, and pulled aside the dangling tulle. He went into the building. Makani frowned. But when she opened the door, he was waiting for her on the other side.

She startled. “Oh.”

“Yes?” he said.

“I . . . I just wanted to say, they’re idiots.”

“Your friends?” Ollie deadpanned.

Makani realized she was still holding the door open, and he could see Darby and Alex through the tulle’s transparent weave, spying on them from across the quad. She released her grip. It slammed shut. “No,” she said, trying on a smile. “Everyone else.”

“Yeah. I know.” His face remained impassive. Guarded.

Her smile dropped. She crossed her arms, her own defenses rising as they sized each other up. They were almost eye level; he was only an inch or two taller than her. This close, she could see the newness of his hair. His scalp was hot pink. The dye would need more time to wash out of his skin. There was something vulnerable about seeing him like this, and her body re-softened. She hated herself for it.

She hated herself for so many things.

Makani hated that she’d gotten carried away with Ollie, even though she’d been warned about his reputation. She hated that she’d tricked herself into believing she didn’t care for him, when she’d always known that she did. And she hated the way it had ended. Abruptly. Silently. This was their first conversation since the end of summer.

Maybe if we’d talked more to begin with . . .

But that was it, wasn’t it? There had never been a lot of talking. At the time, she’d even been grateful for it.

His pale eyes were still fixed on her, but they were no longer passive. They were searching. Her veins throbbed in response. Why did it suddenly feel like they were back behind the grocery store, preparing to do what they did on those hot, summer afternoons?

“Why are you here?” he asked. “You haven’t spoken to me all semester.”

It made her angry. Instantly. “I could say the same thing about you. And I said what I wanted to say. About our classmates. Being idiots and all that.”

“Yeah.” His posture stiffened. “You did say that.”

Makani let out a singular laugh to show him that he wasn’t getting to her, even though they both knew that he was. “Fine. Forget it. I was just trying to be a friend.”

Ollie didn’t say anything.

“Everyone needs friends, Ollie.”

He frowned slightly.

“But, obviously, that’s impossible.” With one violent thrust, she pushed the door back open. “Great talk. See you in class.”

She stormed straight into the curtain of tulle. She swore as she struggled to pull it aside, growing more and more ensnared in the dark red netting. A thunderous uproar surged across the quad—a chaotic mob of excited, agitated spectators.

The fight had finally broken out.

Makani stopped thrashing. She was trapped, imprisoned even, in this miserable town where she hated everything and everyone. Especially herself.

There was a quiet stir, and she was surprised to discover that Ollie was still behind her. His fingers carefully, gently untangled her from the tulle. It dropped back into a sheet, and they watched their classmates together, in silence, through the blood-colored haze.


Excerpted from "There's Someone Inside Your House"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Stephanie Perkins.
Excerpted by permission of Penguin Young Readers Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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There's Someone Inside Your House 2.8 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 9 reviews.
TheLiteraryPhoenix More than 1 year ago
I thought There's Someone Inside Your House was just okay. Makani Young moved to Nebraska where she's far away from her mysterious past and her negligent parents. Here, she lives with her grandmother and is just trying to resume a normal life. She's got two friends and a crush and everything seems to be going fine until the serial killer shows up. With teens dying and the whole town afraid, it seems like there's no way to be safe and nowhere to run. As far as a thriller goes, it had its moments. There were a couple really vivid, well-written, gross murdery scenes that fulfilled its requirements as a horror novel, but this one just felt like a contemporary romance at its core. Despite the serial killer on the side, the real plot seemed to be the Deep Dark Secret that Makani had been hiding from her new friends and boyfriend. And even though it was not good, it was built up so much that by the time she told *that* story, I was completely underwhelmed. I was here for the slasher story and not for the romance that permeated this book, so for the most part, I just wanted to get on with it. When the killer is revealed about halfway through the book, the rest of the story started to drag for me. A lot of the timings were strange, and there really weren't any surprises here. Overall, it was an okay story, but I think that you need to go into it expecting a contemporary first, and a horror novel second.
TheDreamCarriers More than 1 year ago
I’ve read that Stephanie Perkins is typically a romance author so I was curious as to how this would read, even thought I am not familiar with her previous novels. I went in expecting a teen slasher and it delivered sufficiently. It was very obviously inspired by typical teen slasher movies which I LOVED. On a surface level, the plot was interesting and kept me intrigued throughout the book. That being said, I do not think that the book was very suspenseful. I was interested in who the killer was, and my brain did cycle through quite a few options, but I was not on the edge of my seat to find out who it was.The identity of the killer fell flat on me and I actually believed it to be a red herring, or an accomplice killer, waiting for a vast majority of the second half of the book for the actual killer to appear. The final few chapters of the book picked back up and I absolutely loved it. I wish the entirety of the book had the energy that the last few chapters contained. Our cast of characters was a little iffy. Everyone was fine to read about it but that was it. They were just fine. I was hoping Darby’s storyline would be expanded on more, as he is a trans boy in a small town. We could have benefited so much from more inclusion of his character but it wasn’t given. The romance. If you’re not big into romance, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend this book to you. I would say this book is equal parts romance and equal parts slasher. The romance felt pretty weak and uninteresting to me but it wasn’t entirely unreadable. Overall, it’s a take it or leave it relationship. I don’t think it adds to the story but I don’t think it hinders it. I definitely think this story and the way it was told is much more suited for a slasher film. While I was reading, I often found myself wishing that I was watching this play out on screen, and not in my head. I hope the possibility for a film adaption could lay somewhere in the book’s future. That being said, this was an enjoyable read. If you’re looking for a quick teen slasher book, this is the read for you!
AANortham More than 1 year ago
As a YA Librarian in Hawaii, I had to read a lot for this summer. Kirkus Reviews told me to ignore this one, but I kept seeing it popping up at Barnes and Noble, and curiosity eventually got the best of me, so I purchased it. Always a sucker for horror--and also intrigued by the character's Hawaiian background--I moved it to the top of my TBR queue and started devouring the chapters. Good news: it wasn't terrible. I'm reading another one right now that puts me to sleep it is so un-compelling. But, with that said, it has about as much depth as a slasher film. The villain isn't given much depth, the murders are so gruesome and over-the-top they might make Charles Manson gag, and the book sorta fell flat toward the end. Perkins needed to add at least one more chapter to really tighten up the narrative. Still, she is a good writer, and she excels at dialogue. I REALLY liked the romance between the main character and her weirdo -is-he-or-isn't-he-the-killer boyfriend. Her pacing is really good too. Perhaps it is the fact that I liked some parts so much that it is making the flaws that much more noticeable for me. In conclusion, it's good, not excellent. But for die-hard horror fans, I'd give it a go. I've definitely read worse horror books.
Lauren Watkins More than 1 year ago
I’ve never read anything by Stephanie Perkins until this book. I had high hopes for it and it just kinda fell short for me? I honestly thing Perkins played it too safe. Given her previous books are contemporary I think she made sure this horror could fall into that very easily to make sure her existing fans would enjoy this book. However, for me, who was really excited to see some horror in YA it was a let down. The horror scenes that did happen were just before someone was killed were so good. She built tension amazingly and they were rather spooky. But the in between chapters? eh. The murderer was revealed far too early, and for those reviews you’ve read where people are praising this book and state they didn’t guess who the killer was well I hate to break it to you but I’m fairly certain no one did because it was a no one character. Makani hints a lot about doing something terrible in her past which was really intriguing me. I was so sure she’d done something terrible. But again, no, she was just a victim more than anything. It was interesting seeing how she dealt with what she did, and how she viewed herself because of it though. The other fault it has that I’m not really in the position to say is right or wrong is that when the trans character is introduced their dead name is also mentioned. I’m not sure why this happened as there was no need. It added nothing to the story. Anyway, regardless of the fact I found this a mediocre read I honestly would try more of Perkins work if she wrote more horror. I would just pray she takes more risks and really explores the horror genre.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
This book was amazing until the end..... you find the killer half way through the book. It wasn't super obvious, but then it just fell flat. After the showdown it just stops. It needed one more chapter to truly have closure. That being said it was definitely a good read and a great substitute for a light horror movie.
KateUnger More than 1 year ago
There’s Someone Inside Your House in a YA horror novel. I don’t usually do horror, but this book was compared to the movie Scream, so I thought I could handle it. It’s really addictive, and definitely not too scary. I’d say it’s more suspenseful, while quite gory, but I really, really enjoyed it. The book centers around Makani, who’s new to the town and high school. Her parents shipped her from Hawaii to Nebraska, so they could deal with their divorce without her getting in the way. In short, her parents really suck, but thankfully her grandmother is awesome, despite her sleep-walking habit. Makani falls for Ollie, an outcast at school who’s recently dyed his hair pink. As their relationship develops, so does a series of gruesome murders of their classmates. Many people suspect Ollie, but Makani knows him better than anyone. And of course, they stupidly get involved in the investigation. I flew through this book in a weekend, and it definitely had me feeling many feels. It’s almost like I could see it playing out as a movie while I was reading the book. I highly recommended it.
CrazyCat_Alex More than 1 year ago
This was somewhat disappointing. While I loved the contemporary books by Stephanie Perkins, this one was not appealing to me at all. The genre mix of romance and horror just didn’t work for me. If it would have been centered about one of these two it would have worked, but now it made for a confusing and little boring read. I chose to read this book and all opinions in this review are my own and completely unbiased. Thanks to NetGalley and Pan Macmillan!
BookPrincessReviews More than 1 year ago
I believe this was a case of two weird genres getting together and not vibing. I've been lowkey a few of Perkins since I hesitantly got on the Anna and the French Kiss trend and rather enjoyed it. Lola and the Boy Next Door is one of my favorite books of all time, so when I literally saw that Perkins one sentence synopsis of this book how many years ago about slasher fic meets Anna, I WAS SOLD I WAS SOLD I WAS SOLD. However, I believe the problems came, well, because the fact that it was slasher meets Anna. It couldn't figure out which one it wanted to be and I was just left confused. My biggest issue was this wasn't scary. I was not scared once in the story. Perkins had a fascinating idea about how this villain came into someone's house, moving around items causing people to not be able to figure out if it's someone else or just their imagination. It's freaky, but that's about it. Perkins tried to bring in the scary, but she just focused on the weirdest things...for example: THE EGGTIMER. The story starts off with our first victim, walking around the house being confused on why this eggtimer keeps getting moved around. Okay, the moving around part is freaky, but the girl kept focusing on how the eggtimer itself was creepy. She's like, oh, I don't trust this weird little thing. It's white and it looks beady or something and she just gets creeped out by it. I have never once been creeped out by one, so it felt like Perkins was just telling us to be scared of it instead of making it actually scary (and a super missed opportunity to not have that creepy ticking). Later, another victim is a football player. When he starts to notice that things have gone missing, he perhaps thinks it's because of a possible concussion or related illness, CTE. I thought that would make a lot of sense, but I think Perkins was like, oh, right, I have to make this creepy, so she keeps using the phrase, CTE? Is it you? So the narrator would go on for a bit of prose and then all of sudden, CTE? Is it you? would just randomly appear. It actually made me laugh out loud, and I had a long discussion with my friend about this later on because I was still crying over it. Okay, those were two of the examples of what I thought was Perkins trying to force the scary aspect of it. It got a bit more slasher fic at the end of the story, but to tell the truth, I didn't really know/care about any of the victims getting killed, I was not scared, I called the killer literally the first instance that I saw them, and I was not held in suspense. Plus, the romance parts got super in the way. I felt like they were in the most inopportune times to be added in. I mean, there's having a moment of prayer/silence for some of the victims, and Makani and her lovey decide to have a passionate kiss while everyone around them has their eyes closed for it? I was concerned by that. And I didn't get into the romance either. Perhaps that was because I didn't care for the characters at all? They were all just kind of there, and I never formed a connection to any character. However, I did enjoy the diversity aspect of it. One of the supporting characters, Darby, is transgender, and Makani is half Native Hawaiian and half African American. Perkins tackled a lot of fantastic points about racial diversity in a town without much and the different micro aggressions that take place.  Overall, this story just fell super flat to me. I couldn't get into the characters or romance, it wasn't scary, I knew
ahyperboliclife More than 1 year ago
2.5 Stars Makani wondered why discussing a tragedy - consuming every story about it - was often comforting? Was it because tragedies manifested a sense of community? Here we are, all going through this terrible thing together. Or were tragedies addictive, and the small pleasures that came from them a signal of a deeper problem? This was pitched as Scream meets YA and I was super excited, because Scream is my all time favorite horror movie and I’ve liked Stephanie Perkin’s books in the past, but overall I was left feeling a bit underwhelmed. In There’s Someone Insdie Your House, we follow students at Osbourne High School as classmates are being picked off by a serial killer. To discover the killer and find the next target, the students must look into their past and confront their secrets before it’s too late. Things I Liked The romance was actually really sweet and cute. I liked Mikani and Ollie, their relationship was one of my favorite parts of the story. They had great interactions and I liked all their scenes together. There was actually some suspenseful moments, this might have been helped by the fact that I was reading this at 3am. I liked the intense moments and the darker grittier scenes when the killings were happening. A few were a little ridiculous, but mostly they kept me engaged. I actually really loved the beginning of the story, and it hooked me right away. I love that the school’s play was Sweeney Todd - it set a great atmosphere, along with the Halloween time. And I really liked the introduction to the killer. Things I Didn’t Like Alex, one of Mikani’s best friends, was super annoying to me the whole time. We just clashed and I didn’t particularly care for her. I took way too long to figure out what was up with Mikani’s mysterious past. And once we finally figured out what happened it was a let down, and just really took me out of what was happening in the main plot. Plus her parents were atrocious people. I went into this expecting horror, and I feel like I got Disney channel horror. It wasn’t bad, it just wanted a little more. Like I said above, I did find some moments to be suspenseful, but there was this hazy of romance that kept it from getting really threatening. The killer reveal happens around the halfway marks and I was like, WHO? Then i was like, who cares? I wasn’t really blown away by the killer reveal, and I thought the motive was a little weak. This was really a mixed bag for me: I loved the diversity we get in the characters (Mikani is black and native Hawaiian; Darby is trans), and the romance between Ollie and Mikani was probably my favorite part. But, I don’t really want the romance to be my favorite part in a horror story. This felt more like a contemporary with a serial killer side plot. It was still a pretty fun read that I flew through, even if a few of the characters did annoy me. There’s Someone Inside Your House was a good book to turn you in the direction toward fall and get you ready for Halloween, before the real spooky stuff gets here. I received a copy of the book from Dutton Books FYR via Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review.