NO ROAD HOME

The sins of a televangelist and his kin come home to roost.

When Toby Tucker and his sister were kids, their guardian, Uncle Ezra, made them spend four hours on the couch every Sunday watching The Prophecy Hour, a “glitzy, exuberant, overwhelming televangelism program” hosted by “America’s prophet,” fire-and-brimstone preacher Jerome Jeremiah Wright. Now, two-plus decades and a whirlwind courtship later, Toby is married to Jerome’s granddaughter Alyssa, and the couple are traveling to Hebron, Texas, with Toby’s 7-year-old son, Luca, to celebrate Alyssa’s 30th birthday at the Wright’s compound. Toby has never put any stock in Jerome’s predictions, but he is nevertheless unnerved to learn while en route that the man’s most recent broadcast ended with three grim warnings seemingly intended for Toby and Luca. Toby’s anxiety skyrockets when, just hours after they arrive, someone kills Jerome; a surprise storm of biblical proportions takes out the phone, internet, and access roads; and Luca starts seeing and conversing with an apparition he calls Mister Suit. Toby soon realizes the remaining Wrights are contriving to pin Jerome’s murder on him. Worse, once Toby is sidelined, Alyssa and her brother Richard have plans for long-haired, sparkle-loving Luca that start with a stay at a church-run wilderness camp that destroys sweet, sensitive boys like him. The situation seems dire, but the Wright clan has no shortage of terrible secrets, and Toby won’t go down without a fight. By turns searing, soapy, and spine-tingling, Fram’s latest pays homage to Southern Gothic icons Michael McDowell and V.C. Andrews while also tipping its cap to modern horror great Jordan Peele. Though there’s a particular contrivance on which the plot leans a bit too heavily, that’s a minor quibble; exquisitely rendered, realistically damaged characters lend credence to myriad mad twists, propelling the tale from portentous start to pulse-pounding finish.

Trenchant, terrifying fun.