We Used to Live Here

The tension in *We Used to Live Here* escalates as the former residents of Charlie and Eve's newly acquired house don't just linger, they *intrude*. This isn't a passive haunting; it's an active, invasive presence that blurs the lines between reality and delusion, a phenomenon that will deeply resonate with readers who appreciate the psychological manipulation and creeping dread found in Sager's work. The initial innocence of Eve’s people-pleasing, allowing the previous family entry, quickly devolves into a nightmarish scenario where boundaries dissolve and safety is irrevocably compromised. The missing child, the spectral presence in the basement, and Charlie’s eventual disappearance all point to a deeply unsettling breach of the domestic sphere, a theme that echoes the feeling of being trapped and haunted within one's own sanctuary. Kliewer masterfully crafts a narrative that makes the reader question Eve's sanity alongside her, drawing them into her spiraling terror. This shared appreciation for narratives that dissect the psychological toll of inhabiting haunted spaces, where the architectural itself becomes a character and an antagonist, is a strong bridge between these works. The internal search for authenticity, as noted in the connection to *Home Before Dark*, becomes a desperate struggle for survival and sanity in *We Used to Live Here*, as Eve grapples with the possibility that the house, its former inhabitants, or her own unraveling mind is the source of her escalating nightmare. The "quicksand" effect described by Agustina Bazterrica, where readers become increasingly immobilized by terror, is a potent descriptor for the immersive, suffocating atmosphere Kliewer creates, a feeling that is also a hallmark of narratives that excel at making the familiar terrifyingly strange. The lingering question of whether Eve is "just imagining things" is the ultimate ghost, one that the reader wrestles with throughout the novel, much like unraveling the layered mysteries in *Home Before Dark*. This exploration of psychological fragility in conjunction with tangible supernatural and psychological threats solidifies *We Used to Live Here* within a rich tapestry of unsettling stories about ownership, memory, and the spectral residents who refuse to vacate.

The "challenge" faced by Charlie and Eve in *We Used to Live Here* is multifaceted, extending beyond the immediate threat posed by the former residents. It is a challenge to their perception of reality, as Eve grapples with unexplained phenomena and the disconcerting inability of the intruders to depart. This mirrors the unsettling nature of disruptions that can occur in one's life, forcing a confrontation with the unexpected and the uncanny. The book’s triumph lies in its ability to magnify these personal challenges into a visceral, terror-inducing experience for the reader. The sense of entrapment, where the house itself seems to conspire against its new owners, and the gradual disappearance of Charlie, escalates the stakes to a terrifying degree. Readers interested in the thematic resonance of inescapable dread and the psychological toll of prolonged threat will find *We Used to Live Here* a deeply satisfying, albeit chilling, exploration. The tension between the couple's initial optimism and the creeping dread that envelops them creates a powerful narrative arc that challenges any reader’s assumption of control over their surroundings and their own mental fortitude. This is particularly relevant for those who have found themselves drawn to the inherent unease found within the genre, where the disruption of normalcy is the primary engine of suspense. The book serves as a potent example of how the familiar can quickly become the most terrifying landscape when the established order is irrevocably broken.