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They came here, desperate, lured by the promise of finally winning something, set up to be devoured so people who already had everything would continue having exactly what they already had, what they could have had anyway, what they felt was their due.

In Mack’s mind, scarred over with wounds from that night, her father had lost his face. He had transformed into something towering, bent at impossible angles, with black holes for eyes. He didn’t hold a knife; he was a knife.

My inner horror wuss is appreciative that this is creepy, but not *too* creepy

If they can’t see the monster, it can’t get them. But it can. It always can. And while you aren’t looking, it’s eating everyone around you.

“Cool story, man,� Ava says. “Tell me about how you walked uphill to school both ways, twenty miles in the snow, and how going to school didn’t put you in six-figure debt, and how your first house cost less than a car, and then I’ll tell you a story about how your generation fucked mine over.�

This is giving major Stephen King vibes, kind of like a cross between The Long Walk and Joyland