Neon Moon by Grace R. Reynolds
Dark Matter Ink (May 4, 2026)
Reviewed by Elizabeth Broadbent
A feminist Texas Chainsaw Massacre in a country music bar—that’s a heck of a pitch, and Grace R. Reynolds delivers with her novella Neon Moon. Everyone loves a bloody horror show of a slasher, amiright? But this one’s more than that. Reynolds’ novella might share its DNA with slasher and survivalist books, but Neon Moon is a true-blue Southern Gothic.
Darlene’s a bartender at the Teegarden Saloon, an old-school country music roadhouse that once hosted the greats—Patsy Cline, Glenn Campbell, Charley Pride (don’t worry, Reynolds gives us two much-needed playlists at the end). Slinging brews, talking with the regulars, and coping with a rowdy bachelorette party, Darlene’s night looks the same as every other night in the past year.
Then someone starts murdering patrons.
And we feel for them, we really do—these are well-drawn characters, people with more to say than screams. Buxom blonde bartender Darlene has a heart of gold, a tragic past, and a mean right hook; regulars Ezra, Orville, and Randy might be ogling old men, but we appreciate how they look out for Darlene and bar owner Wanda. From the bratty bride-to-be to the done-with-it band, the denizens of the Teegarden Saloon feel like real people in a real country music bar, ready to stand up and line dance.
Don’t get attached. Reynolds reminds readers that you don’t have to be a man to write blood, guts, and mayhem.
Neon Moon might be a slasher, but sudden, startling acts of violence are also a hallmark of Southern Gothic. So is a vivid sense of place, and the novella delivers a setting so well-realized you’ll smell the spilled beer. From the Texas humidity to the longhorn steer on the wall, the Teegarden Saloon comes alive in these pages. When you finish the book, you’ll be able to close your eyes and picture it (and hear it, and smell it, and feel the seats, and taste the beer). A masterclass in setting.
Southern Gothic also generally includes good prose. Reynolds may have a hatchet-wielding killer, but her poetry background shines in this little novella. She lingers over the victims’ fear, the songs on the jukebox, the humidity in the air.
Most important for Southern Gothic? The return of the traumatic past. Slashers always need a whodunnit, and this one feels both earned and righteous. Neither did I see it coming—but maybe I was too caught up in the plot to speculate. A wonderful Southern Gothic slasher with a country music twist, and a killer long-form debut from a fun, feminist, and poetic voice.
