{"product_id":"the-staircase-in-the-woods-isbn-9780593156582","title":"The Staircase in the Woods","description":"\u003cb\u003eNATIONAL BESTSELLER • A group of friends investigates the mystery of a strange staircase in the woods in this mesmerizing horror novel from the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Book of Accidents.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“Chuck Wendig weaves his magic once more, turning a lonely staircase in the woods into a searing, propulsive, dread-filled exploration of the horrors of knowing and being known.”—Kiersten White, author of \u003ci\u003eHide \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eLucy Undying\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eONE OF \u003ci\u003eVULTURE\u003c\/i\u003e’S BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFive high school friends are bonded by an oath to protect one another no matter what.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen, on a camping trip in the middle of the forest, they find something extraordinary: a mysterious staircase to nowhere.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOne friend walks up—and never comes back down. Then the staircase disappears.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTwenty years later, the staircase has reappeared. Now the group returns to find the lost boy—and what lies beyond the staircase in the woods. . . .“Chuck Wendig is the Frank Lloyd Wright of horror, and here’s his masterstroke of malaise.\u003ci\u003e The Staircase in the Woods\u003c\/i\u003e is a true blueprint for terror.”\u003cb\u003e—Clay McLeod Chapman, author of \u003ci\u003eWake Up\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eOpen Your Eyes\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Chuck Wendig weaves his magic once more, turning a lonely staircase in the woods into a searing, propulsive, dread-filled exploration of the horrors of knowing and being known. I’d follow him anywhere.”\u003cb\u003e—Kiersten White, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eHide\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[A] masterclass in character . . . Unputdownable, with imagery that cuts like a knife—this is Chuck Wendig at the top of his game.”\u003cb\u003e—Thomas Olde Heuvelt, author of \u003ci\u003eHEX\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eDarker Days\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Chuck Wendig has given us another stunner. \u003ci\u003eThe Staircase in the Woods\u003c\/i\u003e is as mysterious, alluring, heartbreaking, ever-shifting, and unnervingly powerful as the nature of friendship itself.”\u003cb\u003e—Nat Cassidy, author of \u003ci\u003eWhen the Wolf Comes Home \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eMary\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Heart-wrenching and anxiety-inducing. Like if the crew from King’s \u003ci\u003eIT\u003c\/i\u003e were thrown into the chaotic hallways of Danielewski’s \u003ci\u003eHouse of Leaves\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Staircase in the Woods\u003c\/i\u003e will become lodged in your mind, if you let it in.”\u003cb\u003e—Jenny Kiefer, author of \u003ci\u003eThis Wretched Valley\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Chuck Wendig has crafted a very sinister take on the familiar urban legend. Highly original and deeply disturbing, this one will stick with you.”\u003cb\u003e—Gwendolyn Kiste, Bram Stoker Award-winning author of \u003ci\u003eReluctant Immortals\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Haunting of Velkwood\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eThe Staircase in the Woods\u003c\/i\u003e is delicious disorienting and deeply captivating. It will pull at the threads of your psyche in the best way until you feel like you just emerged from the most exquisite nightmare.”\u003cb\u003e—Alaina Urquhart, #1\u003ci\u003e New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Butcher Game\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A searching portrait of four friends trying to find the things we all tend to lose as we grow older: faith, direction, hope, happiness, purpose . . . That’s the heart of Chuck Wendig’s work in these pages, and to read a book that illuminates such profound human truths is very rare indeed.”\u003cb\u003e—Nick Cutter\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eChuck Wendig \u003c\/b\u003eis the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eWanderers, The Book of Accidents, Wayward,\u003c\/i\u003e and more than two dozen other books for adults and young adults. A finalist for the Astounding Award and an alumnus of the Sundance Screenwriters Lab, he has also written for comics, games, film, and television. He’s known for his popular blog, \u003ci\u003eterribleminds,\u003c\/i\u003e and books about writing such as\u003ci\u003e Damn Fine Story\u003c\/i\u003e. He lives in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, with his family.\u003cb\u003e1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eOwen\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eMay 30\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003ePittsburgh, PA\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOwen slept in the midst of mess and wreckage, as he did most nights.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSometimes it was the tangle of a forever unmade bed, other times pages torn from notebooks out of frustration, pages scrawled with erratic, mutant half-­formed almost-­ideas. But last night, as with many, it was computer parts—­parts old and new: a vintage Sound Blaster sound card rescued from a first-­gen Pentium; a baggie of RAM chips like loose teeth; a snarl of cables; a PowerColor Red Dragon AMD Radeon RX 6800 XT GPU that he’d managed to buy off Craigslist, of all places, since the guy who’d had it didn’t know what he had, meaning Owen got it for a song. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis body slept, bent into shape around the chaos, careful even in the night not to kick anything off the bed. He didn’t writhe. He slept like the dead. Even when the dreams came—­the same dreams that were just another kind of mess and wreckage, dreams of a set of stairs, sometimes in the middle of the street, sometimes descending down into the forest floor, sometimes in the middle of his high school gym, sometimes floating there in the big black nothing. Stairs that in the dream he never walked up or down, even though he knew he was supposed to. Stairs he was too scared to touch with even the front of his foot. Stairs that shuddered and whispered words he couldn’t understand, in a voice he recognized, a voice of a friend long gone, a friend abandoned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen—­\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eBvvt, bvvt. Bvvt, bvvt\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe sound from an older-­model iPhone as it vibrated. It slowly scurried its way across a crowded nightstand, its suicide blocked by the obstacle of mess on the floor: to-­be-­read books, a coffee mug, a blister pack of melatonin, a half-­empty bottle of trazodone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe sound dragged Owen out of the depths of that dark dream. The sour feeling of it remained, stuck to him like tree sap. He pawed at the nightstand, extracting himself from the chaos of computer parts and tangled sheets. Wincing in the harsh platinum light of late morning, he looked at the phone, then sat up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe caller:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eLore\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePanic laced through his chest, tightening it. Not just panic. Anger, too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe cleared his throat, went to answer, then paused. Should he? Could he?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOwen denied the call, kept the phone face down against his chest. He looked around his apartment—­a spare, bland, chaotic space, because he did little to organize it, little to decorate it, little of anything. It was just the bleak place in which he existed, the place he slept in and showered in and ate gussied-­up instant ramen in.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e. . . \u003ci\u003ebecause you don’t deserve anything better\u003c\/i\u003e. The thought circled his brain again and again like an EDM loop.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe thought about burying his head under the pillow again, but he checked the phone for a voicemail—­\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut instead, it rang again. Lore.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eShit.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eIf she’s calling, it’s important\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBiting his teeth, he answered it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Lore,” he said, his throat still full of morning gravel.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Can you believe it?” she asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What what?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Okay, let’s start over. Oh, hello, Lore,” Owen said, more smart-­assedly than he meant it to be. “It’s nice to talk to you. It’s been a long time. May I ask what this is in reference to—­”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Jesus, you didn’t check your email.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What? No.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands before popping her onto speaker. “It’s still . . . early.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s ten a.m.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Like I said, early.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe flicked to his email.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNothing new had come in.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“There’s no—­” he started to say.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s to us. To the—­to all of us.” There was a beat before she said: “The Covenant.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Covenant.\u003c\/i\u003e As if that was even a thing anymore. That, a bone long broken, left unhealed. Hell, when was the last time he had heard from her? Three years now? Four? Right. He’d last heard from Lore right at the start of the pandemic—­she thought maybe it would be the thing that got them all talking again. They did one Zoom call, all of them, and that was the end of it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was about to say, \u003ci\u003eNope, no email,\u003c\/i\u003e but then, \u003ci\u003eding:\u003c\/i\u003e one appeared.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It’s from Nick,” he said, as if she didn’t already know.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBlinking more sleep crust from his eyes, Owen squinted at the email, scanning it—­\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt didn’t take long to see.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHell, Nick put it in the first line.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Holy shit,” Owen said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Yeah.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“F***.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis heart, which had been racing, now felt like—­well, like it had stopped. As if it had died in his chest. Maybe it wasn’t even there anymore, had fallen down some elevator shaft deep within him, gone forever, never to be seen again, beyond rescue.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eJust like Matty—­\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eNo.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eDon’t do that.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eDon’t go there.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I need a minute,” Owen said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sure. Yeah. Cool. But not too long.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe thought he’d call her back in five minutes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaybe ten.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut he sat there on the bed for an hour.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe read and reread the email. It felt unreal. It felt impossible. Owen kept reading it, thinking that the text would change suddenly, that it would delete itself or dissolve like the residue of a lost dream.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut the email remained.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd with it, the news.New York Times bestselling author of The Book of Accidents; National bestseller","brand":"Del Rey","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233747611877,"sku":"NP9780593156582","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593156582.jpg?v=1767741643","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-staircase-in-the-woods-isbn-9780593156582","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}