Dead Eleven: A Novel

Wow. No. I honestly can't tell if this is objectively a thriller/horror that could have been written better, or if it just did so many things that infuriated me personally that I can't see beyond that to its redeeming qualities. Spokesperson of organized religion as the power house that keeps everyone superstitious and afraid? FUCK no. Grief as a point of manipulation and fear? FUCK no. Revering the past dead children to the extent of constricting the futures of the current generation's youth? FUCK no. Sacrificing your entire life, your entire community's future, for the ‘greater good' when noone else gets to have a say? FUCK no. Writing the book like it's going to be an expose only to go with the most anticlimactic gotcha of, ‘on second thought , no'? FUCK no. I get it, there's an actual demon, so as much as basically everybody was lying to any visitor, they were also justified? I, I just don't care. This felt like the lamest possible version of a final girl story. The pace dragged, creepiness was just so attenuated that I felt like I was at a very young sleepover hearing ghost stories/urban legends, and I subsequently went from impatient to bored to mad. Can't recommend. 
⚠️child death, ableism