If the press of Cornwall Coombe closing in on Ned, Beth, and Kate—and the way Widow Fortune’s influence turns every neighborly smile into a threat—had you riveted, you’ll love Jackson’s eerie domestic siege. In We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Merricat and Constance Blackwood fend off a hostile village from within their crumbling home, as whispers about the family poisoning and a disastrous visit from cousin Charles escalate into a chilling, intimate standoff. It delivers that same close-quarters dread you felt as the doors of Cornwall Coombe locked from the inside.

Like Ned’s slow, step-by-step uncovering of Cornwall Coombe’s corn rites and the ominous anticipation of the Day of Reaping, The Loney builds dread through processions, tides, and faith-driven rituals in a bleak coastal parish. As two brothers join an annual pilgrimage, small rites and local customs curdle into menace, culminating in a revelation as disquieting as Ned’s final night in the fields.

If the carved-in-grain lore of Cornwall Coombe—the Corn Play, the Corn Maiden, and the way Widow Fortune’s old knowledge orders every chore and feast—was your favorite part, Kent’s The Good People offers a richly textured immersion in 19th‑century Irish folk belief. Nóra and the healer Nance work charms, burials, and cures that feel as real as the harvest customs Ned catalogs, with village gossip and custom closing ranks until superstition turns lethal.

If you enjoyed following Ned’s probing—his notes, questions, and risky snooping that peel back Cornwall Coombe’s smiling façade until the Harvest Lord’s fate is laid bare—Levin’s The Stepford Wives hits the same nerve. Joanna Eberhart’s curiosity draws her into the immaculate suburbs’ machinery, where every friendly invitation hides a chilling design, and the final reveal lands with the same gut-punch as Ned’s capture and blinding.

If living inside Ned Constantine’s head—his rationalizations, mounting paranoia, and first-person shock as he learns what Cornwall Coombe really celebrates—kept you up late, The Red Tree will do the same. Through Sarah Crowe’s intimate journals, strange local histories and a malignant old tree pull her deeper into obsession, blurring research and reality with the same unnerving immediacy as Ned’s final, powerless gaze into the village’s truth.