If Walter Gilman’s fixation on impossible angles and his night forays through non-Euclidean spaces grabbed you, you’ll get the same vertigo from the ever-changing corridors of the Navidson house in House of Leaves. The way hallways stretch, rooms appear and vanish, and measurements refuse to add up echoes Gilman’s discovery that a mere angle can open onto the infinite. You’ll feel that same mounting dread as maps fail, doors lie, and a home becomes a portal to elsewhere.

Keziah Mason’s rituals, Brown Jenkin’s whisperings, and the sense that a simple room in Arkham can host something vast and hungry all find a powerful echo here. In The Ballad of Black Tom, Tommy Tester is drawn into occult music and ceremonies that crack open the skin of the world—much like Gilman’s witch-light journeys—until ancient powers answer. It delivers the same chill of dangerous spellcraft practiced in boardinghouses and city flats, where the price of knowledge is blood.

If you loved following Gilman’s late‑night research at Miskatonic, scribbling over grim tomes to decode Keziah Mason’s angles, The Red Tree mirrors that obsessive inquiry. Writer Sarah Crowe moves into a rural Rhode Island house and digs into a manuscript about a sinister tree, piecing together diaries, legends, and clues as reality frays—just as Gilman’s scholarship opens a door to something predatory. That sense of investigation turning into a trap is front and center.

Gilman’s ordeal feels intensely personal—one man, one shabby room, an ancient witch—yet it opens onto infinity. The Fisherman strikes the same note: two grieving men find a fishing spot with a history of impossible losses, and a story within the story broadens into abyssal myth. As with Gilman’s dream-voyages across black gulfs, the quiet, human-scale sorrow becomes a doorway to something older and fathomless waiting beneath the surface.

If the everyday setting of Arkham—thin walls, creaking floors—made Keziah Mason’s rites feel more terrifyingly plausible, The Haunting of Hill House channels that same intrusion of the uncanny into the ordinary. Eleanor Vance’s stay in a very real house turns insidious as its angles and nights pressure her psyche, much like Gilman’s lodging becomes a conduit for witch-lights and whispers. The supernatural keeps one foot in our world, making every knock in the dark matter.