I feel like Blanky is a cautionary tale about trusting people who can’t spell.
I mean, would you buy something from a shopkeeper advertising “BABY CLOSE” (i.e., “clothes”) for sale? I sure as hell wouldn’t. If for no other reason than on the principle of being a proud (and snobbish) English major who mastered second grade spelling.
Unfortunately, main character Steve and his wife weren’t as bothered about this obvious portent of doom. They went ahead and purchased the titular Blanky from Mr. Hookd On Fonicks Werked 4Me, then blissfully swaddled their infant daughter in it once she was born.
It turned out to be the worst mistake of their lives.
Blanky ranks up there as one of the best horror stories I’ve come across. It’s another fantastic example of when something seemingly benign is twisted into an object of absolute terror.
A fellow, horror-loving book blogger posted a photo of the Blanky’s book cover on Instagram one day, and I was immediately lured in by the creepy, black-and-white baby carriage. Once I read the book synopsis — a man haunted by a baby blanket that finds its way home from his dead baby’s grave — I knew it was a must-read for me.
Blanky starts with Steve talking about the loss of his child, his nine-month-old daughter Robin. How she was found dead in her crib, for no apparent reason, and how he and his wife are coping (or not) in the aftermath. Blanky soon makes its (re)appearance in the house, and while it first brings a modicum of comfort to the mourning parents, it soon becomes an item of terror and destruction for their family.
It just so happens that Blanky was in the crib with Robin when she died. And, it was later placed in the coffin with Robin when she was buried.
Now it’s back. In the house. FROM THE GRAVE.
Obviously, Blanky is cursed. Very, very cursed. As if crawling out of a dead baby’s tomb weren’t creepyAF enough, it turns out that Robin’s demise was just the beginning of the insanity to come.
Blanky is page after page of horrific dreams, impossibly disturbing visions, and a constant game of “Is this really happening, or am I going bat-shit crazy because of all the trauma I’ve endured?” While the latter explanation seems completely plausible — one can only take so much loss — I think it’s blindingly clear that this seemingly innocent scrap of fabric is downright demonic. Blanky is hell-bent (ha! pun!) on making Steve’s life a living nightmare, leaving the poor man clinging to the edge of sanity as this damn blanket does everything in its power to kick him over it.
The paranormal events in this book are deeply sinister, but this little story packs a one-two punch. While crazy dreams about a witch-lady with baby fingers wriggling out of her empty eye sockets (yep, that’s a thing) are certainly bloodcurdling, they don’t even begin to compete with the real horror imbuing the novel. The horror that, all supernatural things aside, could actually happen: the death of a child.
The first part of Blanky shows Steve and his wife — but mostly Steve — wrestling with unrelenting, devastating loss. Their only child is gone and, with it, the dream of the happy family life they thought they would have. Author Kealan Patrick Burke excellently depicts their heart-wrenching grief and all the thoughts that come with it, and I found this realistic portrayal more upsetting than the deranged events in the rest of the story.
If you think you can handle it, read Blanky. And, if you can’t, just remember: Never buy anything advertised by a sign reading “BABY CLOSE.”
Book Buyers’ Note: Blanky is actually a novella, which means that most libraries don’t carry it. We all know that I don’t usually buy books, but I made an exception for this little gem. Lemme tell ya — best $7.48 I ever spent. I ordered it from my local independent bookstore, and I hope you’ll do the same.
