Ridiculous premise, absolutely got me

Right. A fry cook in a desert town who sees dead people and can't tell anyone about it. On paper that's a Tuesday night ITV drama and I nearly didn't bother.

I bothered. Read it in two sittings on the sofa with Bertha asleep across my feet, which is the highest praise available in this flat, because she has claws like a garden fork and I did not move once.

What gets you is that Odd is nice. Genuinely nice! Horror leads are usually a haunted detective with a drink problem and an ex who won't return his calls — this one is a lad who makes very good pancakes and is polite to the dead. When was the last time you read a horror novel where the hero is just a nice bloke with a job? The bodachs are a properly unsettling invention as well. They gather where something bad is going to happen and nobody can see them but him, so half the book is a man watching a shopping centre quietly fill up with things that shouldn't be in it.

The ending. I'm not saying. I made a noise, out loud, and Dec looked up from his phone and asked if I was alright, which from Dec counts as a full wellness check.

Losing marks because Koontz cannot leave a joke alone once he's found one, and there's a long patch near the middle where every single character talks in the same slightly smug way, like they've all been to the same improv class. But I've already ordered the next one, so. FINE. Yes. I liked it.