Freida McFadden trades her usual mansion setting for a haunted estate in Massachusetts and a 1692 witch trial. This time, the scariest thing is the past.
(By Justine Castellon / for Just Reading Nook)
I have to admit, whenever a new Freida McFadden book comes out, I’m already on guard. I don’t trust the narrator, the sweet old lady, or the man who seems too perfect. After The Housemaid, I think many of us read her books like detectives, waiting for the twist. So when The Witch arrived with its haunted estate, 1692 witch trial, and a grandmother who keeps calling the heroine by the wrong name, I tried not to be tricked. But I still was—maybe not completely, but enough to appreciate how well McFadden pulled it off.
So, What’s It About?
I’ll keep this spoiler-free, because this is a book you should walk into blind. It runs on two alternating timelines, both set at Pemberton, the Eldridge family estate in Woodhaven, Massachusetts.
In 1692, we meet Caroline Eldridge, the young second wife of Archibald “Archie” Eldridge, a wealthy and respected merchant. Woodhaven is already on edge because someone the town calls “The Night Reaper” is strangling young women. Caroline is desperate to please her husband, and her dearest friend is Hitty Atkins, the elderly herbalist who treats her like a daughter. Then the town decides it needs a witch. Hitty is accused first. Caroline isn’t far behind, and the person pointing the finger is Molly Howe, the servant at Pemberton who seems to want everything Caroline has.
In the present day, Julia Barlow is broke, newly unemployed from a nonprofit job, and out of options. She moves into Pemberton to help care for her grandmother, Letitia, or “Gram,” whose mind is slipping. Also living there are Julia’s frosty great-aunt Ethel and Mick Wheeler, the frail groundskeeper. The house doesn’t want Julia there. Clocks stop at 3:41 every morning. Cold spots move through the halls. A woman weeps behind the locked attic door. A noose appears in the old oak tree. And according to family legend, Caroline Eldridge was burned at the stake and buried somewhere on the property.
Julia, like many McFadden heroines, does exactly what you’d warn her not to do—she starts digging, sometimes for real. She brings in Henry Ziegler, a museum curator who wants to buy the house, and Alistair Dixon, a self-proclaimed “certified ghost hunter” whose gadgets get a much bigger reaction from Pemberton than anyone expected.
I won’t reveal where either timeline leads. I will say the book focuses a lot on names—who has them, who deserves them, and who takes them. Keep that in mind.
Why It Gets Under Your Skin
The Witch was released on October 6, 2026 by Poisoned Pen Press as a standalone, so you don’t need to read the Housemaid books first. Releasing it in October was a smart choice. It’s an autumn book all the way, the kind you want to read with a lamp on.
But there’s more to why it works than just the timing. McFadden has written so many twisty domestic thrillers that readers know what to expect. This time, she changes the setting. She takes her usual themes of distrust in family and home and moves them back three hundred years, to a time when a rumor could get a woman killed. That makes everything feel heavier. In the present, a strange noise is just creepy. In 1692, an unexplained mark on your arm could be deadly.
What hit me most is that the witch trial chapters aren’t just for atmosphere. The cruelty is specific and petty, which makes it even worse. A deputy named Oliver Strickland uses a dull needle on Caroline’s burn scar so it won’t bleed, then claims that proves she’s a witch. A burn from spilled broth is called a “witch’s teat.” Even the truth gets twisted: a neighbor she helped admits his wife had a fit, and the doctor she defied just lies. McFadden shows that the scariest part of a witch hunt isn’t the devil—it’s the people next door, and how quickly they’ll turn on you if it keeps them safe.
That’s also why the book feels so relevant without even trying. A woman’s word against a crowd. A respected man protected by his reputation. A servant who sees a chance to get ahead by pushing someone else down. You don’t need a history degree to recognize any of this.
Who Should Pick This Up?
If you’ve read McFadden before and want to see her in a darker, more gothic style, this book is for you. If you enjoy dual-timeline stories where the past slowly seeps into the present, like those by Kate Morton or Simone St. James, you’ll feel right at home—though this one moves much faster. And if The Crucible stuck with you in school, Caroline’s chapters will remind you of it.
A few honest caveats. First, this is a psychological thriller that looks like a ghost story. If you want pure supernatural horror with no explanations, be prepared. Without giving anything away, the book does explain what’s really happening in the house. Some readers will like that, while others might wish the spooky buildup led to a different ending.
Second, the 1692 chapters are tough to read. There’s a public hanging, a forced strip search, a prisoner beaten unconscious, a man burned alive, and a killer who strangles women, including a pregnant woman. The book doesn’t dwell on these for shock, but it doesn’t soften them either. The present-day story has its own hard moments too: an elderly woman with cognitive decline living in a house where no one seems to be caring for her properly. If any of this is difficult for you, take your time.
Third, there’s a small romantic subplot between Julia and Henry. As a romance writer, I enjoyed it—especially the scene where they dance to Frank Sinatra. But it’s just a side note, not the main focus. Don’t expect a love story here.
Okay, But How’s the Writing?
McFadden’s biggest strength is her pacing, and it really shows here. The book has 83 short chapters, plus a prologue and an epilogue, and it jumps between timelines often. Almost every chapter ends with a hook—a whisper, a locked door, a glow in the attic window. It’s the kind of book that makes you say, “just one more chapter,” and it always works on me, even if it annoys me sometimes.
The alternating structure isn’t just a trick. The two timelines reflect each other in subtle ways. A peacock-blue dress from 1692 shows up in a box in the present-day attic. The blue combs on the vanity that Gram won’t let anyone touch. A woman’s handprint dragged down a windowpane. McFadden drops these objects like breadcrumbs, and by the end you realize she’s been setting up the trail since the first chapter. When I read it again, I noticed clues I’d missed before.
Caroline stood out most to me. She begins the book with a small, desperate lie—claiming she’s pregnant to make her husband happy—and that lie comes back to haunt her at the worst time. I liked that she isn’t perfect. She’s a young woman doing what women of her time were taught to do: please others, accommodate, and stay quiet. Watching her lose all of that and discover what she’s really capable of is the heart of the book. Her scenes with Jonas Reeve, the drifter locked in the cell across from her, have a dark, dry humor I didn’t expect. Two people waiting to die, making jokes in the dark. It’s one of the most human moments in the novel.
Now for my complaints. The present-day chapters, while entertaining, rely a lot on convenient plot points. There are two unmailed letters in the attic that just happen to hold the family secrets Julia needs. A DNA test from a hairbrush is set up easily by the love interest. The ghost hunter’s recording just happens to catch the clue. Each moment is satisfying on its own, but together they make Julia’s investigation feel too easy compared to Caroline’s, where every step is a struggle. I also wanted more depth in Ethel. For most of the book, she’s just cold, cruel, and hostile, and I wish McFadden had shown us more layers to her character.
Julia is likable and easy to relate to. She’s broke, lost, and trying to do right by her grandmother. But for much of the book, she feels more like someone things happen to than someone who drives the story—at least until the final act, when she finally gets to fight back.
McFadden’s writing style is classic for her: clean, straightforward, and focused on pace rather than flowery language. You won’t find yourself underlining sentences, but you will keep turning the pages. That’s what her books offer, and I’m fine with it.
One more thing I really liked: pay attention to Gram. McFadden does something clever with the character everyone in the house overlooks. In a story about women who aren’t believed, that choice felt intentional, and it moved me more than I expected from a thriller.
Before You Light the Lamp
Is The Witch McFadden’s best book? I don’t think so. The present-day mystery depends on a few too many lucky breaks, and readers looking for a real ghost story might feel a bit let down. But the 1692 chapters are some of the most emotionally powerful writing she’s done. Caroline’s story made me feel a knot in my stomach that no twist alone could cause. The ending ties both timelines together in a satisfying way, and the epilogue—which I won’t spoil—gave me quiet chills.
This is a quick, binge-worthy read—the kind of book that has you checking the clock at 3:41 a.m. and laughing at yourself. Despite its flaws, I highly recommend it, especially right now. Just remember to do what Julia should have: trust no one, and pay attention to who’s holding the shovel.
Justine Castellon is a brand strategist with an innate ability to weave compelling narratives. She seamlessly blends her professional insight with her passion for literature. Her literary works include romantic drama novels—Four Seasons, The Last Snowfall, Gnight Sara / ‘Night Heck, I Love You, Sunday Sunset.and The Runaway Prince. With her ability to tell stories that linger long after the last word, Justine leaves a mark not only in the world of branding but also in the hearts of her readers.
www.justcastellon.com
