The best horror novels should also be steeped in psychology. Sometimes, readers say they want "scary" when what they really mean is "disturbing." Let's face it, old-fashioned monsters might be scary on a superficial level, but reality always intrudes on the joyful experience of induced fright. Scary is an overused adjective for horror, but it misses the mark because horror doesn't have to be scary. First and foremost, horror should have something horrific happen to somebody. Second, that event (and others) should be disturbing—that is, unease and discomfort should be induced. If those be considered "scary" too, well, then fine. In a poor movie experience, the obligatory so-called scares fade away. But disturbing is a much higher level for which to aim than scary, for it's what will make a novel or story memorable. This is how Hitchcock crafted disturbing film without resorting to many cheap scares.

Jeff Strand's Pressure isn't scary at all.

But it's disturbing as hell.

In fact, it's so disturbing, you may find yourself secretly psychoanalyzing your friends after reading it, looking for twisted motivations. You may never feel safe again taking anyone into your confidence, especially if they happen to be unstable and manipulative.

Young Alex Fletcher makes a single mistake of judgment at age twelve. In response, his parents send him to a tough-as-nails boarding school. It's arguable that his parents seem positively, sadistically Victorian in their refusal to grant him a second chance, and in how they ignore their non-delinquent son, sending him no mail and even going so far as leaving him at school at Christmas, a Dickensian sort of revenge that is never explained (as in, why are they so heartless? there's a hint that Alex is not so innocent, but it's never followed up).

Branford Academy is an amalgam of every movie boarding school you've ever seen crossed with Stalag-17. If one of four roommates misbehaves, the other three are punished too—more concentration camp practice than scholastic, but effective in turning out vengeful little monsters, presumably. Alex meets Peter and Jeremy, two congenial comrades in arms, and the third is Darren, a quiet one with a journal. Soon it becomes apparent that he's also rebellious, secretive, vengeful, and as craftily cunning as a serial killer crossed with the best conman ever. Darren and Alex bond a bit over women's breasts, but then Peter's visiting dog is killed and dismembered. Darren's responsible for the latter, maybe the former. Justice must prevail, and Alex leads Peter and Jeremy in a fake kangaroo court that goes very awry. Darren has a long memory, and he plots against each roommate, dropping them one by one with ingenious, solidly crafted frames.

Flashforward to Alex's college days, and there's Darren, popping up to reinvent himself as the cool best friend to both Alex and his new girlfriend. Tension mounts. Pressure, you might say. Darren hasn't changed, you see, and Alex hasn't learned how to deal with him. Bad Things ensue. Then flashforward a few more years, when Alex and his family think they're long rid of Darren.

They're dead wrong.

Telling you more would spoil the surprises. Pressure works so well on most levels that it makes you wish you could have a talk with its protagonist. Alex, dude, kill the bastard! Darren seems to outthink, con, and use everyone, while carrying out his revenge in "dish best served cold" style. The only sour note may be the fact that Alex resists what most of us macho fools would embrace, an attempt to call a Darren-bluff and just "kill the bastard." It's true that Strand (author of Graverobbers Wanted and other humorous novels) makes him a despicable low-life whose retaliation is always aimed at someone innocent, so Alex may be altruistically motivated—but there are occasions when a blast of pure, white-hot rage would probably save the day. Regrettably, this flaw in Alex's character drives his ineffectiveness, which he recognizes, and leaves him nearly destroyed at Darren's hands.

This is one of those novels where the bad guy reigns supreme. Darren is Hannibal Lecter in Niedermeyer's skin, or something close. He has full control of the rest of the cast, and that's disturbing. Or scary, if you will. There are several moments in this book that will positively rattle you, in the good way we readers all seek. Pressure is a small-cast, pressure-cooker of a novel, and Jeff Strand needs to be on your radar as a serious threat of a novelist.