The Fandomentals names SAVAGE LAKE one of the BIPOC Horror Books they can’t wait to read in 2026.
SheReads list of Most Anticipated Books of Fall 2026, “Nick Medina is becoming a can’t-miss voice in Indigenous horror…”.
The praise for Medina’s novels only continues with SAVAGE LAKE, a dual-timeline novel that pays homage to classic cabin in the woods horror, chilling possession tales, and the lore behind Bigfoot’s Native counterpart. In the past, teenage Nell Marin recounts the tragic last summer she spent in Torchlight Lake before her family fell apart. In the present, Nell and her horror movie buff son Oscar are forced to return to Torchlight Lake after the passing of Nell’s estranged father, only to become trapped when the local tribe barricades the road.
by Nick Medina
October 27, 2026
Genre: horror, vampire thriller
A mother and son travel to a dilapidated cabin in the woods that haunts more than just her memories in this new unnerving horror from the author of The Whistler and Sisters of the Lost Nation.
Nell Marin swore she would never return to the place where part of her died.
The passing of her estranged father, however, leaves her with no choice but to take her teenage son, Oscar, back to the run-down family cabin on Torchlight Lake, where horrific memories linger. The two will fix the place up, sell it, and ensure Nell never has to return to that dreaded lake again.
But when the roads—which pass through Native land—are barricaded by the local Tribe, the quick trip turns into weeks. Oscar, a horror movie buff, knows this is exactly how it starts. As the long summer days drag on, unsettling things begin to occur: screams ring out over the water and a mysterious figure watches the cabin from the trees at night. Most disturbing of all, his mother is becoming less and less herself.
As the strange events lead Oscar to uncover the secrets Nell has shielded him from, he is forced to confront a reality that is far more frightening than movie monsters. He must uncover answers to the questions that stole so much from his mother…before the horror that traumatized Nell drags him under as well.
Friday
7:36 p.m.
The world through the windshield wasn't as he knew it back home. Trees stood tall and dense, pitching perforated shadows over human-size carcasses cast to the side of the motorway. The rotting remains fouled pockets of the clean air ripping through the lowered passenger window, inviting big breaths that enlivened Oscar's lungs.
His mom steered their Corolla, Barcelona red, into the lot of a two-pump gas station.
"Thought you said we'd make it on a single tank?"
Nell killed the engine and unbuckled her seat belt. "It's farther than I remembered." She plucked her smartphone from its mount, the GPS on its screen. "Just about an hour to go." She swung open her door. Both she and the car sighed. Standing, she stretched until she was up on her toes, then stuck her head back inside. "Get rid of the guts," she said, and slammed the door shut.
"Why do I . . . ?" Oscar muttered to himself. "I didn't hit 'em." Groaning, he got out of the car and found a double-sided squeegee in a bucket of black water beside the pump. "Shouldn't it be blue?" He pressed the spongy side of the squeegee hard against the yellow splotches of splattered guts on the windshield, bits of broken wings and leg segments sticking out of them. At least Nell hadn't hit a deer.
The dirty water didn't cut through the sticky mess. The sponge smeared the splotches, making them worse.
"Looks like the bugs get the last laugh."
Nell shifted her gaze from the numbers spinning on the old pump before her to her son with the squeegee dripping at his side. "You have to put your weight into it. Really scrub."
"The car was shaking. Couldn't you feel it?"
"Keep trying."
He motioned toward the bucket. "It's black water. I have to pee."
She rolled her eyes. "Go. I'll do it myself."
Oscar tossed the squeegee back into the bucket and walked past the pair of pumps to where the station's lot met the trees, no other buildings in sight. Head thrown back, he looked up at the impenetrable canopy of needles and leaves, the trees nearly as tall and compact as the buildings back home.
He jumped at the sound of ( footsteps?) something near him yet hidden within the woods. His skin prickled and chilled, rousing a feeling like sadness and a need to find the restroom fast.
A bell's ding announced that he'd entered the station, then the door rattled shut behind him. A man with a large, fleshy face, pale as milk in the spaces between raisin-shaped liver spots, slowly lowered the can in his hand and peered across the counter. "Bathroom's for paying customers," he said.
Oscar paused, absorbing the situation, the place. Two rows of shelves stood to his left. A cooler. A coffee counter. A mini fridge filled with bait. The attendant, bald but for a greasy brown-and-gray fringe dangling along the sides of his head, leaned against the counter to Oscar's right, his sweaty muscle shirt clinging tightly to his bloated belly. Flabby skin hung where his biceps should have been, and on his left arm was a faded pinup girl tattoo. Wearing a loincloth and beaded moccasins, the topless girl had her hands behind her head, a headdress of feathers upon it.
Oscar motioned toward the grimy window, his mother by the car, then, compelled by need more than nerve, went forth to find the bathroom. Once he spotted the single-seater in the corner, he paused and said, "What made you think I wasn't going to buy something?"
He turned, and his gaze met unblinking bug eyes, hazy, dull, and misaligned. They bore into him nonetheless.
Oscar's skin prickled again. He hurried into the bathroom and locked the door. Suffering the stink, he averted his eyes from the crusty toilet, brimming with more black water.
Nell, her back to him, was paying at the counter when Oscar emerged a minute later.
"If you can hold it-" He came up behind her.
She whirled around. "I'll be right out." She moved around him, leaving Oscar staring into those unblinking eyes again. They were bloodshot. He could see that now.
"Almost there," the attendant said.
Oscar's heart kicked. "Huh?"
"Almost there?" The attendant's lower lip flapped.
Oscar took a breath. Considering where he and his mother were going and why, he'd spent the ride imagining all the ghastly scenarios they might endure once they got there, but only if his favorite films were a reliable reflection of real life. The bug-eyed attendant could have been a character in one of those films.
"We've got about an hour to go," Oscar said, and wished that he hadn't.
The man took a drink from his can, contemplating. "You must be on your way to-"
The bell dinged.
Excerpted from Savage Lake by Nick Medina Copyright © 2026 by Nick Medina. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
7:36 p.m.
The world through the windshield wasn't as he knew it back home. Trees stood tall and dense, pitching perforated shadows over human-size carcasses cast to the side of the motorway. The rotting remains fouled pockets of the clean air ripping through the lowered passenger window, inviting big breaths that enlivened Oscar's lungs.
His mom steered their Corolla, Barcelona red, into the lot of a two-pump gas station.
"Thought you said we'd make it on a single tank?"
Nell killed the engine and unbuckled her seat belt. "It's farther than I remembered." She plucked her smartphone from its mount, the GPS on its screen. "Just about an hour to go." She swung open her door. Both she and the car sighed. Standing, she stretched until she was up on her toes, then stuck her head back inside. "Get rid of the guts," she said, and slammed the door shut.
"Why do I . . . ?" Oscar muttered to himself. "I didn't hit 'em." Groaning, he got out of the car and found a double-sided squeegee in a bucket of black water beside the pump. "Shouldn't it be blue?" He pressed the spongy side of the squeegee hard against the yellow splotches of splattered guts on the windshield, bits of broken wings and leg segments sticking out of them. At least Nell hadn't hit a deer.
The dirty water didn't cut through the sticky mess. The sponge smeared the splotches, making them worse.
"Looks like the bugs get the last laugh."
Nell shifted her gaze from the numbers spinning on the old pump before her to her son with the squeegee dripping at his side. "You have to put your weight into it. Really scrub."
"The car was shaking. Couldn't you feel it?"
"Keep trying."
He motioned toward the bucket. "It's black water. I have to pee."
She rolled her eyes. "Go. I'll do it myself."
Oscar tossed the squeegee back into the bucket and walked past the pair of pumps to where the station's lot met the trees, no other buildings in sight. Head thrown back, he looked up at the impenetrable canopy of needles and leaves, the trees nearly as tall and compact as the buildings back home.
He jumped at the sound of ( footsteps?) something near him yet hidden within the woods. His skin prickled and chilled, rousing a feeling like sadness and a need to find the restroom fast.
A bell's ding announced that he'd entered the station, then the door rattled shut behind him. A man with a large, fleshy face, pale as milk in the spaces between raisin-shaped liver spots, slowly lowered the can in his hand and peered across the counter. "Bathroom's for paying customers," he said.
Oscar paused, absorbing the situation, the place. Two rows of shelves stood to his left. A cooler. A coffee counter. A mini fridge filled with bait. The attendant, bald but for a greasy brown-and-gray fringe dangling along the sides of his head, leaned against the counter to Oscar's right, his sweaty muscle shirt clinging tightly to his bloated belly. Flabby skin hung where his biceps should have been, and on his left arm was a faded pinup girl tattoo. Wearing a loincloth and beaded moccasins, the topless girl had her hands behind her head, a headdress of feathers upon it.
Oscar motioned toward the grimy window, his mother by the car, then, compelled by need more than nerve, went forth to find the bathroom. Once he spotted the single-seater in the corner, he paused and said, "What made you think I wasn't going to buy something?"
He turned, and his gaze met unblinking bug eyes, hazy, dull, and misaligned. They bore into him nonetheless.
Oscar's skin prickled again. He hurried into the bathroom and locked the door. Suffering the stink, he averted his eyes from the crusty toilet, brimming with more black water.
Nell, her back to him, was paying at the counter when Oscar emerged a minute later.
"If you can hold it-" He came up behind her.
She whirled around. "I'll be right out." She moved around him, leaving Oscar staring into those unblinking eyes again. They were bloodshot. He could see that now.
"Almost there," the attendant said.
Oscar's heart kicked. "Huh?"
"Almost there?" The attendant's lower lip flapped.
Oscar took a breath. Considering where he and his mother were going and why, he'd spent the ride imagining all the ghastly scenarios they might endure once they got there, but only if his favorite films were a reliable reflection of real life. The bug-eyed attendant could have been a character in one of those films.
"We've got about an hour to go," Oscar said, and wished that he hadn't.
The man took a drink from his can, contemplating. "You must be on your way to-"
The bell dinged.
Excerpted from Savage Lake by Nick Medina Copyright © 2026 by Nick Medina. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
website
Chicago born and a member of the Tunica-Biloxi Tribe of Louisiana, Nick Medina brings a deep
appreciation for local and Native folklore, culture, and storytelling to his work. His novels, Sisters of the Lost Nation (a Junior Library Guild Gold Standard Selection), Indian Burial Ground (named one of Parade's best horror books of 2024), and The Whistler (called "Truly spooky" by People Magazine and named one of 2025's best horror novels by Men'sHealth), intertwine supernatural myths with current social issues, exploring themes
rooted in both history and legend. In addition to writing, Nick enjoys ghost stories, playing
guitar, keeping fit, and spending time with family. His fourth novel, Savage Lake, will be available October 27, 2026.
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