Some horror stories come at you with claws out—fast, loud, violent.
Downpour by Christopher Hawkins doesn’t do that.

It creeps in.
Just like the storm in the book.

The story centers on a father trying to protect his family from an unrelenting, corrosive rainstorm—and everything that comes with it. But what got under my skin wasn’t the monsters or the tension (though both are done well). It was the slow unraveling. The emotional erosion. The helplessness.

There’s a part in the book—no spoilers—where the horror isn’t a creature or a jump scare. It’s the moment you realize the worst has already happened, and you didn’t move fast enough to stop it. Or maybe you couldn’t. Or maybe you thought you had more time.

That idea lingered long after I closed the book.

I kept thinking about what it means to live inside that kind of storm—not just literally, but emotionally. The kind of storm that doesn’t knock your house down in one night, but slowly soaks through the floorboards of your mind. Until everything feels heavy. Until you stop noticing how wet you are.

That’s where Still Water came from. It’s not a retelling or a tribute. It’s what the book stirred in me—the quiet, creeping shape of something too big to name.

You can read the poem below. If you’ve ever lived through a storm like this—externally or internally—I hope something in it lands with you.

Still Water

Can’t remember the last time I saw the sun.
The days blur when everything is gray.

It didn’t flood all at once.
It crept in—
through the seams,
under the door,
in the space between thoughts.

You don’t notice you’re sinking
when the water rises slowly.
You just keep moving your feet,
telling yourself it’s fine.

The floor softens.
The walls close in.
The ceiling droops like it’s tired, too.

Some mornings I open the blinds
and pretend it’s just overcast.

But it’s still raining.
And I’m still here.
Quiet.
Damp.
Holding my breath without realizing.

If the poem hits something real for you, and you haven’t read Downpour yet—fix that.
Christopher Hawkins has written one of the most quietly devastating horror novels I’ve read.
It lingers. It erodes. It’s worth your time.