Gerald's Game

Right, imagine this. You're handcuffed to your own bed and your husband's just had a heart attack beside you and he's not getting up again. Nobody's coming, or at least there's little hope of it. That's the whole trap of it, and Stephen King barely needs anything else.

What gets me is that this isn't a haunted house or a monster in the woods. The horror is entirely in her own head, the voices that start creeping in once she realises how little hope there is of rescue. It's the kind of fear that sits with you rather than jumps out at you, and it's all the worse for it.

This one's for a properly quiet night, when you can give it your full attention and not be interrupted. Not a film-night crowd pleaser. More of a "lock the door, put the kettle on, and don't answer your phone" sort of read.

King's had a fair few of his books turned into cosy horror staples, but this is one where the story itself does all the work. No ghosts required.