—John Banville, Man Booker Award Winner

“Absolutely enthralling. Written with the rhythm of the game Fram writes of. A mystery to get the skin crawling even as you unbury the secrets of those trying to solve it. Despite its nature, there is a warmth to this thriller, and you’ll feel like you’ve come home...a home that still haunts you.”

—Josh Malerman, New York Times bestselling author of Bird Box

“John Fram’s The Bright Lands is darker than you think. What begins with a Friday Night Lights supernatural thriller soon lures the reader into an insidious labyrinth of human cruelty and voracious supernatural evil. Unsettling, and compelling as hell.”

—Christopher Golden, New York Times bestselling author of The Pandora Room

“I am stunned—I haven’t been able to step away from this book since I started it. An earnest, thoughtful exploration of the monstrosity inherent in our American myths surrounding masculinity and sexuality, The Bright Lands is a kind of horror I’ve never seen before. Fram’s done something exquisite here.”

—Sarah Gailey, author of Magic for Liars

“The Bright Lands is Gothic and Faulknerian: smooth, original, haunting. And very sexy.”

—Edmund White, author of A Boy’s Own Story

“Deliciously dark and subversive. You’ll be shocked by what gathers beneath the lights of this all-American town.”

—Kelly J. Ford, author of Cottonmouths

“Absolutely enthralling.”

—Josh Malerman, author of Bird Box

John Fram was raised in Texas. A resident of New York, he has written for The Atlantic, Pacific Standard and elsewhere. This is his first novel.

The Bright Lands

A NOVEL

John Fram

For Matt and Nance.

Sorry I couldn’t finish in time.

Contents

EPIGRAPH

SUNDAY

JOEL

FRIDAY

JOEL

CLARK

JAMAL

JOEL

BETHANY

SATURDAY

JOEL

CLARK

SUNDAY

JOEL

MONDAY

CLARK

KIMBRA

CLARK

JOEL

TUESDAY

CLARK

BETHANY

CLARK

KIMBRA

CLARK

WEDNESDAY

JOEL

CLARK

JOEL

CLARK

JOEL

CLARK

JOEL

LUKE

JOEL

CLARK

THURSDAY

JAMAL

CLARK

JOEL

CLARK

KIMBRA

JOEL

CLARK

JOEL

LUKE

JOEL

LUKE

JOEL

FRIDAY

JAMAL

CLARK

JOEL

CLARK

JOEL

CLARK

JOEL

KIMBRA

JOEL

KIMBRA

JOEL

LUKE

JAMAL

CLARK

KIMBRA

LUKE

BETHANY

LUKE

CLARK

BETHANY

JAMAL

LUKE

JOEL

LUKE

BETHANY

JOEL

JAMAL

CLARK

LUKE

BETHANY

JOEL

BETHANY

JOEL

LUKE

CLARK

KIMBRA

LUKE

CLARK

JAMAL

KIMBRA

CLARK

BETHANY

JAMAL

CLARK

KIMBRA

CLARK

JAMAL

BETHANY

JOEL

JAMAL

JOEL

BETHANY

JAMAL

BETHANY

CLARK

AFTER

AFTER 2

CLARK

JOEL

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

People everywhere, young and old, were already dreaming
of heroes.

—H. G. Bissinger, Friday Night Lights

This country makes it hard to fuck.

—Fever Ray

SUNDAY

DREAMS AND OTHER HAZARDS

JOEL

His brother’s message came late.

The little party which had started in Tulum on Monday had somehow only just ended at Joel’s apartment a few minutes before the text arrived. An international bender. It sounded fun on paper. Joel had goaded the last of his bleary guests out the door and made sure his wallet and cologne were still concealed behind the suits in his closet. He used an app to pay off his drug dealer, used another app to order a housekeeper for the morning, poured himself a tall glass of seltzer and settled into bed next to the empty space where he had hoped, earlier in the weekend, he might now find some company resting. He swallowed two Tylenol. He wondered why nobody ever warned you it was possible to feel this alone before you were thirty.