" Let me tell you a story: my mother will say she's a liar and my father will say she remembers things that never happened, but you and I know that isn't true. Before I tell you, pick up a pair of scissors, or a pen, or a branch, or a flower stem-- something to play with when you don't want to meet my eyes. Unhinge the wasps from your insides before their black venom seeps through." (" Nectar and Nickel" ) Homebodies is an uncanny and ghostly debut with stories that provoke dread, abjection, and horror. The tales are intertwined and linked like a chain of dried daisies or butterfly legs: someone you used to know is on trial for murder. You work at a funeral home. Your dead grandmother calls you on the phone. You pin and preserve butterflies on a corkboard as a strange girl knocks on your door. You put a bike lock on the fridge. You sleepwalk. You attend a party. You get sick. You get an IV infusion. You don't get better. The stories in Homebodies show that you don't need a house to be haunted -- the body can do that all on its own.