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From Chuck Tingle, USA Today bestselling author of Bury Your Gays, comes Fabulous Bodies, a supernatural joyride where Drive meets Beetlejuice.

Body horror, cannibalism, cancer.

Poppy Stringer was born to be a star.

An aspiring fashion influencer by day, Poppy moonlights as a grave robber to make ends meet, wheeling and dealing dead bodies across Palm Springs.

When her hero, the flamboyant, piano-slamming rockstar Eddie Michaels, unexpectedly dies, Poppy gets a call to retrieve his body from the medical examiner’s office for a lucrative sum. It could be the last job she’ll ever need—if everything goes to plan. But the night’s delivery quickly veers off course when Eddie wakes up.

Now Poppy must fight for her life if she hopes to survive this blood-soaked joyride of carnage and extravagant entertainment.

Don't just take our word for it...

“Another banger from the king of camp horror! Fabulous Bodies is Chuck Tingle flexing his prodigious powers of entertainment, and it’s easily his best book yet. Tightly paced, deliciously frightening, and emotionally sweeping, this one’s a masterly ride across terror and wonder. I can’t wait for wherever Chuck Tingle takes me next.”
– Olivie Blake, New York Times bestselling author of Girl Dinner

“A wild, brutal romp through Hollywood’s desert playground. Turning the pages felt nearly compulsive, and I’ll follow Poppy Stringer wherever the dark night takes her. Gory, outrageous, and full of showmanship, this is one spectacle you don’t want to miss.”
– CJ Leede, USA Today bestselling author of Maeve Fly and Headlights

“The Drive-meets-Beetlejuice summer read you didn’t know you needed, Fabulous Bodies is a glitter-caked, blood-soaked joyride through Palm Springs that’s short enough to devour poolside in an afternoon. A campy, propulsive elegy about fame, love, and what we sacrifice for our personas and those who love us.”
– Jason Blitman, Gays Reading Podcast

Taste the very first page

“I’m here for the body.”

The kid doesn’t look up, but a slight huff of annoyance shoots from his nostrils. His bad attitude is not about my specific request; it’s because my word choice is a reminder of just how different our sensibilities are.

Funeral directors, morgue attendants, medical examiners, and organ donation coordinators: all part of the same ecosystem, but not without friction. You’ll rarely hear someone at a funeral home say body, or corpse, or cadaver. With them, it’s always the departed, the deceased, or more likely, just the first name of whomever kicked the bucket — any title that stresses humanity.

Insert eyeroll emoji.

Medical examiners are more clinical. They usually go with the subject, or just boil things down to a case number.

I, however, am here for the body. It’s a carcass, for fuck’s sake, bone and blood and meat, now woefully void of the previous electrical current that once helped it wiggle around.

The funeral industry is a world that most people find unsettling, even frightening. It’s an uncomfortable reminder of their own inevitable end. Most folks would rather just pretend we go on living forever, doing anything they can to ignore the crushing existential truth that one day — a day not too far off, in the grand scheme of things— we’ll all end up on the slab.

And when we’re finally crushed under the wheels of a twenty-five-thousand-pound semitruck, or crumpled on the floor of our own bathroom with a ruptured cerebral vein and a skull filling with blood, someone will have to clean up that mess — often figuratively, almost always literally.

This is where I come in.

July 2026