Brimming with dark humor, violence, and mystery, The Autumn Springs Retirement Home Massacre is a blood-soaked slasher sure to keep readers guessing until the very last page.

Rose DuBois is not your average final girl.

Rose is in her late 70s, living out her golden years at the Autumn Springs Retirement Home.

When one of her friends dies alone in her apartment, Rose isn’t too concerned. Accidents happen, especially at this age!

Then another resident drops dead. And another. With bodies stacking up, Rose can’t help but wonder: are these accidents? Old age? Or something far more sinister?

Together with her best friend Miller, Rose begins to investigate. The further she digs, the more convinced she becomes: there’s a killer on the loose at Autumn Springs, and if she isn’t careful, Rose may be their next victim.


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

“Step aside, teenagers, and make way for Rose DuBois, a final girl for the over-70 set… A well-paced, age-appropriate, kick-butt, final-girl story.”
– Booklist

“Fracassi blends the true-life horror of aging and society’s scorn for the elderly with an original slasher premise and reimagined Final Girl. The question isn’t who will die at the Autumn Springs Retirement Home – but who will survive? Diabolically delightful.”
– Tananarive Due, author of The Reformatory

“Rose isn’t your average final girl. She’s a woman and a survivor who you’ll cheer for every step of the way in this smart, fast-paced slasher.”
– Erika T. Wurth, author of White Horse and The Haunting of Room 904


Taste the very first page

Rose has seen better movies.

Not that she doesn’t enjoy something artistic, mind you. But this?

This was goddamned depressing, is what this was.

Who the hell shows a bunch of old folks a movie about Death?

But that’s Gopi for you. A retired film director whose personal crusade is to educate the residents of Autumn Springs on the great films of the past. Even the artsy black-and-white ones.

Our own personal Criterion curator.

Still, she has to admit she enjoys these little productions of his. Tonight’s movie, The Seventh Seal, had been interesting, if a smidge on the slow side. But her friend put a lot of work into his presentation, and the folks who showed up seemed to enjoy it well enough. And even though the private theater (located in the Autumn Springs Community Center) is small—only about forty seats—it’s full every time he puts on a viewing. Heck, these last few months, folks had to RSVP via email just to secure their spots. And if they didn’t show they were banned from future RSVPing. And no one, not even Rose, wanted that.

Miller leans in close.

“I think a good portion of the audience is asleep,” he mumbles, and Rose smells the peppermint on his breath, a ghostly remnant from the cellophane-wrapped candies he always carries in his sport coat pocket.

Rose glances around and does indeed notice a few nodding heads. She also notes that Angela Forrest is sitting with Owen Duffield, grinning like a schoolgirl. The two of them are probably holding hands down at seat level so as not to make a spectacle. Rose smiles, happy that they’ve found love so late in life.

Many don’t.