Q&A: Megan Davidhizar, Author of ‘Gaslit’

We chat with author Megan Davidhizar about Gaslit, which is a psychological thriller about a night of babysitting that turns fatal and a girl determined to figure out if the gas leak was an accident, perfect for fans of E. Lockhart’s We Were Liars. PLUS you can read an excerpt at the end of the interview!

Hi, Megan! Welcome back! How has the past two years been since we last spoke for Silent Sister?

I can hardly believe it’s been that long! The journey of becoming an author has been absolutely incredible!

Your latest novel, Gaslit, is out now! If you could only describe it in five words, what would they be?

Ooh, only five? Twisty, emotional, chilling, layered, and…deceptive.

What can readers expect?

Readers can expect some of the same elements they loved about Silent Sister: tight pacing, haunting mystery, heavy grief, and a cute dog who lives. However, I added some fun elements like a brooding and handsome hockey player, a house full of secrets, and the most adorable six-year-old cousin you’ll ever meet. Oh, and even more twists!

Where did the inspiration for Gaslit come from?

Many years ago, I had two different neighbors share their experiences with becoming ill from a gas leak, and how both households felt lucky to be alive. Gas leaks are terrifying for many reasons, and one is because we can’t see the danger coming. The idea of an invisible killer haunted me, and I started to think about all the other forms of invisibility that can turn our lives upside down: physical illness, mental illness, and—at times—the truth. All of these elements collide for Ella on New Year’s Eve when she finds her cousin’s family knocked unconscious from a gas leak.

Were there any moments or characters you really enjoyed writing or exploring?

While I don’t share the same invisible illness Ella does, I have experienced the same frustration when seeking help from doctors, and the cycle of paranoia and anxiety that can follow. Bringing those elements into my story felt very authentic, and I love trying to capture my characters’ emotions on the page so the reader can feel them right along with her.

Did you face any challenges whilst writing? How did you overcome them?

Because I don’t share Ella’s illness, I wanted to do justice to her portrayal. I researched medical journals and interviewed a physician. I read pamphlets for patients, and most importantly, I spoke to survivors. Two of my former students lived through brain tumors when they were in school, and connecting with them and hearing about their emotional and social journey was crucial.

What are some of the key lessons you learned between working on your debut and Gaslit?

The second book is always hard. I’d been warned, but I never knew it was so true. I wrote the first draft of Gaslit in sixteen days, and then spent over a year revising it. It started as a dual-POV with time jumps into the past and present. It is now a single POV with a linear timeline and a totally different ending.

What’s next for you?

I don’t think I’m allowed to say too much yet, but I’m really excited about my next book. For years teachers, like myself, and librarians have lamented the gap in publishing books about 13-15 year olds, and I’m looking to help fill that hole with a new mystery-thriller that keeps the same elements I love from Silent Sister and Gaslit: twists and tears!

Lastly, what books are you looking forward to picking up this year?

They Call Her Regret by Channelle Desamours is about a girl trying to save her friend by freeing a cursed witch—a thriller mixed with speculative elements, and Morbid Curiosities by S. Hati about a girl at an elite science program who discovers the reason for strange happenings in the plants and animals around town—a thriller blended with science and supernatural elements in the best way!

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EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER 2

December 31

I strain to see beyond the glow of my headlights. Mom was right: It is very, very dark.

Julie, Chris, and Joey live out on a practically dirt road. The houses are spaced so far apart that all the mailboxes have to be on one side of the street, and there are no streetlights. Towering pine trees and dense woods hide most of the houses, so unless you know where to turn, you’ll miss them completely.

My cousins’ place was probably nice fifty years ago, with their sprawling yard that made us feel like we were in our own little world when Chris and I screamed down the Slip ’N Slide every summer. The house itself has been added on to several times, so it’s a bit like a jigsaw puzzle. The uneven floors and bedrooms aren’t quite square and are definitely not equal in size, but somehow every time I’m there I . . . fit.

When I finally pull into their driveway, the front door is open but no lights are on. Weird. I expect to see Joey racing out to greet me, but no silhouette appears in the doorway. All is still, like a forgotten painting.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I put the car in park and hop out.

I’m sure everything’s okay. They must be inside playing a game or Joey forgot to close the door.

But then why is it so dark? I quicken my pace.

Aunt Julie wouldn’t leave before I got here, right? Certainly not without closing the front door.

Unless someone broke in. And the intruder’s inside.

No. That’s ridiculous. Who would be all the way out here in the middle of nowhere? I’ll walk inside, and Joey will jump out to scare me before he collapses in a fit of giggles, and all will be fine.

Except I’m almost to the door and there are no voices or music or any sound at all.

I run up the steps.

“Aunt Julie?” I call, crossing the threshold, the open door inviting me in. My hands fumble for the lights, but the switch isn’t where I expect. Before I can check the other side of the door, I’m nearly knocked back by a noxious odor dripping through the air.

Something’s wrong.

The sulfuric stench of rotten eggs presses against my throat, choking me. I don’t want to inhale another breath. I know that smell.

Gas.

The house reeks of it.

Before I can retreat to the fresh air, the pale moonlight streams through the window, and across the room, I see them.

Two crumpled bodies are tangled in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. Still. Completely still.

“Chris! Joey!” I race to their sides.

They’re splayed out on the floor. Neither one of them is moving, eyes closed.

“Joey!” I shout again, flipping him over. The little boy’s eyes don’t open. His wavy brown hair flops to the side just like his arm. “Joey, wake up!” I shake him, but no response.

His head lolls to the side. My first cry escapes. We were supposed to play Connect Four tonight. I was supposed to let him win, and he was supposed to laugh until he slid off his chair.

“Joey!”

I shake Chris and nothing. I thought he wasn’t going to be home tonight.

“Chris! Wake up!” No response.

Oh no, oh no. Oh, God, help them. I have to help them. “Aunt Julie!” I screech, her name scratching at my throat on its way out.

Where is she? Is she home?

But then another smell reaches my nostrils. Rancid. Vomit.

There’s a mess next to Chris on the wooden floor.

Oh no.

I have to get them out of here.

“Aunt Julie!” I scream again, my voice hoarse, and I almost gag on the smell. “Help!”

I spin, as if she’ll jump out from her bedroom down the hall, as if she hadn’t noticed the smell or heard them fall and will appear to make it better like she always does.

Instead, I see her by her bedroom. Most of her body remains hidden behind the doorframe, but her hand is extended, delicate fingers curled up from the worn carpet, as if she’s reaching out for help.

“Oh, God. Help me. Help me.” I call it into the silence, a prayer for any kind of miracle to appear.

But there’s only me. Me and the three of them, quiet and still. “Hello? Are you still there?” A muffled voice breaks through the hush. Chris’s phone sits a few feet away, like he dropped it on his fall to the floor. “Hello?” a voice calls through the phone again. “This is an emergency operator. Is everyone all right?”

I snatch the phone off the floor. “Help, please send help. My cousins. They’re unconscious.”

“There was a young man who called, and said he smelled gas in the house—”

“He’s here. I think there’s a gas leak and—”

“Miss, I need you to stay calm and exit the house. Get out of there.”

“Yes, yes. Okay, get out.” But not without my cousins.

I scoop Joey off the floor with ease, his too-short Spider-Man pajama pants clinging to his limp legs. I sway on my feet, nearly losing my balance. My head is light, from panic or lack of oxygen or a rush of adrenaline, I don’t know. I tug on Chris’s wrist, hoping to pull him along the floor. “Come on,” I cry.

“Are you out of the house, miss?”

“Almost,” I grunt, straining against Chris’s weight, pressing the soles of my feet into the floor while I try not to drop Joey.

Chris is too heavy. I’ll be back, I silently promise, Joey slipping in my arms. He has to be okay. He has to.

“Miss? What’s your location? We’re sending help.”

By the time I recite the street address, I’ve reached the threshold, cradling Joey. Outside, I swallow great gulps of fresh oxygen. My chest feels tight and my head hurts. Is it a regular pain or from the gas?

“Joey,” I yell again, laying him on the partially frozen grass. “Joey!” As still as a corpse. “He’s not breathing.”

“Help is on the way,” the woman on the phone says. “Stay where you are.”

But Chris is still inside. I can see him. And Julie. I know she’s down the hall. I can get them out. I won’t let them die.

I race back inside and reach Chris first, wedging the phone be- tween my ear and shoulder, trying and failing to drag Chris by the wrists. “My cousin,” I grunt, heaving him backward, but he barely moves. “I have to get him out.”

He’s too heavy. I can’t move him on my own.

“Miss, you need to exit the house immediately. Do not turn on any lights or appliances. A single spark could ignite the house.”

“I can get him.” I shift to pull from under his armpits. I stumble. The phone clatters to the ground.

“Miss?” the distanced responder calls.

My shoulder hits the wall. I’m dizzy. Lightheaded.

“I’m here.” I snatch the phone and give Chris a mighty heave, dragging him as far as I can. I’m almost to the door. Almost outside.

A breeze from the cold winter night wafts in, bringing fresh oxygen into the space.

“Miss, you need to leave the house immediately. Paramedics are on their way.”

“No. Time,” I huff.

I step down, careful not to trip, dragging Chris to the grass, next to Joey’s still body.

Please let them be okay. Let Julie be okay. Let Chris be okay. Let Joey be okay. The lump in my throat makes it hard to breathe even with the clean air pouring into my lungs. I vomit on the grass between Chris and Joey.

“First responders are on their way. Are you safe?”

“I—yes, but my aunt.” The last word comes out as a screech. I step away from Chris, wiping my mouth on my sleeve and facing the door.

Julie.

I need to save her. She needs me.

“My aunt—” I repeat, stumbling toward the door, picturing her still lying on the carpet, angelic hand extended, ready for me to drag her to safety too.

“Do not enter the home again.”

“I can get her. I can.” The smell hits me before I reach the doorframe.

“Miss. Gas leaks are extremely dangerous. Wait for help. Do not enter that house. Get away from the area.”

Sirens wail in the distance. Someone’s standing across the road, a dark figure. I want to call out for help, but the world shifts. The figure flees. I fall to my knees, stomach rolling, head pounding. The rescue team is coming. They’ll get here in time.

Chris and Joey have to wake up. The phone drops from my hands. Julie will be rescued. My vision blurs.

I did everything I could. Help is on the way.