Review: The Rise by Alan Baxter – The Gulp Swallows Readers Whole Again
The truly great fictional places, the ones that stick with you, aren’t just backdrops. They’re characters with their own pulse and their own dirty secrets. Think about it. Stephen King’s Maine isn’t just pine trees and lobster rolls; it’s a whole state that feels like it’s sitting on a thin crust, with all the eldritch rot and small-town poison bubbling right underneath the surface of Derry or Castle Rock.
The mystery there is often a haunting, a past crime or a dimensional crack seeping into the present. Then you’ve got Terry Pratchett’s Ankh-Morpork, a glorious, stinking, chaotic engine of a city that runs on narrative logic and the sheer stubbornness of its inhabitants. Its mystery is the mystery of society itself—how the heck does this thing even function, and why does it somehow work?
And then there’s The Gulp. Alan Baxter’s Gulpepper fits right into that tier. It’s not just an Australian coastal town; it’s a gullet. A place that actively consumes. Its mystery is more geographic, more metabolic than King’s physically charged Maine or Pratchett’s societal anthill. The land and sea around The Gulp are fundamentally wrong, hungry in a way that feels ancient and biological. The mystery isn’t just what happened, but what the town itself wants. All three are masterclasses in making a location breathe, scheme, and haunt you long after you’ve left the page.
Welcome back to Gulpepper, or as the locals, those who’ve survived, call it, The Gulp. Alan Baxter’s The Rise: Tales From The Gulp 3 isn’t just another horror collection; it’s a return to a uniquely Australian nightmare that’s been swallowing readers whole since the first book. This third installment, arriving February 2026, promises five more descents into darkness where weed dealers get cosmic headaches and violent secrets bloom in hidden places.
The thing about horror collections, the really effective ones, they don’t just tell stories. They build ecosystems. Little self-contained worlds of cause and effect where every strange occurrence feeds into something larger, something hungrier. Baxter’s been doing this with The Gulp from the start, weaving threads between tales until the town itself becomes the central character, a personality with geological patience and biological appetite.
From the missing posters from one story appearing in another, to the shared nightmares of tentacled skies, to the creeping sense that every resident is living in the same terrible dream. The Rise continues this tradition, and thank whatever gods you prefer that it does. There’s nothing worse than a series that forgets what made it compelling, that trades its particular flavour of dread for something more generic.
So what’s on the menu this time? We’ve got weed dealers with headaches that sound suspiciously metaphysical. A young man discovers love in a secret place, while getting trapped in a horrific web, and we all know how well secrets fare in Gulpepper. Children fighting against violent parents, which, given this town’s track record, means something far worse than social services. A global celebrity seeking refuge in the town’s newest institution, a phrase that should chill anyone familiar with Baxter’s work. And the return of an old foe threatening the town’s very existence. Five novellas. Five shots of that weird green liquor that makes you see things you can’t forget.
Baxter’s always excelled at the slow reveal, the creeping understanding that the rules here are different. Remember Mother in Bloom from the first collection? That story about siblings and their deceased mother? An emotionally gory tale, the kind of story that sticks with you precisely because the horror feels so human, so grounded in recognisable desperation before it spirals into the impossible. That’s the Baxter signature: finding the fracture point in ordinary lives and pouring nightmare fuel into the crack. With The Rise, he’s working with similar raw materials: desperation, bad decisions, the terrible things people do for family or money or just a moment of peace.
Let’s dig into the texture of this place for a second. The Gulp works because it feels both utterly specific and weirdly universal. It’s an Australian coastal town, all craggy cliffs and salty air. It’s every isolated community, every place where the rules get a little fuzzy the further you get from the city lights.
The interconnectedness isn’t just a gimmick. It’s the whole point. Reading a Gulp story is like putting together a puzzle where the picture keeps changing. A minor character in one tale becomes the focus of another; a throwaway detail evolves into a central horror.
This structural choice creates a unique reader experience; you’re not just reading stories, you’re compiling evidence. You become a researcher of the weird, piecing together the town’s grim biography. The Rise, as the third volume deepens this lore, adding new layers to a place that already feels unnervingly alive.
Strange Leaves introduces us to the dim-witted duo of Adam Campbell and Neil Jones, who find themselves in a bit of a pickle when a drug deal goes slightly south of Tasmania. Their attempt to fix the situation goes even further south. Think Beavis and Butthead, minus the inane laughter, and you’re close to their dynamic. Despite the gruesome events that unfold, the story is laced with bone-dry, perfectly deployed gallows humour. It’s all bitter laughs and hands on your head in disbelief at their stupidity. A very strong opener that perfectly sets up the events for the rest of The Rise.
Sunlight on Clear Water is as close to a love story as you’re going to get from Baxter—unless he has a sideline in romance under a different name. Of course, Will’s romantic intentions toward Beverly are not going to end well. In fact, they become rather terrifying, caught in a hellish web. Will will never go on a date again after this. One of the strengths of this gripping tale is the imaginative use of body horror Baxter employs to get under your skin. So much so, that the night after I read it, I had a hellish dream about things breaking out of my own skin.
Like a pure, distilled, and nightmarishly twisted version of the classic tale Hansel and Gretel, Sunlight on Clear Water will have you anxiously scanning the rooftops and every shadowy corner for strange things that absolutely should not be there, keeping you on edge throughout the entire story.
Vitulinum comes with a very strong trigger warning, and it is needed. This is a heartbreaking story that will make you furious at the mother and father. It’s a difficult read, dealing with potent themes like homophobia, racism, sexual violence, and domestic violence. You will end up hating the parents with every cell in your body.
Brutal and unrelenting, yet brilliantly written, this could have easily veered into pure titillation, but Baxter handles these themes with a caring touch. You’ll find yourself rooting for Connor Tucker as he searches for a way out of his domestic nightmare, until you realise the price he will have to pay for his siblings’ safety.
The Gulpepper Institute of Health and Wellbeing sees Elise Griffen—better known as the mega rockstar Eevie Chill (who is anything but)—booked in by her agent. After the events here, you just know that the agent is going to get the kicking of their life.
Eevie is an absolutely fantastic and unforgettable character: unrelenting in her pursuit, unwavering in her resolve, headstrong in her decisions, and completely kick-ass in everything she does. The moment she realises that things are not what they initially seem, she immediately becomes fiercely determined to escape, no matter who or what stands in her way or tries to stop her.
Baxter expertly combines the mundane horrors of aggressive, predatory orderlies, a creepy therapist, and a nurse/receptionist who is way too happy-clappy, with a chilling, creepy monster. The way this story acts as the lynchpin for the grand finale is exceptional. Its “afterword” will shock you.
The Rise is the final story and grand finale of what has so far been excellent writing and brilliant horror. Somehow, Baxter manages to top everything that came before. He must have one hell of a big step ladder and a massive spatula to reach the icing on this massive cake.
With both sides pitched against each other and the fate of The Gulp—potentially the whole galaxy—at stake, Baxter has created an absolute thrill ride of a finale. The whole raison d’être of the unfolding events is a high-concept idea that works on every level, even with some of what Doctor Who would call “timey-wimey” stuff. I was fascinated by the proposed theory behind the villain’s plan and its views on what time really is.
If this truly is the end of our time in The Gulp, then we have gone out on a true high note. A perfect ending for a trilogy of terror that, as a whole, is an exceptional achievement.
Now, a confession. Horror like this, cosmic, body-oriented, unapologetically brutal, isn’t for everyone; that’s the interesting tension in Baxter’s work. It’s full of eyeball scenes and body transformations that’ll stick with you, but the horror often springs from profoundly human places: grief, economic desperation, the need to belong. The Gulp doesn’t create monsters from nothing; it twists what’s already there.
There’s a gritty, no-nonsense quality to his prose, a willingness to go to dark places without flinching, but also a surprising vein of humour, often as black as the surrounding terror. The high-concept cosmic dread collides with the low-level grind, and the sparks are both horrific and weirdly funny.
For newcomers, you could probably start here; each story functions on its own. But you’d be missing the dread infrastructure, the slow-built understanding that makes the horrors resonate deeper. You’d miss the payoff of returning characters and the expanding map of a town that shouldn’t be. So take my advice: order all three volumes, grab some snacks and your favourite tipple, and prepare to spend some quality time downunder.
Ultimately, what Baxter sells isn’t just scares. It’s atmosphere. It’s the claustrophobic feeling of a town that watches you back. It’s the certainty that the landscape is wrong, that the ocean holds more than fish, that your dreams aren’t really yours.
We’re all a little like Rich the trucker. We hear the warnings. We read the reviews. We know this place swallows people. And yet, with Baxter as our guide, we can’t resist stepping out of the truck and into the dark, welcoming streets.
The Rise: Tales From The Gulp 3 by Alan Baxter
The Rise (Tales From The Gulp #3)
Strange things happen in The Gulp. The residents have grown used to it.
The isolated Australian harbour town of Gulpepper is not like other places. Some maps don’t even show it. And only outsiders use the full name. Everyone who lives there calls it The Gulp. The place has a habit of swallowing people.
A couple of weed dealers give themselves a real headache.
A young man finds joy in a secret place with the new love of his life.
The children of violent, bigoted parents fight for survival.
One of the world’s biggest stars takes time out in Gulpepper’s newest Institution.
The return of an old foe threatens the existence of Gulpepper itself.
Five more novellas. Five more descents into darkness.
Welcome to The Gulp, where nothing is as it seems.
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