Despite winning “Longest Title of the Year Award,” this movie is not going to gain any accolades from me or anyone else. Unless you enjoy the slow burn of British people pretending to be Americans wandering around empty houses until they die. I don’t know you, it could be your thing. I am however just mad at this one.

The film starts with a voice-over saying if someone dies in a house, the house does not belong to the buyers or sellers, but is just borrowed from the ghosts. Okay, I know enough real estate law, so don’t come at me with your pseudo-rights babble on ghost squatting. What they REALLY mean, and take 89 minutes to clarify, is that if you die in the house and your body never actually leaves the house, it’s gonna cause some problems for the future occupants. Usually in the form of smells. Possibly mold. Definitely hauntings.

I can’t tell if it’s a recent trope or has been around for awhile, but mold mitigation in horror movies is having a fantastic moment. I mean every haunting movie seems to point to a little spot of mold that can’t be controlled. Which sort of makes sense. Black mold is EXTREMELY dangerous and should be taken care of, because the spread is rampant. But not all mold is detrimental to a person’s psyche immediately. If it was, like 67% of Americans would be insane at any given moment. Which who knows, maybe we are.

The “plot” of this story is that a young, lonely hospice nurse moves into a dying horror author’s home to care for her in her final days. Of course, days turn into weeks and then months, and we get to almost a year. The entire time, the nurse (Lily) doesn’t seem to DO anything. It takes her 11 months to finally read a book. She just slowly wanders around the house, looking at walls and ceilings when she hears strange noises. She doesn’t even seem to take care of the old woman, besides brushing her hair and making occasional meals. If I had a world famous horror writer in my presence, you better believe I’d be diving into that brain to see what sick, twisted secrets she has. Hell, you could write your own book. There’s enough typewriters around.

The ending is soooooo drawn out, I thought I was going to fall asleep. I kept checking to see how much time was left. And the epilogue was entirely unnecessary, except to maybe scare you a bit. Unless it’s setting up for a equal, which I don’t think the world could handle. That’s too many words.