SPIRITUS EX MACHINA

Machines, dolls, and ghastly things animate von Hessen’s debut collection of somber horror tales.

In “The Contagion,” the Dreiyer family’s annual road trip includes a stop at a bed-and-breakfast—that’s where 7-year-old Sylvia peeks into a trunk of dolls, one of which, she swears, moves on its own. Decades later, when looking for inspiration for a TV show she’s working on, she returns to the inn and makes a startling discovery. Von Hessen’s 14 stories herein tackle such diverse subgenres as the undead, body horror, and something more Lovecraftian (“Spectral Golem”), but there’s a discernible theme of identity that runs throughout the book. Characters interrogate their pasts; the narrator of “The Patent-Master” travels to an island coastal town, where the discovery of their late mother’s former profession is the first of many surprises. In one of the collection’s highlights, “The Obscurantist,” Brooklyn-based Andrei’s lifelong obsession with a girl who once appeared on an obscure variety show ultimately leads him down a dark path. These tales are bleak, forgoing humor and zeroing in on individuals who find themselves in miserable, appalling, or lethal circumstances. A few of the entries dive deep into visceral and grotesque imagery; one that’s sure to turn stomachs is “Roscoe’s Malefic Delights,” which is about a newly opened eatery with only one item on its menu: These “delights” (“reminiscent of blood-drained white worms or skinned, flattened rats’ tails or stringy strips of tripe”) definitely don’t look appetizing, but their appearance may not be their worst attribute. In every chilling moment and unexpected turn, the author’s prose is nothing short of intoxicating—unforgettable passages equate one man with “the human embodiment of a prolonged sigh”; a “sloshing” akin to a “half-empty jar of preserves” describes something that ideally shouldn’t be making that sound.

Razor-sharp writing distinguishes stories that enthrall as often as they unnerve.