SLOW BURN

Supernatural menaces, body thieves, and ferocious killers pervade Allen’s grim collection of stories and poems.

John Starkey, in the tale “Strange Wisdoms of the Dead,” sails a rotting ship out to sea carrying victims of the Plague. Far away from the surviving villagers of Bliss, he can set the vessel afire and burn the corpses. Along the way, however, something else takes the helm, turning Starkey into a passenger with no idea of the ship’s new destination. These assembled short stories feature such spooky conventions as ghosts, a witch, and someone trying to bring a creature to life, but the prevailing theme of this book is body horror—grotesque depictions of torn or modified flesh and impossibly contorted bodies. That’s just where the title story leads, with Aaron Friedrich and his online publication for Owlswick County; he’s always looking for material for his website, and Aaron’s own town of Grandy Springs, Virginia, has an especially bizarre history. Locals like Aaron bear scars on each side of their faces but have no recollection whatsoever as to what caused them. As Aaron inches closer to a terrifying hidden truth, he may prefer to forget all over again. Characters from “Slow Burn” also pop up in the equally gruesome and novella-length “The Comforter,” which takes place in another Virginia town. The story focuses on 13-year-old foster kid Maddy, who’s receiving cryptic notes (“my mom stole your mom’s skin”) stuck to her school desk. Even with someone looking out for her, Maddy may be unable to elude the terrors awaiting her.

It won’t surprise readers familiar with Allen’s work (Aftermath of an Industrial Accident: Stories, 2020) that he doesn’t shy away from violent bits. Descriptions include viscera, teeth (not just in mouths), and tortured limbs of all shapes and lengths. Many passages are outright disconcerting even out of context: “She fills his mouth and plugs his throat, his tongue slapping uselessly against a column that tastes of blood and raw river silt.” The author’s gleefully vibrant prose animates these stories; this also holds true for the collection’s free-verse poetry. The poem “The Windows Breathe” gives life to an old house with “hungry shuddering groans” and a hall that’s “rounded, glistening, so much like a gullet”; “The Sacrifices” makes an abstraction tangible, as “shriveled souls brushed our skin, / like dried leaves.” As in many works in this genre, the monster or brooding presence often reveals itself only at the end or opts to remain ambiguous. This narrative approach injects these stories with nerve-racking anticipation and dread over what may happen to characters like friends Andi and Celine in “Machine Learning,” in which an early-morning casting call leads to a mysterious detour. Owen’s black-and-white digital illustrations accompany each of the stories and poems, though there are only five unique pieces with multiple repeats throughout. These stark images (a monster peeking over a horizon; tendrils emerging from a skeletal chest) nevertheless enrich the dark tales herein.

An assemblage of horror tales and somber verses that frighten and fascinate.