INFERNAL TRAMPS

Grass’ collection of short stories submerges characters in grotesque and relentlessly unnerving circumstances.

The 17 tales herein feature an array of horrors. Some are blatantly sinister, like a serial killer who’s more than she appears to be; others seem innocuous but have the potential to become outright menaces, like an apparatus for keeping pests out of a garden. In still other instances, the true horror doesn’t reveal itself until the last few pages—as in the haunting “Ever Shall They Feed,” in which a boy named Beno plans to enact some relatively harmless revenge for his father embarrassing him at school. While hiding somewhere in the family’s funeral home, Beno inadvertently witnesses an event that rattles him; the situation grows increasingly unsettling for Beno (and readers) as it rolls along. In “Pujkamaunka Splash,” Trevor distinctly remembers the eponymous video game, which was immensely popular decades ago. Why does it seem everyone else has forgotten it? He recalls going to buy the game with his grandfather on a day rife with violent and bizarre incidents almost certain to traumatize any kid. Interspersed throughout the collection are several flash-fiction pieces, which the author proves can be just as powerful as longer selections. In one memorable example, the diner-patron narrator of “Boxed Breakfast” has seen all sorts of sidewalk passersby—just not anyone like the man who shows him something he’s not ready to see.

As in all great horror fiction, Grass bolsters the stories with extraordinary characters. Such characterization allows the twists and turns to hit especially hard, as when one man’s chair triggers memories of his sickly mother, or when the aforementioned Trevor is taken aback when something actually frightens his stoic grandfather. The author also weaves in satire, lampooning such subjects as medical industries and penal systems. “The EP™ Implant” tackles both excessive wealth and plastic surgery addiction; in the story, Lupita’s latest cosmetic surgery comes with an app that allows her to adjust her new implant’s “contour and buoyancy,” but she’s ill-prepared for what to do when a horrifying post-surgery problem arises. The author’s prose rarely strays from the somber, even when humorous, and it often reads like poetry: “Moving between rooms brought on dizzy spells. Total fatigue drained his bodily battery dead. By nighttime, he was moribund, his muscles aching and bloodless, anatomically teetering toward a mortal deficit.” Grass’ metaphors are darkly evocative: “Violative in the way of a trussed-up sexual masochist loitering near a seesaw”; a “miasma that brings to mind a river overflowing with spoiled pigs’ blood.” One standout tale, “Odd Egg,” perfectly encapsulates the collection. It opens with an uneasy sight as Maryellen comes home to a stranger on her porch. The man, with an egg-shaped head and long, bumpy fingers, just wants to give her a free carton of eggs, courtesy of a growers’ association. But does Maryellen really want to eat those eggs, or even know what’s inside them? This relatable protagonist, one among many such memorable characters, endures a progressively more disturbing experience that readers won’t likely soon forget.

Potent horror stories that provoke and repulse to astonishing effect.