Kids are killing kids with increasing frequency in Cynthia Pelayo's grim Children of Chicago. What sets their crimes apart from the gangland shootings, though, is the presence of graffiti giving credit to the Pied Piper, a diabolical entity most commonly known from the pages of a Grimms' fairy tale. Within a single centuries-old collection of these stories is a single black page with an English poem that provides instructions for contracting the services of the Pied Piper, who will kill other children for a price.
Although billed as a crime novel, Children of Chicago is a horror book through and through. While much of the story is relayed through the eyes of a corrupt and abusive homicide detective, Lauren Medina, and does contain some street-level procedural elements as she works to build the case and get to the bottom of what's happening, it also contains plenty of vividly gory imagery and an unrelentingly dark atmosphere, in addition to plenty of supernatural scares that wouldn't be out of place in A Nightmare on Elm Street.
Medina herself is a fascinatingly complex and deeply troubled antiheroine, distrusted by both her fellow police officers and the public at large. Many cops can go an entire career without discharging their firearm, but Medina has been involved in an usually high number of officer-involved shootings. Pelayo makes it plain that this character is little more than a thug with a badge, one who goes to great lengths to use people to further her own ends. That Medina still has her badge is an indictment of modern law enforcement standards, and in an era where police can, largely, kill Black Americans with impunity is hardly an exception, but seemingly the rule itself these days. It's an indictment of not just the police but of the cities that allow such cancers to thrive unimpeded.
As a Chicago native, Pelayo clearly knows and loves her city, warts and all. Yes, Chicago is a deeply troubled city, but also one with an intensely rich and storied history. This city is practically a fairy tale all its own, with its beginnings as a collection of steel towers in the middle of a prairie - an Oz-like visual that served as inspiration for L. Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. But despite the mythologizing and magic of this man-made city, it also has a dark and troubled underbelly of serial killers, gangs, and mobsters. Through Medina's eyes, Pelayo makes the case for why Chicago is the perfect place for fairy tale horror, infusing the story with the city's own rich history. As a bit of a history nut, I found a lot to appreciate in Pelayo's asides to Chicago's past, but at times these factoids did feel a bit forced and overbearing, even as they help showcase this city as a character in its own right. And make no mistake, Chicago itself is every bit as central a character as Medina herself; the two are deeply interwoven and mirror each other perfectly with their darkness and hidden joys.
Children of Chicago is an intensely bleak and thoroughly compelling work of horror, one that twists and expands the Pied Piper myth into a compelling 21st Century monster with shades of Freddy Krueger and Candyman. But like some of the best monster stories, the most inhuman horrors are the people themselves.