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When people reminisce on the struggles of childhood, the memories often remain centered on the mundane: forgetting homework, apparent oppression by the adults around you, being forced to eat overcooked broccoli, among many other trials and tribulations. And yet, so many pieces of entertainment that focus on nostalgia fail to recall the unique and rampant paranoias that seemed to consume many a night as a child. The shadows that seemed to dance in the dark, the visions of monsters behind our eyes, the pitter patter of goblin footsteps we were promised were raindrops…
It’s humorous to reminisce at the unfounded worries that seemed so present to us in our youth, and despite their fantastical natures the sureness of our truth. In a number of short stories that each play on these youthful woes, S.P. Oldham places a unique spin on both classic childhood tales and simple gut feelings. The stories are strengthened by the sheer microcosm of each and every monster- from merely a deranged youth who locally terrorizes a family to a personification of insomnia, Oldham plays to the personality of her beasts- the horror of random selection for torment. While some may argue that the locality of her antagonists hinders the ability to chill the reader to the core, the fallibility of some of them adds to a certain realism. For example, in the collection’s opener, Joe Gallows, the titular character is a mere child obsessed with hanging animals. While this is not the end of the story by any means, his progression of victims is jagged enough to shock the first read and provide a near-electric dread throughout repeat reads.
From story to story it is clear that Oldham excels with subtlety. The standout tale of the collection, Devil’s Drop, shows the best of her strengths. Telling the story of siblings who stray into the territory of some sort of demon, Oldham weaves her way out of the need to describe the creature. While this could be indicative of laziness or indecisiveness Oldham’s use of elaboration based solely on the children’s feelings, the near primal dread of being caught where one shouldn’t be, instead creates a bone-chilling vagueness. This manipulations seems to hint that not even the protagonists, who know to fear it, know exactly what they are fearing. Another story in this collection, Absorption, uses a similar vagueness in vignettes to show the corruptive influence of what seems to be an Ent. However, I must concede that the horror is must less effective in the latter, more clearly envisioning a dark pity.
Oldham’s use of phrasing throughout every story manages to mix a sort of simplistic innocence with a near-Lovecraftian sense of knowing too much, and it is this oddly true-to-life childish wit that gives Wakeful Children it’s best moments. While the ages of some characters are purposefully vague, such as the apparent basement-dweller in Blank Screen who mixes childish hatred with vile threats, or the old-enough-to-have-a-family insomniac of The Sandman, every character regardless of maturity seemed to hold a similar sort of wariness born of inexperience. Similarly, in The Sandman, the protagonist’s exploration of the titular creature’s dreamscape is an appropriately Lovecraftian journey into a world that simply doesn’t make sense.
Thus, Oldham displays an impressive ability to evoke the nostalgic fears within
childhood without compromising the staying power of the horror. While a few stories in the collection are weakened by the format, which I found too ready to conclude, in general I found each story bite-sized enough to provide a quick thrill, most of which tended to stick with me for at least a few hours apiece. While the horror featured within is of a subtle type (no splatter-fests here!) I found it quietly introspective and showing a command of youthful impulsiveness, spite, and dread.