"I'm just a bug. Like you."
I love stories about monsters.
Monsters are a universal language.
They are like math.
If aliens had to try to find a way to communicate with us, they might choose calculus, sure, but they might also choose xenomorphs.
There was once an experiment where scientists showed footage of sharks to monkeys and gorillas. Just video footage of sharks. And the apes freaked the hell out. Because the apes looked at those things that they had never seen before and completely understood.
OH, THEY UNDERSTOOD.
They didn't know why, they didn't know what, but a part of their brain, older than time, older than humanity, remembered.
Instinctively remembered the language and symbology of monsters.
Every culture, every species, speaks and is fluent in the concept. Because monsters have come to define millions of years of our survival. Before we could think, we adapted to spot them. That understanding was passed down to our ancestors, written in our DNA like eye colour.
Monsters are why we can see so many variations of the colour green. To see them. And now we're trained by evolution to look harder. To see more colours. In everything. And now we see monsters in every gap of the unknown, not just in shadows and empty doorways.
But in the shadows and empty places in people's hearts. We see them in the hollowed out spaces where people have been hurt. We see them in blank and empty smiles that never quite reach the eyes.
We see them in young faces that suddenly look a hundred years old.
They live in pain, they grow in pain and they consume and spread through pain. Like a religion.
Monsters are fun, but they are also a philosophy. A philosophy of fang and flesh.
And this book has a ton of monsters.
We're talking about a high-octane, triple down, Big Van Vader six somersault flip to the front of the line of an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord of monsters.
Lots of different kinds of monsters. Strange phantoms, Lovecraftian terrors that sexually violate people, insects, maggots, rabid dogs, wasps, bullies, nightmare cockroaches, sadists, strangely cute abominations that devour people's faces, emotionally damaged psychos, creepy psychic children, incestuous lovers who stab their daddy to bits ...and Jim!
And all the monsters are weirdly sympathetic. They each get back-stories explaining what broke them and turned them into the exceptionally dangerous horror shows they are today. Some of them come from pits of torment and despair (like San Diego) and some of them are Lovecraftian terrors.
But every one of them is relatable!
Except Jim. That guy's a mess.
A Child Alone With Strangers is about a young boy Henry who lost his father in a terrible incident. This very same incident nearly killed Henry as well. But Henry survived and after he woke up in the hospital he seemed to have gained psychic powers. The strange ability to see people's emotions and read them. To read the colours of people. He also gained a hefty sum of money because of a lawsuit pushed by his Uncle and Aunt who took care of him. And because the world isn't nice Henry became a target. His differences made him a target of fear and ridicule. And violence. Because broken is attracted to broken. Weird is attracted to weird. Hurt is attracted to hurt. And criminals are attracted to money. So poor little Henry becomes the center of a meticulous scheme hatched from a methodical and predatory mind to make a couple million dollars.
A trap is set, Henry is kidnapped and it's a race against time for the police to find him while the clock runs down on Henry's chances of survival.
Henry is taken to a farm house and empty property that is a den of monsters. As if this kid doesn't have enough problems, now he's surrounded by a gang of criminals, cut-throats and psychopaths. Mad dogs all too eager to show their teeth. To rip apart innocence and naivete and shake it in their jaws until it's bloody. Because hey! That's what happened to them and they turned out JUST FINE. But that den of creeps and sister-humping weirdos is sitting on top of another more primeval den. A nest for a nightmare that can hear the child's cries for help in its mind and responds with a horrific song of blood and terror.
And OH BOY does the shit hit the fan.
Now I'm sure Philip Fracassi's a wonderful fella. Great writer! Stylish dresser. He's got a lot of nice traits, I'm certain, but he writes stories that make the milk curdle in your stomach. Philip Fracassi's books makes Stephen King novels look like Bunnicula.
A Child Alone with Strangers is what would happen if Reservoir Dogs was blended with Evil Dead, The Thing, The Shining, a bit of Cujo and that Del Toro film Mimic. With just a hint of The Ritual.
We got people drowning in fire-ants, heads melted in acid, folks ripped apart like a balloon of blood, axes to the belly, cockroaches crawling into people's mouths giving them PTSD nightmares, we got swarms of maggots and hornets and bees and hunger-crazed abandoned dogs. Also: we got a forced monster blow-job that would make a hentai artist gag.
And there's a big surprise waiting to hatch in the basement!
I need a tetanus shot after reading this novel. This book is a big, dirty, nasty, trash-humping degenerate. I think this story is where the smell of Axe deodorant comes from. It's got a mean streak that's brown and stinky and makes you itch while you read it.
Oh damn, I nearly forgot to mention the scene with the bedbugs. Jeez, I must have been mentally blocking that out. Because when I was reading it my flesh wanted to crawl off and join the circus.
Don't get me wrong, A Child Alone With Strangers is not extreme horror, but it is very, very effective and brutal horror. It will gorilla slam your stomach into your heart. You're gonna want to bathe in industrial alcohol by the time this book's done with you. The gore and grime and grit and slime and sweat and mold is so thick you're picking it out of your teeth while you're reading. It's shooting all over the walls! Let me tell you Bubba, this book has got a lot of guts and it really wants to show them to you.
And before the novel is done? Pop goes the weasels, baby.
Contrary to popular belief, I'm not all that difficult to please. I came for a good creature feature, and this book dished out more beasts and frothing antagonists than a D&D Monster Manual. It's got rampages and bloodshed and more crazy sequences than ten other monster books combined. That's a 8/10 fiesta of freakishness right there. Easy rating. But the thing is, on top of delivering the goods, this book brings extra sauce. It's got a ton of thought and themes to play. And the plotting and characterisation by Fracassi is pitch perfect. Philip's juggling so many balls that his ability to bring it all together and pay it off in a way that's satisfactory, internally consistent and unpredictable had me shaking my head. Fracassi's horror fiction is playing on Dark Souls level insane difficulty and he makes it look easy.
The set-up impressed me a lot. The tension between the criminals is razor-tight and expressed almost completely through characterisation. Each one of them is an explosive pack of hundred year old TNT sitting on a hair trigger. And Henry's ability to see how close these psychos are to melting down like an emotional Chernobyl makes every interaction with the boy a teeth-gritting nightmare. Having the ability to read people's minds and seeing folks sitting across from you at a table smiling and thinking "I COULD STAB HIM" isn't exactly good vibes.
It's not a question of 'if' Henry's gonna step on a land-mine, it's when. And how often. And what will be left? And the biggest and most dangerous landmine is waiting at the end.
All of the villains are sympathetic enough that when they get mentally and physically attacked you're stuck between cheering and puking. Don't get it twisted, all the villains got reasons for the horrible things they do, but there's no redemption here. Not for any of them. Despite some last minute gasps at humanity. Even when they're trying desperately to be good. They're just huge, flawed, self-destructive, impulsive monsters. That they occasionally direct their psychopathy at themselves or other targets more deserving than a little kid doesn't redeem them. It only draws an emphasis to how dangerous and unpredictable they can be.
Henry is an exceptional protagonist, balancing between being a tragic child in peril who is completely sympathetic, but also a creepy psychic who is playing dangerous games with forces he doesn't understand. He's seeing things he shouldn't be able to see. Speaking to people who aren't there (or are they) and listening to emotions and voices from horrors under the ground who he probably shouldn't be trying to spark a conversation with. I mean when we say "don't talk to strangers" that includes Dagon. Right? And by the end, something really, really deep starts talking back to Henry.
Goodness gracious.
And then there's the monster. Who's also sympathetic despite being utterly alien. There's a big reveal where she finally shows just how truly strange she is, and holy fudge in a fly factory, the more you see, the more you don't understand. It's one of those creatures that starts out totally demonic, becomes more and more animal and in the finale is both almost human and utterly unknowable. It's an incredible reveal because it unravels the last of the armour of the main antagonist. Where the imposing Jim who dehumanises everything and everybody for his own ends, who seems invincible and unflappable, finally connects with something. He recognises someone as another human being.
And it's a horror from the pit.
Jim looks into the abyss and sees himself.
And that brings us back to the language and symbology of monsters. The better we get at seeing them, the more we see them everywhere. Yeah?
Even in our own reflection.
9/10