“The Turning” by Jack Ketchum
“The Skeleton Club” by Scott Standridge
“In the Belly of the Whale” by James Payne
“How Not to Apologize to a Scarecrow” by Patricia Russo
“Windy City Blues” by Jonathan Azul
“Midnight at the Quick N’ Save” by James Reilly
“Toys Left Behind in an Abortionist’s Waiting Room” by John S. Walsh

What’s new on the Slab: City Slab #8 provides a varied collection of urban horror tales, as well as editor Dave Lindschmidt’s essay on Aleister Crowley and his Ordo Templi Orientis, and an interview of author Jack Ketchum by Scott Standridge. Add to that essays on absinthe, the Resident Evil games, Jack the Ripper, the Mummy’s Curse, and horror director Dario Argento, and you have a very full Slab, indeed.

Two-time Bram Stoker Award-winner Jack Ketchum brings us “The Turning,” in which an unnamed man walks the streets of New York, observing the sharp separation between the upper and lower classes, and sensing the coming change. To reveal the nature of that change would give away far too much; suffice it to say that Ketchum puts forward an interesting (and appealing) theory on the origin of monsters. His writing is peppered with tight, expressive, incomplete sentences, his images richly visual. The narrator’s revulsion with the upper class is palpable and understandable, so that the reader, like the narrator, finds himself looking forward to the turning.

In Scott Standridge’s “The Skeleton Club,” Gerald has a problem: the flesh of his lower face is falling away. It’s a transformation worthy of horror director David Cronenberg, whose movies also look at the connections between our bodies, our minds, our sexuality, and madness. “The Skeleton Club” tackles these same connections, and also delves into the problem of self-identity. Can Gerald renounce his membership in the human race and throw in his lot with the Skeleton Club—others, like himself, who have lost flesh?

The first half of the story, detailing Gerald’s physical transformation, seems a necessary prelude to the second half, which looks at his initiation into the Club. He has to lose his humanity before he can accept something new (and, arguably, better). The point is to make Gerald’s final transformation seem both inevitable and desirable. “The Skeleton Club” certainly succeeds in that respect.

James Payne provides follow-up on a certain wooden boy in his story, “In the Belly of the Whale.” Pinocchio is a man now, a real man, but as the magic of the world diminishes, he finds himself plagued by his true nature. The splinters are a bitch. In a world without Geppetto or Jiminy Cricket, how does he cope? Not well. The denouement is fitting, and will strike you as either sad or darkly humorous, depending on your attachment to the Disney tale.

Patricia Russo’s “How Not to Apologize to a Scarecrow” gives guilt the form of a killer scarecrow. This is one of those rare stories that’s told in the second person and gets away with it. Russo could have chosen any point of view, however; her story is that strong. As the scarecrow exacts his vengeance, the protagonist’s thoughts return repeatedly to his alcoholic kid sister, Tracy-Ann, whom he has left drunk and unconscious on the floor of her apartment. They grew up with a father who abused the protagonist physically, Tracy-Ann sexually. The question which obsesses the protagonist is one of responsibility. Should he have come to his younger sister’s aid? Russo’s choice of avenging angel—a straw man, a hollow man—clearly demonstrates her opinion of the protagonist and his paper-thin excuses.

“Windy City Blues” by Jonathan Azul is a quick character sketch of Katie, a Chicago party girl. Azul’s writing is choppy, abbreviated, sped-up to capture the dance club vibe. The style works, as Katie’s character comes into sharp focus with few words. The “truth” about Katie, something which comes out in the story’s closing paragraphs, is not half as interesting as the narrator’s complacency. She is what she is, the narrator seems to be saying, and I love her for it, no matter whatever else changes.

Stories in which all hell breaks loose are fun to read, but eventually the writer has to produce an explanation. James Reilly gives us contagious face-melting chaos in “Midnight at the Quick N’ Save,” and while his characters are busy flirting or fighting with each other, dealing with steaming bodies or coping with G-men in hazmat suits, all is well, and the ride is riotous. But Reilly has to account for this pandemonium, and that’s where “Midnight at the Quick N’ Save” falls down. Still, if you can forgive a story a weak ending, you’ll have a lot of fun.

In the world of John S. Walsh’s “Toys Left Behind in an Abortionist’s Waiting Room,” new technology has made abortion a pleasurable experience, so much so that women get pregnant just to experience the thrill of the device. Not warped enough for you? The abortionist-protagonist likes to have sex with his patients . . . and he likes to save some of the fetuses, too. As curiosities.

The protagonist is such a creep, such a piece of work, the reader soon anticipates a moralistic comeuppance. In this, Walsh does not disappoint. “Toys Left Behind in an Abortionist’s Waiting Room” revels in its own grossness, delights in its depiction and punishment of evil. The subtlety common to this issue’s other stories has no place in this tale. Not this reader’s cup of tea, but if after reading this nutshell review you’re still interested, have at it.