In Preston Max Allen’s “Caroline,” directed deftly by David Cromer, a onetime wild child, Maddie (Chloë Grace Moretz), reëngages with her estranged mother, Rhea (Amy Landecker)—the penitent young woman hunched in flannel, the elder one cold beneath her Candice Bergen hair style. Allen’s reparative narrative, though, actually revolves around Maddie’s nine-year-old daughter, Caroline (River Lipe-Smith), who has only just claimed her pronouns and, as the title tells us, her name. For most of the play, the two well-meaning adults find themselves mired in old hurts, and so it’s lucky that Caroline’s got her own decision-making steel. Lipe-Smith’s matter-of-fact maturity makes such “and the children shall lead” optimism believable; you want to find this charismatic talent afterward to ask the kid to run for office.—H.S. (M.C.C.; through Nov. 16.)

In today’s New York, dive bars are an increasingly rare species, steadily losing their place in the economic food chain to sexier establishments that are more amenable to influencers and their algorithms. Turbo Pizza, in Bushwick, then, is a breath of fresh air: that rare new dive which feels like it’s been around for decades—neon tubing, battered pool table, sticky floors, and all. On a recent weekday, a group of friends settled into a leather booth, the speakers above them blaring a pop-punk track from the early two-thousands. One friend, spotting a section of the menu titled “SHOTS!,” headed for the bar and ordered the Jolly Rancher, a sugary concoction of vodka, cranberry and pineapple juices, and peach liqueur. “I think we might be out,” the bartender said, rummaging elbow-deep in the fridge before extracting a bottle of viscous scarlet liquid. Out came a massive whiskey glass. “You’re in luck. I’m going to top you off—not sure how long this’ll last.” The friend felt a pang of preëmptive regret. Back at the table, gastronomic decisions were unfolding: the rest of the group was taking advantage of the kitchen’s Detroit-style pizzas, including the Burrata Soppressata, a sweet-spicy mélange of hot honey, basil, and chile flakes. This was followed by the fried ravioli, which hit a spot that only a sufficiently greasy small plate can. By now, the Jolly Rancher had vanished, as had a round of the house’s elegant dirty Martini, whose shortcomings in grit were made up for in potency. Napkins were crumpled; plates were licked. The group motioned for the check, but found stiff competition for the bartender’s gaze, which was locked (in standard dive protocol) on that night’s Mets game. Even here, the attention economy prevails.

Guillermo del Toro’s “Frankenstein” is out today; can you identify these other spooky stories?

Published in 1948, this story features an old ritual in which one villager is stoned to death. Hint: “ ‘It isn’t fair, it isn’t right,’ Mrs. Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon her.”

Published in 2009, this story features a tall scarecrow figure with a misshapen Halloween pumpkin for a head. Hint: “She wondered if the strange glistening to the air had always been there but in her previous, protected life she hadn’t noticed it.”

Published in 2014, this story features a ring with a blue-green stone shaped like an elephant, infused with the spirit of a ghost. Hint: “He can’t do anything to you unless you give him permission.”

P.S. Good stuff on the internet: