[House of Leaves - Mark Z. Danielewski / The Space Between - Christoph Frey / Anatomy - Kittyhorrorshow / Pathologic - Ice Pick Lodge / cs_militia - Kristoffer Zetterstrand / I Am In Eskew (ep. 8) / Silent Hill 2 - Konami / The Haunting of Hill House - Shirley Jackson]
I think its a kind of loneliness.
Transcripts below the cut.
God’s a house. Which is not to say that our house is God’s house or even a house of God. What I mean to say is that our house is God.
[A screenshot of the game The Space Between. A lowpoly image of a door at the end of a dimly lit halway.]
And if we were to dissect a house, we would find ourselves a stomach throat spine and eyes and eyes teeth and sinew and dreams and memories and a mouth that will bite down
The houses that Burakh had locked up were literally in agony, their walls swollen with boils, their windows covered in scarlet mould. There were blisters everywhere; blood mixed with ichor was flowing from the chimneys... Thats how it was.
[A painting of a map from CS GO, militia as seem from outside of the normal boundaries. Across the top is an archway of marbled pink, under that is a house cut off by darkness overtaking the rest of the page besides a single blue tunnel running off to the right.]
These places have been with us since the beginning of time, he said. So-called haunted houses.
The rooms where we step inside, and shiver, and quite impulsively we can’t wait to get out, because something - the dimensions, the acoustics - is so horribly wrong to us that we cannot bear to exist within it.
We can build a cell consisting of exactly the right length and width and angles to elicit a response of horror and absolute despair in its inhabitant.
Why does it never occur to us that the same might be possible in the construction of a street...or a village...or a town?
[A screenshot of the game Silent Hill 2. A blond man is staring at a window covered up by news paper. On the newspapers is written in what looks like blood; “There was a HOLE here, It’s gone now.”]
“No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against the hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.”
[A screenshot of the game The Space Between. A woman is sitting in the dark. In the background blacked out buildings with few lit windows are obscured by hanging cloth. The text “Sometimes walls don’t have to be out of matter.” is displayed on the bottom.]
It may grow angry. Its basement may fill with churning acid like an empty stomach. And its gorge may rise as it asks itself, through clenched teeth, "what did I do wrong?"
It may grow bitter. It may grow hungry. So hungry and so bitter that its scruples dissolve and its doors unlock themselves.
While a house may hunger, it cannot starve. And it so in fever and anger and loneliness, it may simply lie in wait. Doors open. Shades drawn. Hallways empty. Hungry.
[A screenshot of the game Pathologic. The Polyhedron, a massive pointed structure looms above a field with scattered graves. Clouds circle the top of it as it pierces both the sky and earth.]
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