S.E.E.S.

In “The Philosophy of Composition,” (1846) Edgar Allan Poe argues that the short story is the ideal literary form on the grounds that it can be read in a single sitting. If the writer properly calibrates the atmosphere and mood of their story, the effect—especially re: horror—can be spectacular, as an emotional response can build without interruption. I think there’s some validity in what he argues (which some scholars believe was written more as a joke), but I don’t think it applies to games. The physical space in which you play a game—with all its attendant distractions—becomes the game.

As mentioned, the last time I played Silent Hill was in the basement of a two-story townhouse (I used ‘apartment’ in the last entry as more of catch-all). It was spooky as hell. Every creak and squeak were amplified by the layer of dirt separating me from the floors above. These interruptions had a profound impact on the way I experienced the game; I couldn’t help but theorize—in gory detail—about origins of those sounds; which, when coupled the Harry’s trek through Midwich Elementary School, produced an acute feeling of dread.

A decade later I’m playing the game in the comfort of my second-floor bedroom, in bed with my wife and dog. Which is nice, but not without its unexpected terrors. A staticky baby monitor can be just as unnerving as radio white noise.