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Midwest Gothic

- The bugs get louder each night. They seem closer. At first you heard them in the forest, at the roads edge, then in your yard. now they’re at your windowsill. You’re not sure they’re bugs - No matter how alone you think you are, you can hear a dog barking in the distance - The deer travel in packs. The deer hunt in packs. The deer circle your house and stare at you with glowing eyes. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen them pull back their lips. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen their fangs. - Every road you travel has pot holes. Every other road is under construction. This never changes - The sound of the snow keeps you up in the winter. How would you describe the sound? You’re not sure, actually. - You take note of the empty spaces along the highways. The open fields and lifeless forests. They’re fenced off. They’re not keeping anything out. They’re not keeping anything in - you’ve seen a fox late at night. You’ve seen it only once. Everyone has seen it only once. - no matter where you go, you find yourself at the waters edge, be it a lake, pond, or marsh. The air always feels different here. Sometimes you swear you see things beneath that glassy surface - There’s a house in your neighborhood. It’s a nice house. The lawn looks nice. There’s a fence and a porch. No one has lived in it for years, but no one knows who once did or why they left. You peered through the windows once. You felt something peer back at you. The house was empty. - The pavement sighs at night. - There’s at least one maple tree in your yard. Creatures rustle the leaves. The wind rustles the leaves. The trees quiver and shake. You recognize their language as one you spoke a long, long time ago.

stereokink

michigan gothic

a small boy appears in the cornfields around your house. you ask him where he came from. he says nothing, but reaches for your hand. he presses his finger into your palm.

the lakes are angry and they send snow. the people whisper while warming their hands, “it’s not as bad as ‘78.” once, you ask your father, “what happened in ‘78?” he sniffs the air. “winter is meant to end,” is his nonreply.

the lake towns are flooded with tourists who never travel from very far. the clerk at the rental cabin has never checked someone out. tourists still check in.

you have an upset stomach and your mother brings you a ginger ale. the name on the bottle is a famous alchemist who went mad. it’s also your last name. you try not to think about it.

the only way out is through a cut of land called indiana, ever since the wolverines tore through ohio. you’ve learned to sleep through their screams.

it’s fall and the word on everyone’s lips is “lions.” you’ve never seen one, but every fall, you hold out hope. within a month, you assume they’re dead.

your cousin invites you for a visit and tells you not to park in the garage. later, he opens the garage door to show you a sea of drink containers. you take a step in. “be careful,” he says, “those are worth something.”

you are from kalamazoo. you’ve lived your entire life in kalamazoo. your family and friends are all in kalamazoo. you’re watching tv one day and you hear it. “kalamazoo isn’t a real place.” you look down. your body flickers.

andrewgarfieldsbutch

Michigan Gothic

for one hour each day it rains. for one hour each day it is blisteringly hot. the next hour it is snowing. the next, hail. no one knows what season it is.

zebra mussels coat the bottom of every lake. the beaches are permanently stained red from the bloody feet of those foolish enough to swim there.

skeletal remains of shipwrecked freighters rise high out of the water, illuminated by the green glow from a hundred lighthouses. when you get close to them you are overwhelmed by the drone of a fog horn that seems to live inside your head. your eyes roll back, your boat is flooding. get away from the wreck. you are surrounded by lighthouses. where did all these lighthouses come from.

what’s in the pasties? some joke that it’s humans but you know the truth. the black squirrels with demonic red eyes would take over otherwise. the pasties keep michigan safe.

the horses on mackinac island are the same ones that have been there since the beginning of time. everyone talks about the Grand Hotel but no one ever actually goes there. it smells like fudge and rotting meat. it is where the horses keep their humans.

unsuspecting tourists cross to the wrong side of sleeping bear dunes into the sharp-toothed maw of the actual sleeping bear. this is how she’s fed. everyone lives in terror of when she will awake.

it is march 23rd. all of the sudden everyone around you begins chanting at once. O B E R O N everyone drones. people fall to the ground, limbs jerking, foam dripping from their mouth. it smells like oranges and beer. strangled cries echo throughout cities O B E R O N they scream. the bars are locked and shuttered, the patrons trapped inside.

thousands of cars line the highway, snaking down I-94, I-96, I-75. they are waiting for the dark man to return from o h i o. he will distribute the fireworks. later the sky will seem as though it is on fire, the sound of explosions never ceasing. it is fourth of july weekend. night never comes.

no one has ever left michigan adventure.

the ghost of henry ford appears in the passenger seat of anyone with a foreign car. he opens his mouth in a silent scream. bugs pour out. he disappears. toyotas and audis are found abandoned everywhere along the road, the bones of their drivers picked clean.

petoskey stones are found on the beach each morning arranged in the shape of strange circular sigils. no one knows what happens if you step in the center, but the life-like garden sculptures sold at every small town art fair offer some clues. their stone eyes plead for you to help them.

time does not exist in meijer. it is a respite from the ills of the outside world. although not technically trapped, many never leave.

all residents are tested each year to ensure they have ingested the required amount of better made chips and faygo. if not, their hands are cut off. without their hand maps, these criminals wander the state, unable to find their home. “where are you from?” people ask. the deviants turn their dead eyes toward their stump dripping blood and point to the air above it. it is no use. the ultimate punishment.

theoriginalap

Michigan Gothic

(All examples based on own experiences)

• The factories downriver have been closed since long before you were born, but in the darkness you can see their lights still burning. Beckoning the Union men who worked them to pick up their tools and return. Or perhaps they never really left.

• Fall brings a trip to the apple orchard. My, the apples are sure bright this year, a deep red that reminds you of something vaguely familiar. You ignore the faint metallic taste of their juice as you take a bite.

• Behind your apartment complex are woods, no more than a patch of trees and a few trails really. You know not to go in there without a friend. Time passes differently out there, forts and structures you didn’t build. And never, ever go into the woods at night.

• The entire city of Detroit is a Liminal space. The people aren’t what’s scary, don’t let the media fool you. It is the vast, unnatural emptiness of a city that once held four million souls that is unnerving. You don’t put that many people in one place, for that long, without them leaving something behind, intentional or not.

• The river churns angrily in all seasons, waiting for its next unsuspecting victim to slip into its depths unnatural and uncharted. What goes into the river is lost, sacrificed, and it does not do to try and take back what you have given.

• There are Church carnivals in the summer and fall, but you never see anyone at the Churches beyond this. You pass them and their cemeteries hurriedly, as the dead and their God stand in silent judgment.

• You sit in a dingy wearhouse repurposed as an auction house, your mother and grandmother in the back with the elderly. A woman of seemingly impossible age speaks lucidly of events of history, local and national, that you know she could not possibly have been old enough to remember much less live through. The years pass, but she never seems to age.

• The most frightening moment in a storm is not the tornado warning, or the siren itself. It is that short instance when the air cools and the wind dies and hangs unnaturally still around you. As you retreat to cover, you feel Something watching you, stalking you like prey.

• The storm winds howl and whisper in tongues unearthly yet strangely familiar.

• Don’t ask about what goes on on Zug Island. Most don’t know and those who do will never tell you the truth, for they wish they didn’t know it themselves.

popcorn-kitten

Michigan Gothic

It’s November 15th, school is closed as are all the stores. You are warned to stay inside and keep the doors locked, you’re huddled close with your family far from the windows, the hunting season has begun.

At night you drive down the road and your headlights catch the eyes of something in the woods. ‘a deer, only a deer’ you tell yourself, you ignore the part of your brain that reminds you deer only have two eyes.

It’s getting warmer and fireflies begin to rise from the grass. They bring with them messages from ancient beings long forgotten, the language lost in time. You hope none of these insects are carrying important warnings.

The corn fields go on for miles, you can’t remember when you started driving, you don’t remember where you are going or where you came from. All you remember is corn stalks.

Apples are in season, cherries are in season, they should not be in season at the same time but no one questions it, no one questions why the juices of both are so red and thick, no one questions why the insides of the fruit are raw meat.

It snows for days, so says the news. You know it has been 6 months. It is impossible to open the door and rations are running low. ‘tomorrow expect sun’ the news says. You pray they are right, you’re not sure you can fight off your parents much longer, they are so hungry.

Along the highways the buildings change, the life force of 8 mile has been sucked dry by the things that live under the city, the people on 12 mile pretend they do not notice the dying plants and beginnings of crumbling on their homes.

The potholes appear as they do every year, you try not to think about them. You swerve as you were taught. You try not to think how they move and grow to try and catch you as you pass. You try not to think about what’s inside them.

Summers bring tourists to the lake shore, they enjoy the sun and waves but say nothing of the sand that sings and the voices calling them into the waters of Lake Michigan. Summer brings tourists who are not heard from again.

A man is arrested and put into prison for the murder of several people in the inner city of detroit. He knows he is innocent but does not speak up, every knows he is innocent but does not speak up. If someone were to speak up and acknowledge them, the ancient beasts would become even more powerful.

The people in the U.P. chuckle and tell tourists that trolls is just a nickname for the people who live in the lower peninsula. There is a hesitance, a fear in their eyes though. They cannot tell the truth, the peace treaty would be broken and they know they would not survive another war with the creatures under the bridge

asleepcrdead

i hope everyone who sees this gets mcr tickets, cause you deserve them. now please stop crying and take a deep breath and go watch the reunion show or lotms or one of those mcr funny moments compilations because it’s not worth getting worked up over right now. just let yourself calm down and relax. you will be fine

sixpenceee

This overpass in Japan look like an extreme slope from a certain angle.

loftycastles

long-ago-1234567890

mysimpsonsblogisgreaterthanyours

dankmemeuniversity

bug-step

red-zeroo-deactivated20210211

Lmfao

hardtosaythesethings-deactivate

princesstigerbelle

randomslasher

This post honestly keeps getting better

repressedqueen

Of course Bucky knew!

This is the exact same words Steve and Bucky exchanged at a time they both knew they would get separated for a very long time and possibly not see each other again.

That’s their way of saying goodbye.

They talked about it.

Bucky knew.

determined-mind-deactivated2025

girlwhorpsalot

I needed this.

mentalmentalhealth

Thank you to all the people who posted this so I ended up seeing it. I really needed this right now. Thank you!

aro-ace-christian

Yeah… Not gonna lie… I cried…

muslimintp-1999-girl

We need more people like this

armillary-spheres-lover

Goddamn it stop making me feel human

dreamsrainandwitchythings

The therapist I wanna be.

positivelyqueerace

Text in the image:

“I’m a therapist and keep this poster in my waiting room, apparently it’s saved a few lives.”

I don’t like the phrase “a cry for help.” I just don’t like how it sounds. When somebody says to me, “I’m thinking about suicide. I have a plan: I just need a reason not to do it,” the last thing I see is helplessness.

I think your depression has been beating you up for years. It’s called you ugly, and stupid, and pathetic, and a failure, for so long that you’ve forgotten that it’s wrong. You don’t see any good in yourself, and you don’t have any hope.

But still here you are: you’ve come over to me, banged on my door and said, “HEY! Staying alive is REALLY HARD right now! Just give me something to fight with! I don’t care if it’s a stick! Give me a stick and I can stay alive!”

How is that helpless? I think that’s incredible. You’re like a marine: trapped for years behind enemy lines. Your gun has been taken away, you’re out of ammo, you’re malnourished, and you’ve probably caught some kind of jungle virus that’s making you hallucinate giant spiders.

And you’re still just going, “GIVE ME A STICK. I’M NOT DYING OUT HERE.” “A cry for help” makes it sound like I’m supposed to take pity on you, but you don’t need my pity. This isn’t pathetic. This is the will to survive. This is how humans lived long enough to become the dominant species.

With NO hope, running on NOTHING, you’re ready to cut through a hundred miles of hostile jungle with nothing but a stick, if that’s what it takes to get to safety.

All I’m doing is handing out sticks.

You’re the one saying alive.

ultimate-science-nerd

I legit cried at this. I’ve needed to hear it put this way. Bless this post.

tea-rabbits

Every time I see this post I stop to read the whole image. It always helps — even on the good days.

Because it wasn’t weakness. It wasn’t shameful to seek help. It wasn’t pathetic to “cry for help”. I was looking for a stick, be that from myself or from someone else. I was trying to find a way out. I was trying to heal myself.

aurora-nerin

this is fuckin incredible.

midnight-spectrum-again

@ethereal-sserendipity @greygreysongrace @arch-create @biggest-gaudiest-patronuses @biggest-goofiest-fish

This is so important

mosscoveredcorpse

@masochist-incarnate

memory-bees

vampireapologist-archive-deacti

the human body is so fake like i’ll be reading the news and it’s like “25 year old woman free falls 1,500 feet into 25 feet of snow, found alive and uninjured” and while I’m absolutely reeling over that I don’t even have time to process it fully before I look at the next article “25 year old man falls into shallow end of pool, dies instantly.”

like our bodies literally have the durability predictability of an iphone

vampireapologist-archive-deacti

one time I misjudged how steep a “hill” was and proceeded to slide down the slope of a cliff for a full half minute and hit the bottom unscathed.

then I tripped on the stairs on my way to see Neon Genesis Evangelion and shattered my entire kneecap.