god help us all
turns out i’m a genius and also an idiot.
genius because i finally figured out why my spotify keeps recommending breakup songs. idiot because it’s absolutely because i let one playlist get too dramatic and now the algorithm thinks i’m going through it. maybe i am. maybe that’s fine.
fuck you stupid fucking big companies trying to rot my goddamn brain. i keep deleting apps and reinstalling them the same night. i don’t even know what i’m looking for anymore. maybe i just like seeing the same handful of people living the same lives over and over again until i can pretend i’m one of them.
i haven’t been sleeping right. every time i try to go to bed i keep seeing that stupid park sign in my head: brown, dented, unimportant. just metal and paint. but it’s there, somewhere up north, still catching headlights. spectral valley national park. it doesn’t even sound real when i say it out loud. it sounds like a made-up place in a b-tier horror movie, or one of those fake “lost media” posts with too many details to be believable. except i saw it. we passed it. and now i can’t stop thinking about what’s behind it.
i tried googling it again tonight. nothing. the same half-dead websites, broken links, a tourism page that says temporarily unavailable. one of those cached results with half the text missing,just hanging sentences and a bunch of question marks. i don’t even know what i’m trying to find. maybe a reason to not go back. maybe a reason to.
dad’s been quieter lately. he pretends he doesn’t remember the drive, but he’s been leaving the back door open at night. he says it’s for the air, but it’s getting cold now and the air smells different. heavier. sometimes when i walk past his room i can hear the tv on but the volume’s turned all the way down. i think he just likes the light. i get it. the glow makes the house feel less empty.
the light in my room hums. it’s not just in my head this time, it’s a low buzzing that gets worse when the fridge kicks on. i tried unplugging everything to test it, but it kept going. it’s like the house is breathing through the walls. i’ve been sitting up at night listening to it, trying to catch it stop. it doesn’.
then, around midnight, the dog got out. i don’t even know how, door must’ve slipped again, or maybe dad left it open. the beagle’s name is hobo but he only listens when he feels like it. i named him that because dad bought him from a weird man outside of the grocery store and then left him in the bathroom. he smelt like shit and looked like shit so i named him hobo. he was supposed to be a hunting dog but dads getting too old or sick for that nowadays. anyways i ran out barefoot, flashlight in hand, the gravel biting at my feet. the air smelled metallic, like rain that forgot to fall. i found him sniffing at the ditch by the mailbox, tail wagging like nothing was wrong. when i picked him up, he barked once, sharp and strange, like he’d seen something i hadn’t.
after i brought him back inside i couldn’t shake the feeling. that itch under the skin, like something was calling just outside the fence line. i figured if i was already awake i might as well go for another walk. hobo followed, leash dragging in the dirt. the road was empty except for the hum of the streetlights and that sound you get in your ears when the world’s too quiet.
a few blocks down, past the last house, there’s a gate that opens onto a field. it’s probably private property, but no one’s ever stopped me. it’s full of long yellow grass that’s been dead since august, dry enough that it whispers when you walk through it. at dusk you can usually see deer moving between the trees, their eyes flashing when the cars pass. tonight there weren’t any. just the grass and the wind and hobo sniffing at nothing.
i stood there for a long time, listening. the highway’s far enough away that you can’t hear the cars, only this low rush like breathing through fabric. the sky looked wrong, too wide, too thin. the moon wasn’t out yet, just that cold light that happens before it rises. i started thinking about the park again, about the road that disappears past the sign, about how easy it would be to just keep walking until the houses were gone.
hobo barked again. i turned and for a second i thought i saw something move in the grass, but it was probably just wind. still, i felt it, the same feeling from the highway, like the air had weight. i tugged on the leash and we headed back, but i kept looking over my shoulder. there’s a kind of silence that follows you.
back at the house, the porch light flickered once and steadied. dad was still asleep on the couch, tv screen glowing blue. i stood in the doorway a minute, listening for the hum. it was softer now, but still there, threading through the walls, the refrigerator, the clock.
i let hobo curl up beside me on the bed. he kept twitching in his sleep, chasing something I couldn’t see. i sat there in the dark, thinking about that field, that sign, the empty websites. wondering if maybe i’m already halfway back there without meaning to.
the house is quiet again, but it’s the kind of quiet that hums. the kind that keeps breathing after you stop listening. but ive got the dog breathing beside me. and thats all i need tonight.