April Issue, written by Erik Keevan
An exploration of isolation by Erik Keevan.
When You’re Alone, No One Can Hear you Scream
Listen. It’s quiet. Silent, really. Maybe the soft drip, drip, drip of a leaky pipe, but that’s it. There’s nothing else. No cars driving, no neighbors voices from the other side of thin drywall, not even the soft hum of electricity.
You are alone. Completely and utterly.
Then, from behind you there’s a soft sound. A rustle in the leaves, perhaps, or maybe a low growl. You scream, calling out to someone, anyone, for help. But no one hears.
Isolation is as much a part of the horror genre as corn syrup blood and dying if you have sex. In a horror movie, if you wander off alone you are guaranteed to be the next victim (or the killer, but you’d know if that was you). But in life, it’s just as terrifying and deadly to be entirely alone.
This fear of isolation, of loneliness, has been evolved over millennia, leftovers from our ancestors as they started forming the first Hunter/Gatherer societies. The people who survived did so by relying on their community and fellow humans. It’s easier to survive the night when you can take shifts keeping watch, easier to survivor the winter if you are able to trade shelter for food.
You may not be Ripley, trapped on that dying ship with the titular Alien, but there is as much risk in your daily isolation.
I Think We're Alone Now
It’s unlikely that you’ll find yourself stranded in space in your life time, or even lost in the woods entirely alone. But while these are extremes made for entertaining stories, they’re tapping into a fear of existential loneliness that we all carry.
As much as we would all like to believe we’re independent people, there is a risk to our physical health when we remain isolation. What happens if you trip in the shower and there is no one around to call an ambulance? Or if you start choking on a piece of steak during dinner? It may not be as cool as an acid dripping Alien, but it’s just as deadly.
When a writer uses these themes of isolation, they know you have that unspoken fear. They know you’ll connect to the protagonist, even if you haven’t been in that exact same situation. You’ll still be able to understand those emotions.
Okay, so maybe I’m leaning heavy on the Alien references. Let’s look at another piece of horror that uses themes of isolation: Stephen King’s Misery. Whether you’re familiar with the incredible Kathy Bates film from the early 90’s, or the gripping original novel, the basic themes are the same; obsession, addiction, and isolation.
Nobody knows where Paul Sheldon is, or where he was going. That trapped him in Annie Wilkes’ home long before she dragged him from the car, and why for months no one was able to find him.
Now, of course, this was before the inventions of cell phones and GPS tracking. It would probably play out a little differently these days. But even back then all it would have taken to stay safe would have been telling someone where he was going, or travelling with someone in the passenger seat. It would have prevented a lot of trauma, and his legs would have been in one piece by novels end.
Then let’s talk about being a target for the Greater Evil in the world. What is one of the most common tropes in horror? The isolated cabin. Whether it’s M Night Shamalan’s A Knock at The Cabin, the Strangers, Hush, or my personal favorite The Evil Dead, these stories are spurred by isolation.
Sitting out in the middle of the woods, nothing but trees and moonlight and evil surrounding you. That isolation makes you an easy target, makes it easy for the unseen things in the dark to reach out and get you. They know you’re alone, and they know that can affect you.
I’m sure you’ve had a moment like that. Maybe you were home alone in high school, or your car broke down on the side of the road at night. You look out the window, but the light from inside is reflecting off the window, and you can’t see out through the dark, the world forever away. Anything could be there. And there’s no one to hear you scream.
Where is Everybody?
I still remember the first time I watched the very first Twilight Zone episode ‘Where is Everybody’. In it, we meet a man who wakes in the small town of Oakwood, finding himself entirely alone- he doesn’t remember who he is, and everywhere he goes he is just met with emptiness. Quiet. He searches for anyone to tell him what’s happening, before the loneliness finally drives him mad. We then discover (spoiler alert for a 65 year old episode of television) that the town never existed, the man is in the Air Force participating in an isolation simulation, and the town was all a manifestation he had created to understand his solitude. He was mad before the episode even began.
A general wraps up the themes of the episode in the way only Twilight Zone ever really pulled off, “You see, we can feed the stomach with concentrates. We can supply microfilm for reading, recreation - even movies of a sort. We can pump oxygen in and waste material out. But there's one thing we can't simulate that's a very basic need. Man's hunger for companionship. The barrier of loneliness - that's one thing we haven't licked yet.”
In today’s society, it would be almost impossible to go 484 hours in complete and utter isolation. Whether it’s going to the grocery store, checking your Facebook, work email…we all have tethers to people around us. Even when we “disconnect,” we don’t seek to be entirely alone, at least not for that long. And when it’s forced on us, we all go a little mad.
I know none of us want to, but let’s think back to the beginning of lock down in 2020. Some people were lucky enough to still have a job, or to be locked down with partners, family, or friends. But the rest of us, what did we do? Did we all just close our blinds and sit quietly on the couch?
No. We sought out connection. Whether it was zoom calls with friends, online games, or even watching Tiger King to talk about online. Some way to feel like you weren’t the only one in that situation. To keep us all linked in our homes, like children with tin can radios strung between our living room windows.
But even then, we all went a little mad. We all had our own personal versions of Oakwood. For some it was baking more bread than we knew what to do with. For others it was a bathroom haircut. For me, it meant dressing up like the Devil and filming a short movie with my cat. We all have our own ways of going mad.
That isolation takes a toll. And whether it’s due to a lock down, or those depressive episodes where you shut yourself away from the world, the effects are the same.
A study by Nicole Valtorta, PHD, showed that loneliness can lead to a 30 percent increase in risk of stroke or the development of coronary heart disease (Heart , Vol. 102, No. 13), with the impacts on the human body similar to that of smoking and obesity. As Valtorta says “loneliness has been found to raise levels of stress, impede sleep and, in turn, harm the body. Loneliness can also augment depression or anxiety."
That 2020 lockdown is something we’re all still recovering from, if it’s something we’ll ever move past. It changed the way that every single one us interacts with the world, friends, and community. Look at recent film trends, Everything Everywhere All At Once, Beau is Afraid, even Talk to Me are emphasizing connection as themes, leveraging the shared trauma we all have to drive the drama in their work.
But these aren’t new fears. One of the earliest horror novels, Frankenstein, is perhaps one of the greatest examples.
I’m not going to get into an argument on the etymology of the name, but both of the potentially titular characters suffer from their own forms of isolation. For the doctor, he is suffering from the loss of his mother, and isolating himself in his experience. On the part of the monster, he is suffering from…well why don’t we let him speak for himself: “Satan had his companions, fellow-devils, to admire and encourage him; but I am solitary and abhorred.”
It’s true this novel set the tone for modern scientific horror, but at its core it is the story of two very lonely people, who’s loneliness results in the deaths of many, including themselves. Even back in 1818, writers were discussing how isolation drives us to extremes.
Beyond Human Endurance
So, why do I say all this? Am I saying it because I think you should all go out and talk to every person you meet? No. Like all things in life, there is balance needed. Some people want constant connection, others need that time of solitude. As writers, we need large amounts of solitude in which to write, or, at least, pretend to write while we stare at a blank word document.
Instead, I’m saying that in those moments when the world gets heavy, and you want to turn inward, find that connection. Don’t drive yourself mad with 20 days of sitting in a blank room by yourself, but reach out. Whether it’s a lock down, the Seattle winters, or your feeling depressed, the cure is to connect, to break the isolation and loneliness and find someone, anyone, to connect with.
And if you’re in a situation where you don’t feel like you have anyone, just know that we can all feel that way sometimes. We can all sometimes be the doctor and the monster, we can be Ripley being haunted by our inner alien, or feel like Paul Sheldon and be unable to get out of bed. And that’s okay. It’s okay to feel that isolation. But know that there are people out there who are just waiting for you to reach out.
And, for God’s sake, tell someone if you’re going to go somewhere remote by yourself, especially if you’re driving a sports car.
I’ll leave you with the words of Charles Bukowski from Women “Being alone never felt right. Sometimes it felt good, but it never felt right.”
If you’re ever feeling truly alone, and you need help, call 988 for the Suicide helpline, or text TALK to 741-741, for toll free crisis texting.
Some further suggestions about this subject from Erik:
Books:
At The Mountains of Madness by H. P. Lovecraft
We have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson
The Shining by Stephen King
The Terror by Dan Simmons
Dark Matters by Michelle Paver
The Hunger by Alma Katsu
Films:
Hush (2016), Mike Flanagan
Buried (2010), Rodrigo Cortes
The Descent (2005), Neil Marshall
10 Cloverfield Lane (2016), Dan Trachtenberg
The Thing (1982), John Carpenter
Erik Keevan writes stories and plays about the crossover between horror and mental health, focusing on the human side of the dark tales we all love. He loves the macabre, and even married his wife in a haunted castle. His collection Before/After was released in 2022, and compares his poetry, dark stories, and personal essays before and after a life changing suicide attempt in 2019.
You can learn more about everything Erik is up to at www.erikkeevan.com.