The one time I tried to be brave
It was a fall evening, 2011 or 2012.
I was alone in my dorm room. The lights were off. My friends were off partying or socializing or doing whatever it is extroverts do.
But I was being bold, brave, adventurous even. I was playing the scariest game I had ever subjected myself to.
Now. If you’ve played Bioshock you are likely saying to yourself, scariest? You, uh, you sure?
To which I say, yes. Yes I am absolutely sure. Because my games up to this point were well lit power fantasies. The most paralyzed by fear I had ever been was in that Hobbit game from 2003 when the spiders in Mirkwood would just drop out of the sky on you. (Threw the controller down and didn’t come back for 2 weeks.)
Bioshock, that was not.
But I was a college man now. I was at the furthest edge of my teens and was trying new things like Harry Potter and avocados.
I cannot stress enough, this was the bravest I had ever forced myself to be.
So I’m playing Bioshock.
I’m enjoying it. I’ve got a handle on the freaks jumping out at you. I’ve desensitized myself to their shrieks and general horrific nature. I am growing. I can do scary things. Anything is possible. The sky is the limit.
Then I hit the Morgue.
I saw him scamper. I knew he was there. And I was smarter than him.
I slipped into sneaking and gently nudged the controller, one baby step at a time. I was going to overcome my fear of scary things by Batman-ing the whole scenario and using the fear to my advantage. If I could just move far enough to catch a glimpse of the guy, stuck in his idle animation, waiting to jump out and scare me, if I could move far enough over to see him but not far enough to trigger him, I could be the one to surprise him. I could forego the whole jump scare.
So I inched forward. I could see his shadow. I could hear his sounds. I was lining up the shot, waiting for the reticule to show a target. I could feel him like I was there in the flooded room.
Then the lights cut out.
I have had moments of fear-paralysis before. But this one sticks out. Because I had made it for myself. I built up the moment. I made a plan, I assumed control, I expected to be able to outsmart a system I thought I had figured out.
And then the lights cut out.
That kind of shock, that kind of unpredictable loss of control, that is where horror lives. And I appreciate it so much. I don’t go to it often, but I love when it’s done right.
The story ends something like this. My roommate walks in. I don’t know how long it had been. Somewhere between 2 minutes and 2 hours. He finds me frozen in the dark. Looks at the screen, also dark.
“Bioshock?”
“Yep”
“Morgue?”
“Yep”
“Want the lights on?”
“Yep”
And then, in the well lit safety of a fluorescent dorm room, I finally pushed forward. Of course, the guy isn’t there. He’s moved. So I go into a frantic panic and run until he jumps out screaming, as I start blind firing (also screaming), until finally the whole sordid affair was over. Am I proud of myself? Know what? Yes. Yes I am.
And every Halloween I tell myself maybe this is the year I’ll try something in gaming that is truly spooky. Really embrace the spirit of the season. But so far, this isn’t the year.
Maybe next year.
(By the way, I did finish Bioshock. Just, yknow, for the record.)
