Trey Edward Shults (2017)
"It" encompasses any unknown entity. It is what made that strange sound. It wafted up that peculiar sensation. "It" is the folder where we place all things foreign and discomforting. But It is not the enemy here. It only sets the environmental conditions for distrust and insanity. People are people's greatest enemy, and It is merely a botched vaccination.
Sarah and Paul are parents who have caught all the right breaks, and still have their son, Travis. Isolated in their wilderness mansion, the boy feels trapped in candle-lit wood interiors, especially at night. He dreams of the horrors that scamper in the forest. He fears what he feels but cannot see. Even his desires to secure a mate are tarnished by bloody wet dreams.
Paul desperately attempts to maintain any semblance of patriarchal poise, but the shift of the world has rendered him powerless. He has constructed walls, but they are inadequate borders for the plague has spread indiscriminately. A red door remains as the central exit and entrance of their abode. And evil will enter unnoticed. Evil always comes as a welcomed guest.
Sarah sits at the lantern-bathed dinner table clutching her husband's paw. She looks into him like an anchor piercing a riverbed. Their survival has been built on brutality, and they forgive each other every night. Supper is the last moment of living in the present, for their beds reek of reflexive demons. The stillness of covers and sheets swallow them in hauntings from the past.
They have made excruciating calculations and split-second amendments to be alone, but their solitude feeds their empathy. The silent family secretly seeks opportunities to level out the scales. Their existence begins to be shaped by morality, and this change in policy makes them more vulnerable than ever.
An apocalypse. A family in the woods. Compassion. One of these is the killer, and the murderer will know their title all too late. Community was the final bastion of civilization in this world, but It has taken over the ceremonies of communion. The only common meal being broke in this cabin is conspiracy. In a posh certainty, Paul declares, "You can't trust anyone but family." The tragedy is that Paul can't even trust himself.
"It" encompasses any unknown entity. It is what made that strange sound. It wafted up that peculiar sensation. "It" is the folder where we place all things foreign and discomforting. But It is not the enemy here. It only sets the environmental conditions for distrust and insanity. People are people's greatest enemy, and It is merely a botched vaccination.
Sarah and Paul are parents who have caught all the right breaks, and still have their son, Travis. Isolated in their wilderness mansion, the boy feels trapped in candle-lit wood interiors, especially at night. He dreams of the horrors that scamper in the forest. He fears what he feels but cannot see. Even his desires to secure a mate are tarnished by bloody wet dreams.
Paul desperately attempts to maintain any semblance of patriarchal poise, but the shift of the world has rendered him powerless. He has constructed walls, but they are inadequate borders for the plague has spread indiscriminately. A red door remains as the central exit and entrance of their abode. And evil will enter unnoticed. Evil always comes as a welcomed guest.
Sarah sits at the lantern-bathed dinner table clutching her husband's paw. She looks into him like an anchor piercing a riverbed. Their survival has been built on brutality, and they forgive each other every night. Supper is the last moment of living in the present, for their beds reek of reflexive demons. The stillness of covers and sheets swallow them in hauntings from the past.
They have made excruciating calculations and split-second amendments to be alone, but their solitude feeds their empathy. The silent family secretly seeks opportunities to level out the scales. Their existence begins to be shaped by morality, and this change in policy makes them more vulnerable than ever.
An apocalypse. A family in the woods. Compassion. One of these is the killer, and the murderer will know their title all too late. Community was the final bastion of civilization in this world, but It has taken over the ceremonies of communion. The only common meal being broke in this cabin is conspiracy. In a posh certainty, Paul declares, "You can't trust anyone but family." The tragedy is that Paul can't even trust himself.
final words:
INVITATIONS NEED STIPULATIONS