Scenic Sylva, a gorgeous small town with a pull for Southern tourists. The trees have transformed to molted auburn hues bringing in travelers from Georgia and South Carolina — even as new COVID cases increase. Off Cope Creek Road, Sara O’Kelley and her family have been feeling the effects of our lacking COVID-19 response. On a bright Wednesday afternoon, she called in to share the story they’ve been living for the past two years. On March 4th, 2019, Sara suffered a stroke.

Just last week, Beth Pressley-Hussaini invited me into her home via Zoom. She came to me from her single wide in Cullowhee — where the trees in the Blue Ridge Mountains have just started changing — to shed light on her community and the pressures they’re facing.

On a bright afternoon in September, I got to meet with Chelsea White-Hoglen to learn more about her community in Haywood County. Chelsea is a lifelong activist who works with Down Home North Carolina. She lives in Clyde, a small town in the shadow of the Great Smoky Mountains where the red maple leaves are just beginning to change. Usually I would look forward to traveling through the curved mountain roads to meet with her. But with the pandemic enduring in America; I settled for a Zoom meetup.

The screen turns bright red as the katana drops from your fingers. Sweaty palms grip the controller for one more go — and you’re in. Implants let you fly past the first guard before they know you’re there, leaving only a stain on the railing behind you. Their guns pulse with the music, but you slide through a barrage of shots to get personal. The sword, even as you put it to work glows purple with the neon lights of the city.

One of my earliest memories is staying up way too late with my Dad. Watching him play Doom in a dark bedroom with the volume down for my sleeping Mom. A CRT screen was our portal into another world, where we crawled through techno-dungeons hunting for keys. Every step forward elevating my terror as I waited for hordes of pinkies to rush us as soon as he touched the holy red keycard. Both of us trying — failing — to contain our fear lest we wake my Mom.

Last Friday I booted up one of the most mystifying games I’ve ever played: Paratopic. As part of an effort to get spooky this October my partner and I played it on Switch — which is about the most confusing tonal experience you could have. Going from the cute blue-red clicks and beeps of the Switch interface to Paratopic’s industrial nightmare is like falling through Yog Sothoth’s portal into a Chuck E. Cheese.