On Midwest Horror
This post is going to be very different from what I usually write about on Hysteria, but I have become so enthralled with creating a piece of media that falls under rural "Midwest horror" that I just needed to talk about it! I hope you enjoy, and I'm sure this will be interesting to you if you live in the Chicagoland area.
As of recently, I've become mercilessly infatuated with the concept of "Midwest Horror," or maybe, the lack thereof. I spent my summer traveling through rural areas of Illinois, Indiana, and Wisconsin; driving with friends, going to the beach, traveling on the highway, all while seeing downed powerlines, fractured trees, and broken glass on the side of the roads. If you get lucky while driving in the Chicago suburbs or Northwest Indiana, you'll see decrepit, industrial remnants of the nineteenth century that serve to be nothing more than mysterious and formidable beasts of gangly metal.
One of my favorite, easily accessible ways to see this phenomenon is driving on the expressway to see the abandoned Damen Silos.
They were built in 1906 and have since been vandalized to hell and back. I like to think of other abandoned buildings in this shape as being in their "limbo" periods. It's been long enough since they were used for their original intent, yet nobody's made an effort to sweep them up into a little dustbin and build an office building, a shopping plaza, or condos.
I can definitely say that seeing these eyesores feels much more thrilling in the city. Once you get to the rural towns with rusted steel mills and isolated barn houses, that's where it starts feeling depressing. And it feels weird to feel bad for the people living in proximity to it. Partially, because there definitely are buildings in the same state of disarray right in your backyard. I've lived in the suburb of Chicago Heights my entire life, and I've seen my fair share of run-down mobile houses and partially demolished buildings that look like they've been ever so slightly pinched by the fingers of God and then shown mercy on. Why?
And then there's the empty lot. If I had a Midwest Horror Story, my empty lot would symbolize forgiveness and escape for the spirits trapped inside the once-vacant factory mill, run-down motel, or farmhouse.
For example, this is where the hospital I was born in once stood. Across the street from the library, I would go to with my grandparents and near the Catholic school I attended until I was in kindergarten. It's tragic to see it gone, considering that I was born there and all.
I think when most people think of "Midwest horror," they think of suburbia and slashers. Before I figured out that I was interested in the rural part of Midwest horror, all of the movies and stories I had been recommended were either slashers like Nightmare on Elm Street and Halloween, because they took place in the Midwest, or liminal-esque horror spaces like (and these are what stuck with me the most) the neighborhood from Edward Scissorhands or the Cat in the Hat movie.
These are cool and all, but they don't really seem to capture the crumbling feeling you get whilst driving past an old barn on the interstate, with the only context being a spray-painted piece of plywood lying out front that says 'For Sale' or an ominous religious quote. Abandoned buildings aren't the only thing interesting about rural Midwest horror, though; the devil tends to be in the details.
Visually, Midwest horror manifests in many ways. It looks like the flooding after a particularly violent summer storm, eager to swallow pedestrians and automobiles. It looks like Canadian smoke drifting down onto Wisconsin prairies, bruising and nipping at the sky with hell-flames. Midwest horror, of course, looks like broken windowpanes on a house that had people in it at one time or another, but is now crowded with broken beer bottles and caution tape. Sometimes the most horrific act is to accept the desolation a lot of the Midwest harbors and just...drive away like you saw nothing.
Aesthetics aren't everything, though. Sure, they lend an eerie atmosphere for a story to take place in, but what's really terrifying?
The answer is poverty. That's what's really terrifying. Gary, Indiana, is the ninth-largest city in the state; in 2024, the US Census reported a population of 68,113. The median household income was only $38,731. This becomes, unfortunately, apparent when looking at the neighborhoods and ghost town buildings of Gary. It's truly heartbreaking to see unused abandoned housing, rotting, decaying, sitting stagnant, while nearly 300 residents continue to go unhoused.
Obviously, this is nothing to gawk or laugh at, but one of the reasons why Southern Gothic and Appalachian horror is so scarily real is because the South faces a disproportional amount of poverty. I'm surprised nobody's tapped into this rural/abandoned Midwest horror market, that's all.
The only movies I can really think of with this trope are some by the filmmaker Harmony Korine. Specifically, Gummo, the film that's supposed to be set after the tornadoes in the 2000s in Xenia, Ohio. It has that rural Midwest background, complete with dysfunctional families and the torture of cats :( I'm gonna give you a warning if you watch that movie, cause it's genuinely disturbing and made me want to vomit.
Let me know your thoughts and recommendations,
-Mila
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