‘Let us reflect, for a moment, on the stubborn existence of the electronic shooting gallery. Let us, in fact, describe in plain terms what an electronic shooting gallery is.
In dormancy, an electronic shooting gallery is a man-sized diorama- a cartoon still-life of the American west riddled with bullseyes and sectioned off from the world by a row of battered guns (firing harmless lasers, no matter the make or model). Fed money, the gallery lights up and the guns activate- unlimited ammo for a limited time (the American bullet buffet). Fired upon, the gallery wakes and responds to the shots with any number of charming reactions: a farmer shouts, a bird squawks in fright, a can launches itself off a fence (and then returns to the fence unharmed, ready for the sharp shooter’s second go-round).
That’s the key to it, reader.
The essence of the electronic shooting gallery is contained in the returning of the can. It is an embodiment of the arcade machine’s manic naivety, an insistence that most actions are blissfully free of consequence. We know, of course, that the opposite is true; that every action is the harbinger of unspeakable consequence. We know this, even if it seems we don’t.
This instinctual knowledge is why the subversion at ‘The Nice House’ provokes such visceral reaction in those that play its game.’
‘The Nice House’ is situated like a lost window at the end of a short corridor to the bathrooms of a no-name convenience store. The window looks into a very normal living room where the mock-up of a nuclear family pays careful attention to a blank television screen. It’s strikingly different than your run-of-the-mill western gallery, with the exception of the guns which are, in turn, strikingly out of place.
I hesitate with a quarter in my palm. It’s been my experience that engaging a thing that is otherwise inactive opens one up to blame for what occurs in its waking and I have a hunch that this is a thing made to sow regret. I know, too, that I will play the game eventually and the arrival of several other interested parties pushes me over the edge. The coin drops and the TV clicks on to a news segment regarding a string of murders. Dozens of red targets shine to life in the living room.
With expectant eyes on my back, I pick up a gun and begin the awful charade.
-traveler
