Loss, Legacy, and Misinformation in The Age of AI

Once inside, there is no escape from terror, from the dance of death.

The above line is from the back cover of Tontentanz, a 1985 horror novel by Al Sarrantonio. It was dedicated to Timothy, as in me.

He was my father, and he died on January 27, 2025.

Now, I need to tread a careful line here. This is absolutely not a post that will promote my work (no "grandma died, time to start recruiting posts" over here), and I will evaluate where some of my more personal writing can go, but something happened in the past few weeks that I think needs to be spotlighted.

I'm going to tell you a story. One of loss and legacies in the age of artificial intelligence and misinformation. It's a story that should scare you since it means that a simple data entry error can manipulate what you hold dear.

But, before I begin, I would like to tell you about the Dead Internet Theory.

The Dead Internet Theory: Is Anyone Really Out There?

The Dead Internet Theory is a conspiracy theory that emerged around 2021. It suggests that the internet as we know it today is largely artificial - populated mainly by AI bots and automated content rather than real human interactions.

At its heart, this theory emerged around 2021 as users began noticing changes in their online experiences. The theory proposes that much of today's internet traffic and content isn't generated by humans at all, but rather by sophisticated artificial intelligence systems and automated bots. Imagine walking through what appears to be a bustling city, only to discover that most "people" around you are carefully crafted holograms - this captures the essence of what Dead Internet Theory proponents believe about our digital world.

The theory's supporters point to several increasingly familiar observations to many internet users. Think about your social media feed: how many times have you encountered seemingly generic comments, suspiciously similar posts, or content that feels mass-produced rather than personally created? These experiences fuel the theory's central claim that the "authentic" internet - driven by genuine human interaction - quietly faded away between 2016 and 2020.

While the most extreme version of this theory ventures into conspiracy territory, I can personally attest to its validity. The proliferation of AI-generated content, the ubiquity of bot accounts, and the increasing role of algorithmic content recommendation systems have fundamentally transformed how we experience the internet. What once felt like an open frontier of human creativity and connection has become, in many ways, a more commercialized and automated space.

A Bit About My Father

I received the call from my brother on Monday night, January 27. I was sitting down at dinner with my family, honestly, in a bad mood about whatever was happening that day.

It was not a good night.

My father had passed away in his reading chair, which is kind of poetic given his career. Al Sarrantonio was a prolific author whose works spanned the realms of horror, science fiction, and fantasy. With a career that touched every corner of speculative fiction, he was a respected figure in the literary world, known for his ability to craft stories that were both haunting and thought-provoking.

Born on May 25, 1952, in New York City, Al's fascination with storytelling began at an early age. He grew up devouring the works of classic genre authors, which sparked his imagination and set him on the path to becoming a writer. After earning a degree in English from Manhattan College in 1974, Al began to pursue his passion in earnest.

Al's writing career took off in the late 1970s, with his first published works appearing in science fiction magazines. His early stories quickly gained attention for their vivid imagery and innovative plots, leading to his first novel, The Worms, published in 1985. This debut novel established Al as a significant new voice in horror, and it was just the beginning.

Over the years, Al Sarrantonio published over 50 books, including novels, short story collections, and anthologies. His works included the critically acclaimed Orangefield series, set in the fictional town of Orangefield, New York, where Halloween was not just a holiday but a harbinger of dark and supernatural events. The series was a standout in his oeuvre, blending his love of Halloween with his talent for creating suspenseful, eerie atmospheres.

In addition to his own writing, Al made substantial contributions as an editor. He edited several anthologies that became essential reading for fans of speculative fiction, such as 999: New Stories of Horror and Suspense, which featured contributions from some of the biggest names in the genre, including Stephen King and Joyce Carol Oates. His editorial work earned him a reputation as a curator of high-quality, innovative fiction.

Al's career was marked by numerous accolades, including the Bram Stoker Award, which he won for his short story collection Toybox in 1999. His work was praised for its accessibility and evocative prose, making him a favorite among both dedicated genre fans and new readers alike.

Much of this copy was written before his death, when I relaunched his professional website over the summer of 2024. Yet, last week, I noticed something that made me realize I needed to update it sooner rather than later.

From Mourning To Misinformation: Automating Incorrect Data

My mother is handling the logistics of what happened after my father passed away. She had told me that she made a call to someone related to my father's business, along with the standard paperwork that comes with processing death. She was still waiting on the death certificate the last time I talked to her.

And that's the key fork in our story here - while my family had focused on making preparations, word was spread among the literary community. Yet since none of us actively engaged in social listening in those early days, we missed something very important.

A sci-fi community journalist posted on Facebook that my father passed away on January 28, 2025, likely incorrect due to an old-fashioned game of telephone providing the wrong date of death.

From that, something fascinating and a bit horrifying occurred.

1. Volunteer databases that track science fiction authors were updated with the incorrect date.
2. Because they are seen as authorities within their niche, this was used as a citation in an update on my father's Wikipedia article.
3. The Wikipedia article's date field updates triggered a host of automation within the internet, including the post that ultimately tipped me off that something was amiss

I was watching The Grammys with my wife a week ago when she mentioned something about missing Twitter during times like this. Since I am still logged in on my browser, I took a look at some of the basic chatter happening about the awards.

Then I searched for my last name (since why not) and was met with this:

Just to let you know, I am not looking for anyone to be outraged on my behalf. Especially given the trends we're seeing with artificial intelligence-driven moderation, I won't bother with whatever this is. However, its a great example of what is meant by The Dead Internet Theory - masses of bots and content just triggered off each other to pump things out for impressions, engagement, click, or rage bait.

The level of automation was astounding but clearly founded in a simple mistake. Yet, that unverified mistake led to weird AI bot automation, tons of chatter about people feeling sad about losing my father (great!) but citing the wrong date (not so great!), and me wondering how to clean up the mess best.

The Power of Primary Sources

I went to school for history and studied a fair amount about primary sources and attribution. I also worked as a student journalist, learning about sourcing from that perspective. Ultimately, citations are an essential piece of media literacy that the rise of automation is making much more difficult. Individuals like me can have the personal context and power to hold the ultimate truth through government documents. Still, these are no longer guarantees regarding how the public digests information.

Years ago, my father lost control of his name's domain, and even after years of attempts to contact whatever bot-driven domain farming company owns his name, I can't get it back. So, I shifted to www.alsarranton.io and established a working domain branded email as well.

This proved a crucial precautionary action relating to what happened in the past week. I had updated his primary website on Wikipedia over the summer when I established the website. It is extraordinarily easy to update a Wikipedia website page and people often forget that it is pretty much entirely run by volunteers.

To fix the inaccuracy and have a sense of control over my father's legacy, here's what I did:

1. Updated the About page on his professional website to reflect the date of death. To be upfront, I used Claude to help with this part since writing things out like that was emotionally exhausting.
2. Went to Wikipedia, learned about proper citation protocol, and updated the date of death and citations with a note that I am family and we're switching to a primary source
3. I reached out to the volunteer databases, who happily assisted me in covering places I wasn't aware of. Much like Wikipedia, these are vital but generally, all volunteer initiatives duct-taping critical communities together
4. Went on Facebook to comment and point people to the correct source of truth. In instances where the incorrect date was cited, I provided that correct information in the comment
5. Updated my father's Google Knowledge Panel, which was surprisingly fast and easy to do once the primary citations were in place
6. Finally went to Linkedin, since its my primary writing platform, and made my post about it.

This situation isn't going to happen to everyone like this (not everyone has an award-winning author as a father), but the problem will occur in some form to everyone.

Escaping The Terror, or Breaking Free of the Dead Internet

I'm still obviously working through things, but having to jump into this threw me off last Monday. It's also partially why I'm writing this out now. I want to professionally address that I'm okay and bring up something that is critically important for all of us as we head into the rest of 2025 and beyond.

It does NOT have to be like this. While much of the Dead Internet theory simply boils down to us turning the Internet into one giant advertising cauldron, there are many things that we as individuals can do to exert control over things:

• Audit your digital presence (as well as those of your family) and see if you have control over the domains that feature your name. Consider purchasing domains for your children now in advance of giving them their own digital presence when you deem it appropriate.
• Get the hell off the internet sometimes. One of the best things I did for my mental health is uninstall the X app, only keeping a browser session open for random searches. The habit was broken and I've been personally fascinated by the ideas of "slow productivity" outlined by Cal Newport
• Support creators directly on their "owned" platforms! I will explore how to tell the broader story of my father's legacy as a passion project. Besides starting a project to collect all the hard copies of his work (even old magazine submissions from the 1970s!), I am also interested in talking to people who worked with him and seeing if there's interest for his stories to be translated into other mediums. Social media platforms made this type of curation and community building difficult, so I'll explore where else to do this type of storytelling.
• Research citations when doing your own research and content digestion. Don't automatically hit repost and ensure that when creating your own content, back things up to the primary source if possible. This is why I put so much emphasis on public methodology in research projects that companies like mine do, it is VERY easy for a niche industry to be influenced by well-designed misinformation
• Create, don't consume. Especially from nonprofit leaders who are following me, please join the 1% of people who post on LinkedIn. I'm getting tired of reading the same posts from the same set of people (myself included!) and a diverse feed of perspectives is especially needed in the nonprofit sector.

So, unfortunately, I suppose this did turn into a "what my father's death taught me about..." post, but it brings together a lot of different threads I've been worrying about without the pressure of needing to connect it to my job.

Consider this my hard fork back into my usual content as well, since this will be a standalone article, and I'm honestly very excited about some things we're working on.

I appreciate the hundreds of messages I've received. As with every family, things are complicated. What should not be complicated is the ability for the average person to feel they have control over their digital lives. I am not in the headspace to do more than this post at the moment, but I hope this spurs some conversation on the importance of control over one's digital legacy.