My husband has a thing for horror movies. I don’t. But love will make you do weird things. Like watch Killer Clowns From Outer Space. (Although, not even love could get me to watch it a second time. Which he’s tried.) Over the last week, I have caved twice to the “do you want to watch a scary movie?” question. So we watched House At The End of the Street (Which I didn’t get the title of because it was about the house next door. And that’s a different movie altogether.) and 6 Souls. They were pretty good. Nothing that would wow my husband per se, but enough to freak me out just a little. There is something freaky about people who are both violent and aren’t in their right minds. Not as freaky as creepy little kids in horror movies, but still freaky.
These movies got me to thinking though. I could survive a horror movie plot.
Here’s how I came to that conclusion:
1. I can’t scream and run at the same time. Running and screaming seem to go together like peas and carrots in horror movies. It only makes sense, therefore, that since I can’t do this, I will survive. Without making more noise than the huff-huff of my breath, I might be able to successfully run away from whatever scary person/thing that is chasing me. If he/she/it is slow.
2. I have an irrational fear of basements. I refuse to go down into one. I don’t care if the basement is the only part of the house that seems remotely safe; I will not descend into that creepy mildewed chamber. This will save my life one day. I know it.
3. Hiding somewhere for more than 2 minutes fills me with the irresistible urge to pee. This would prompt me to go on the offensive, taking out the threat, so I could peaceably relieve my bladder.
4. Camping in the dark, dark woods does not turn me on. You will never catch me bare-assed and frolicking anywhere outside in the dark. Especially when people are mysteriously disappearing from their cabins/tents/RVs, etc. This too will save my life.
5. I don’t collect dolls. No freaky porcelain-headed glassy-eyed creep shows for me, thanks. Also, no ventriloquist dolls, puppets, or killer clown dolls to pull me under my bed.
6. I have never felt the urge to take a midnight stroll through a cemetery. Even if I felt the need to go walking in the dark, nothing could possibly tempt me to pass through the wrought iron gates of a cemetery.
7. In a homage to Stephen King, I will never: bury a dead animal in a cursed cemetery, go swimming in a lake with a mysterious oil slick, touch a green-glowing meteorite, follow a clown with a british accent down a sewer, house-sit an empty haunted hotel in Colorado, or hang out in a town full of creepy kids who worship corn. (The name Malachi still gives me the creeps.)
What horror movie freaked you out the most?