Some people love horror: terrifying movies, distressing books, and shocking television shows. I asked my friend, Adrienne, who likes such things. “Why?”
“Oh, I get such a rush,” she said. “It’s a thrill to confront my fear from a safe distance.” She clapped her hands. “Besides, it isn’t real.”
“I think I understand, but I still can’t watch, listen, or read anything in that realm.” Just thinking about it gave me the chills. “I haven’t read any of Stephen King’s books, either,” I said sheepishly, admitting something I don’t normally tell people.
‘Oh, you should. It’s like a roller coaster ride. It’s a great emotional release.” I think her smile held a hint of mischief.
I shrugged, knowing full well I would once again decline any invitation to see anything with horror attached to it. Over the years, I thought I would outgrow my fear, but I still close my eyes and plug my ears when I watch anything close to frightening and completely avoid literature with that label. It probably started many decades ago.
When I was eleven years old, a friend of my mother’s suggested I accompany her teenage daughter to the movie playing in our hometown. “She can’t seem to find anyone willing to see this film,” my mother’s friend said.
My mom replied, “Oh, sure. Sharon can go. Anyway, isn’t Madeline fourteen? She’d practically be babysitting.”
At the time, I was excited about going to an evening show with a fourteen-year-old girl all by myself and quickly assured my mother that I’d be more than happy to accompany her. Little did I know.
The movie playing that evening was a horror film set in the south-eastern United States, on a large, wealthy estate. The main character was a woman wrongly accused of the murder of her fiancé. A gruesome murder: the fiancé was beheaded, with numerous other hideous deaths. It shocked my young mind to its core. I closed my eyes for most of it, but the music got to me. At the time, I didn’t know I needed to plug my ears as well. My heartbeat felt like I was running faster than I’d ever run. At one point, I felt dizzy and weak in my legs. When will this be over? I tried to be brave, more grown-up than I was, sitting next to this teenager. I stole a peek at her face. Was she wearing makeup?
When it was over, she asked, “How did you like it?” Before I could respond, she continued, “I loved it! Oh, my gosh. Can you believe she didn’t do it?”
I couldn’t find the right answer, nodding silently instead. Images of the ghastly details of the film played through my head in technicolor. Sleep eluded me that evening, and a couple of nights after, and sadly, even years later, just thinking about that film might keep me up at night.
My mother teased me. She hid behind the kitchen wall and spooked me when I walked past. “Boo!” she laughed.
However, it wasn’t funny to me. I couldn’t seem to shake those images from my young, vulnerable mind. So much so that I didn’t watch anything ghastly for years until I tried again with a group of friends to watch The Exorcist and became the subject of much teasing because I had my eyes tightly shut with my hands over my ears for about three-quarters of the movie.
This time of year, horror is first and foremost on streaming networks. Amazon is quick to show paranormal series and books. Supermarkets are filled with ghostlike costumes, candy that looks ghoulish, or weapons made out of plastic. Horror houses and scary mazes are big attractions. I don’t go to any of those things, and my family knows that Halloween is my least favorite holiday. I am a reluctant participant in any party with this theme. When my kids were young, I told myself to knock it off, at least pretend to like it while they trick-or-treated at neighbors’ doors. But truthfully, I couldn’t wait for the day to be over.
Horror just isn’t my thing. Maybe I’m a wimp, but I’ll probably not change much before I, too, go to the grave.
“We stopped checking for monsters under our bed when we realized they were inside of us.” Charlies Darwin
Enjoy the Passage of Time.
Sharon
© 2025. Sharon Kreider. All Rights Reserved.