Horror Films Are Horrible
Erin McAuliffe | Thursday, October 30, 2014
No, this is not a lyric off Taylor Swift’s “1989,” but rather, a description of my typical reaction to scary movies.
I am admittedly the worst at watching scary movies. Usually I don’t necessarily “watch” as much as pull a blanket up to my eyes and cry under it quietly out of anticipation for the fate of the next victim. This strategy is not recommended, as I never have any idea of what’s on screen and therefore mistakenly uncover my eyes at inopportune times — like when the girl gets possessed, sawed in half and eaten all at once.
Here is a collection of some reactions I have had to horror films, for your commiseration or entertainment:
This movie conjured up the worst emotions hidden in the dark, basement-like recesses of my mind. I was forced to watch it at a sleepover with my cross country team and spent most of the movie wishing I were running hills instead.
After the movie I noticed a scary doll, similar to the one in the film, on my friend’s dresser. I asked her if she could hide it and headed to brush my teeth.
If my life were a horror film that would be a move that would have had audiences screaming, “No! Don’t go to the bathroom! You can’t trust them! Why is the prettiest girl always so dumb?”
As everyone but me could have predicted, I crawled into bed to find the doll on the pillow. I proceeded to cry for five minutes and called my mom to pick me up because I was scared. This was senior year.
“The Skeleton Key”
Never watch a movie where mirrors facilitate evil things. You will end up terrified to look in them for fear of other faces lurking there. Subsequently, your physical appearance will take a severe downturn and soon, you will look like the main character from a horror film. Then, even more scared to look in the mirror, you will break all the mirrors in your house. Then, you will have really bad luck for seven years and will never leave your house again. Then, you will become “that scary lady who doesn’t leave her house,” and neighborhood kids will dare each other to run up to your porch and come back alive.
Sleepovers were prime times for gossip, freezing each other’s bras and — unfortunately — scary movies that you were probably too young to watch. Then, there was always the problem that you were in an unfamiliar house with even more unfamiliar TV controls. This is especially tragic when everyone else out-numbered your vote against watching “The Shining,” but then fell asleep before you, so you’re stuck trying to fall asleep to Jack Nicholson chanting ,“Redrum,” at you.
After spending Thanksgiving dinner as an adult, I was mentally exhausted from questions about college and headed to the basement to hang out with the kids. I expected them to be playing “Duck, Duck, Goose” or whatever kids do these days; however, apparently what kids do these days is watch “Paranormal Activity.” I sat next to my eight-year-old neighbor, who was uttering things like, “Wow, this is so fake,” as I laughed in acknowledgment, nervously noticing similarities between the on-screen house and the one I was in.
“E.T. the Extra Terrestrial”
My babysitter Kelly let me watch this when I was six. I had nightmares for approximately five years. In fourth grade, a “parent reader” brought in a picture book of “E.T.,” and I had to leave class. Reese’s Pieces will never taste as good to me as they should. I can’t appreciate greenhouses. I have trouble calling home.