When was the last time you saw a horror movie? Last night? Two weekends ago? Never?
Joey and I have a fascination with horror movies. Sorry, no, we have an addiction (that’s a better word). We scour the horror section at the video store (whose employees, by the way, know us by name), we debate the best and worst, are immune to the poorly made ones, agree that Insidious (1 and 2) were too confusing and have seen every Paranormal Activity. Our favorites include The Mist, Paranormal Activity 1-5, Back from Hell, Haunted, Saw 1 and The Bay. We’ve seen so many that during the last one Joey fell asleep during the scariest part. Though in her defense it kind of sucked.
We not only watch horror movies but also we read horror and thriller books. There is a little bookstore in our town that gives you store credit for your old books so we turn them in for cheap copies of our favorite authors which are Dean Koontz (Joey) and Stephan King (Me). Misery, The Long Walk, Intensity, and One Door Away From Heaven line our bookshelves and when we find our favorites we lend them to each other.
Our mothers worry about our brains. They worry that all these psychotic scenarios are going to turn our perspective of a normal reality upside down; that there are “side effects” to our addiction to serial killers and horrific situations. Oh joy, this just got even more morbid. Maybe they are right, but what I know is that when I am watching a horror movie I get a kind of adrenaline that is akin to something an athlete might get before a game. Both Joey and I agree that horror movies or books without any plot or point is terrible. The ones that are believable are the best and we hate unnecessary gore.
We are selective and diplomatic about the grotesque things we watch.
So we aren’t completely crazy.
From the world of the not-so-ordinary,