I’ve watched countless horror movies in my life. I grew up in the television glow of Fright Night, Thriller, the Twighlight Zone series, Nightmare on Elm St, the American Werewolf In London, the evil clown in IT and that crazy arse creepy fuck Chuckie. The eighties saw a plethora of horror flicks made and I watched all of them, seemingly fairly unfazed by the exposure. The nineties introduced the world to Interview With a Vampire, Alien, Silence of the Lambs, Candy Man and the Blair Witch. All a very differnt type of horror, the horror I knew was changing. But it was brilliant. The thriller horror grabbed you by your knackers and sat you in your seat.
My bestie and I spent many Friday and Saturday nights wrapped up in a blanket, next to her little open fire. Our hands over our faces on the couch in her tiny, dark lounge watching the latest horror flick from the local Video Store. We would trawl the shelves for a horror haul of videos and race home to engross ourselves in scare! We would stay up all night, scared half to death watching intently, waiting for the next doll stabbing or vampire to strike. We loved to hate it. Bowls of homemade popcorn and blocks of chocolate masked our fear.
Freddy brought a new breed of horror inside people’s dreams, becoming your worst nightmare. His bladed hands and scar face in his striped jumper invaded not just the casts dreams but mine too. The first couple of Freddie movies scared the fuck out of me and I couldn’t wait for the following sequels. Like the Scream movies in the naughties they had me hooked, costume, knife and mask. Bring it on I said!
I’ve never been a lover of dolls or clowns even as a little girl. I never owned any. Dolls; beady eyes of glass that follow you around the room, waiting for you to look away and their painted pert lips that don’t want a kiss, they’d rather just suck away your soul, and their arms and legs that sit in positions they shouldn’t, ready to stand or pounce at you. Clowns; painted smiles that don’t say hello but more like, come here little girl I have a gift for you, holding balloons that will drag you away to a dark evil place and a laugh that would make He Man’s plastic skin crawl. You won’t find a doll or clown in my home. EVER.
Beyond the naughties kind of horror came a more realistic, more believable genre that really pulled at the ‘that could actually fucking happen’ kind of movie like the Hostel and the Hills Have Eyes, and even the Texas Chainsaw remake. Taking a wrong turn could get you into some serious fucked up situation with banjos and inbred brothers looking to make you their new bride. Hmmm, no thanks, I think I’ll sit here in my happy little house eating my Zooper Dooper thank you.
Watching the Blair Witch Project while seven months pregnant probably wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve had. I can no longer handle children crying in pain whether they’re mine or not, or see kids standing in corners with their back turned, not to mention those fucking dolls that were purpose made to replicate a kid standing in a corner… What the fuck? Seriously? I know that film is not real but at the time we lived on an exposed farm in the middle of nowhere, you begin to imagine shit that isn’t there… You digging me?
As my years have increased, my tolerance for the old horror flick has waned somewhat, a LOT. I’m currently sitting in front of the telly, with my two boys aged almost 13 and not quite 15 watching Annabelle in the broad daylight. Its the sequel to The Conjuring, which I should NOT have not watched in the first place a little while back. We’re not even half way through this fucked up female version of Chuckie and I have squealed three times already. Babies screaming and dark scenes of a crazed little girl running at the main character and morphing into a demonic woman in a white gown is enough to give me a full on panic attack. The boys are quite amused and I’m shitting my dacks. Yeah laugh it up ya little shits, your time will come!
Electrical devices spinning or screeching while working on their own; tortured souls voices howling through the walls and ceilings, calling you to come see what I am. They always leave the room or house to investigate. What idiots right? Didn’t they learn their lesson watching Scream? Lights flick on and off and elevators stop and groan at its occupants inside. Death stares through black eyes and sharp white teeth of werewolves and vampires, pasty white blue veined skin and bloody stained lips and necks. I lived for those types of scenes and loved every fright I got. How things have changed. But I still watch.
Plastered to the back of the couch I cringe behind a cushion, my hands and the iPad im blogging on. I can’t fucking believe I’m watching this shite! Jumping out of my skin more than thrice, I’m keeping the boys enthralled. Watching me squirm is worth its weight in gold, way better than this movie!
Make sure you turn the teapot twice clockwise and once anticlockwise!