James Mellor

I’m a 22-year-old, 6-foot-2-inch, 205 pound, athletic male. I play rugby, have been in wild land fires and have moved to a foreign country by myself. Not a lot of things frighten me, but one thing I am afraid of is horror movies.

Unless you count when I watched “Jurassic Park” in sixth grade, I have never seen a scary film. Not even when “Scream” was a must-see in middle school did I dare venture to the theatre to witness some guy in a mask terrifying attractive young girls with creepy phone calls.

And the only reason I know that much of the plot is because I watched the Wayan brother’s comedy “Scary Movie,” and someone explained the parody to me.

I haven’t always been this way. In second grade, I always wanted to rent “Jason” and “Freddy Cougar” movies, but my mom wouldn’t let me.

“Go watch them with your dad,” she would say. She must have known there was no way my father was letting his 8-year-old son and 6-year-old daughter watch those films.

You would think horror movies would have sort of a “forbidden fruit” appeal to me, but they don’t. By the time I was old enough to rent scary movies without my parents’ permission, I was more interested in making myself laugh then being afraid to turn out the lights when it was time to go to sleep. I’ll admit I’m just plain afraid to watch the latest Stephen King novel-based film in theatres or on DVD.

I know horror movies are fake, and they’re supposed to offer a good thrill, but something about watching a psychotic doll that kills people (“Chucky”), or a schizophrenic clown that can drag people down drains (“IT”), doesn’t seem entertaining to me. I honestly have trouble understanding why anyone would purposely want to scare themselves. Doesn’t life offer enough situations that provide real scare value?

I’ll go head-to-head with a 250-pounder running at me on the rugby field, and although it may be frightening, I’ll do my best to bring him to the ground.

I could see smoke columns rising from the forests and helicopters flying overhead, dropping water on trees, and that might make my heart race, but I’ll keep on marching and do my part to put out the fire.

I’ll board a plane departing to the other side of the planet, without having any idea of when I’m coming back and not knowing a single person in the far-off country. And even though that may make my stomach churn, I’ll buckle my seat belt and go through with it anyway.

I will not, however, risk developing some type of phobia over the latest horror flick.

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published.