Hiding Behind the Sofa
I’ve never been one for frights. Doctor Who used to scare me (still does on occasion – Weeping Angels, anyone?) and I’ve never seen a horror movie in my life. Oh, except Final Destination, but that’s so preposterous I spent more time giggling than being remotely scared.
Jurassic Park, on the other hand, terrified the willies out of me.
All this leaves me casting about for a subject. My favourite “scary” movies are The Nightmare Before Christmas, The Corpse Bride and Coraline. I’m currently listening to the audio version of Neverwhere (easily my favourite Gaiman book).
Not, you have to admit, stuff that’s going to keep you awake at night.
I think my problem with modern horror is that it seems to equate to blood and guts. I don’t find that scary, just disgusting. The things that creep me out are subtler, more ordinary. An unlit street is frightening because of what lies unseen in the shadows. Masks hide faces and therefore intentions (make up also does this to an extent, which is why I’m terrified of clowns). Things that seem to move when you’re not looking, like stone angels or store window dummies.
I do like being creeped out rather than outright terrified. I like being able to sleep at night. So, no, you won’t find me queuing for the latest shock-horror-gore fest opening at the theatre, but you will find me watching the Doctor battle normal every-day objects turned bad by the twisted imagination of the writers.
Even if that is from behind the sofa.