Time-Out on Terror
The pulse of my shower feels like fingers snatching at my hair. The shower curtain flutters and I feel the presence of a person sneaking. I think about that Psycho scene, the stabbing in the shower, where Janet Leigh’s body drains hot chocolate. I used to have clear sliding shower doors; although the warped pattern made images blurry, I knew when someone was in the room. But the curtain I am not used to, and now whenever it grazes my leg I peek out the side just to make sure there is not a guy with an awful face holding a knife. I used to not be afraid of horror movies. I remember watching Child’s Play when I was little with my sister; she had a bad reaction to it, and cried until my father turned the screen off with a static click. And then I started carrying on because I wanted to finish it and no one would let me. And maybe that is the reason why, now, horror movies really do...