Scary Movies aren’t Very Scary, Right?

I don’t consider myself to be a particularly brave person. I am not fearless and it’s not as though I don’t worry. Quite the opposite, I worry all the time. But I don’t worry about being taken into an alley and getting stabbed by a recently escaped homicidal maniac. I have been held up by gun point 1 block from my Chicago apartment (In Boystown, nonetheless). That guy had my wallet so fast, I had to reconsider that the speed of light was actually constant. That did suck. But I don’t worry about Freddy Krueger or Jason Voorhies.

If there’s a loud noise or a large figure suddenly jumps out in front of me, I may flinch. It’s probably a normal part of growing up to become less scared of things like that. Which amazes me, because a lot of adults find movies like Saw to be frightening. One of the most mature things a human can do is to accept their own mortality and the ephemeral nature of your own existence. We are all going to die eventually and that inevitability doesn’t startle me.

I’m much more terrified of other parts of life. I’m afraid I might die alone and never have my own family. I’m afraid that I’ll outlive all my friends and have to endure an existence without them. I’m afraid that all the cigarettes I’ve smoked will catch up with me one day (lung cancer can be pretty drawn out, actually). But I’m not afraid of Jigsaw or Pinhead. My girlfriend has a morbid fear of clowns, dolls or freaky ventriloquist’s dummies. As a 180lb man, why the hell would I ever be afraid of Chucky? Again, this isn’t written with false machismo. I really am just not afraid of that stuff. The thought that someone I love could be gone instantly, in a car crash tomorrow, is a lot more real to me.