Don’t Go Into the Attic Syndrome.

Watching the first ten minutes of the horror classic Night of the Living Dead last night scared me enough that I decided I should wait until the morning to finish watching it. It also helped me reach an antiepiphany as to something that all horror films have in common–there’s that feeling you get, at one point or another, when you’re all to aware that the protagonist is about to do something incredibly stupid, and yet you are completely unable to do anything to stop them. Here’s an example of what I’m talking about:

Wendy: Go hide, Danny, so your sociopathic father doesn't kill you!
Danny: Okay.
Danny hides. 
Jack: Daaaanyyyyy!!!!
You: No, don't do it Danny! DON'T DO IT! OH GOD DON'T LET DANNY DIE!!!!!!
Danny, crawling out from his hiding place: Yeah?
Jack chashes Danny with axe. 
You: Oh, I don't like this movie any more!

I call it Don’t Go Into the Attic Syndrome, because usually the attic is the scariest part of the house where the psychopathic clowns are waiting to murder you. Of course, you could probably call it something else if you wanted to–the Romero Effect, the Talking to the Film something or other, the Scared Sh@tless Corollary, etc.

So, whatever you do, folks, if you hear creepy noises coming from a cavern near your home, don’t go in there. Not for your sakes–really, no one cares if you dies or not because if you’re stupid enough to go into a scary cave in the middle of the night you deserve to die for Darwinian purposes–but for ours. Come on–it’s just common courtesy, you know. And besides, I just so happen to like these jeans, okay, and one large brown stain (from coffee! Yeah, that’s it, coffee…) is enough, thank you very much.

~~La Stranezza


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