As I mentioned in my previous post, I love horror movies even though they scare me A LOT. I thus have a few criteria that need to be observed:
- No watching at night. [I used to do this, because ambience, and gave myself nightmares AND night terrors.]
- No watching when I’m alone at home. [Every sound is terrifying. Everything creaks. There are ghosts and beasties everywhere. FACT.]
- No getting disturbed while watching. [Why don’t you just kill me with a knife? Less painful.]
It is a very simple set of rules, which my mother well knows. After a great deal of procrastination, I fired up The Conjuring on Netflix one afternoon. My aunt was over, so she and mom were chatting in the living room. In eye sight.
I plugged my ears, because I live in Mumbai and the traffic drowns out everything. Nothing is scary when some idiot honks all the way down the street. Those are times you kind of wish you could set a ghostie on the idiot any way.
I was well into the second half of the movie, and the reveals were coming in thick and fast. My heart was beating hard, and I closed my eyes at many instances. That’s the moment my mother chose to tap on my shoulder.
It is a wonder I am alive to tell the tale.