The good news is I am not nearly as frightened as I used to be. I am able to walk down the hall alone and use the bathroom by myself. I can even look in the mirror, and I don’t have to turn on all the lights. The bad news? I fear, between the constant creepy movies and the daily news, we may have become jaded. We don’t seem to scare quite as easily as we once did, yet the real world provides enough terror without having to search for it as entertainment.
A few months ago, my girls and I were at the beach for a long weekend. We brought along one of S’s beloved friends, AH, who shares S’s passion for spooky movies. We had gone out for dinner and decided to stop at a Redbox, one of those DVD vending rental machines, on the way back to the condo for a night of thrills and chills. My other daughter, E, stayed in the car in the Kroger parking lot because she has not only outgrown horror movies, she also insists she cannot sit still for over 90 minutes, even though she does it every day at school.
AH, S, and I stood in the fading sunlight by the outdoor Redbox kiosk, trying to agree on a movie. The usual underage degenerates squatted nearby on the bench, probably waiting to approach a sketchy adult to ask for an illegal beer purchase. We ignored them and got down to the business of selecting a movie, which was scary enough on its own. Three people trying to agree on anything? Someone could end up in a body bag.
As I scrolled through the titles, I read them aloud. Ouija Board? Stupid, they said. The Forest?Already seen it. The Visit? More funny than scary. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies? No, just no.
I made my case for the zombie movie. E was in the process of reading her first Jane Austin book for school, and I thought the movie would be great if she didn’t finish it in time, kind of like SparkNotes. S and AH thought it looked boring and stupid and definitely not scary.
I had the feeling we weren’t alone anymore. The little neck
hairs stood up, telling me to turn around.
Directly behind the two girls, these young, vulnerable teenagers, stood a middle-aged man, reeking of alcohol. He sported a tank top and a leathery tan, an overgrown mustache, and some seriously bloodshot eyes.
He practically leaned into them, and he mumbled, “Whhaa arrre we playin’?”
“Excuse me?” I said.
He took a wad of crumpled bills from his pocket. “I gaaa a dollar for the nex’ game,” he said, and tried to push past us to shove a dollar into the Redbox.
I put my hand up in the universal Stop and Back the Fuck Up
position. “Sir,” I said loudly. “This is a movie stand, and we are selecting a
movie. You will need to step back until we have finished and then you can have
a turn.”
S and AH were paralyzed with fear, eyes bulging and
unblinking.“Don’t move a muscle,” I whispered through my teeth at them.
The man lurched closer and continued to slur his words in our direction and wave his sweaty dollar bill around. Finally, another intoxicated man came over and hauled him away, over to the rough-looking teenagers who thought they just won the jackpot. I glared at him until I was comfortable enough to turn back to the Redbox.
“Pride and Prejudice and Zombies it is,” I said to the
girls. “We are not spending another second picking out a movie.” I swiped my
credit card and grabbed the DVD, and we race walked back to the car, where E
was waiting for us.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she greeted us warmly. “Where’s
the fire?”
“Did you see that guy walk up to us?” I asked her.
S and AH both talked rapidly, over each other, to explain to
E what had transpired at the Redbox.
E pointed at the man. “That guy?” she asked.
“Yes, him. God, he’s drunk,” I said.
“He smelled horrible,” S said, “like old beer bottles and raw onions.”
“And pee,” AH added.
“He just pulled up in that car over there,” E said. “He was the driver.”
The movie wasn’t very scary, but after the Redbox drunk,
nothing fictional would have frightened us. I only hoped that when E had her
test on Pride and Prejudice, she would throw in something about the zombies.
