I don’t watch horror movies because I can still picture Chucky’s face in this little peek-a-boo area of the basement stairs after I watched Child’s Play at a sleepover, and I think my insomnia started with A Nightmare on Elm Street because I still hear little kids’ singing:
One, two, Freddy’s coming for you.
Three, four, better lock your door.
Five, six, grab your crucifix.
Seven, eight, gonna stay up late.
Nine, ten, never sleep again
The last horror movie I attempted was The Ring, and I considered it an excellent Christmas gift that year JUST IN CASE.* *If you haven’t seen The Ring, this line makes no sense. If you have seen it, this line is pretty clever.
However, my husband notices American Horror Story on Netflix and thinks to give it a whirl while I am in the kitchen.
Well, the blood curling screams draw me in and the anxiety attack keeps me barely able to move for the rest of the hour. My Facebook status while still able to type during the first 10 minutes is:
Scott actually turns off the pilot episode twice mostly because he isn’t sure if I am comatose, but I wake up just enough to yell at the black screen: NO, I must see it until the end.
Scott: But, why? Let’s just stop. It’s creepy and who cares.
Me: Because I will make up even more horrible endings and never sleep again.
I clearly don’t know what I’m talking about because, no, I would’ve never come up with a stranger, more terrible ending, middle or beginning of a show, and my imagination can turn a creak of my cat on the floor board into a twisted serial killer in two pounds of my heart.
When the show finally releases me from its maniacal grip, Scott stands up, shrugs a bit and says: Well, that was weird. You let the dog out, and I’ll go upstairs to check on the kids.
I jump up and reply: You mean WE will let the dog out and then WE will check on the kids.
However, I wake up the next day nightmare-free and check my calendar. Scott isn’t scheduled to travel for the next six months so I say: Ready to watch episode two tonight?
Scott: What? No. I’m never watching that show again.
Me: But I need to know what happens and I can’t watch it by myself. Oh and I’ll need to follow you around for hours afterwards ever time.
Scott: I have no interest in watching it. The show wasn’t uplifting.
Scott: I didn’t like that show at first either.
Me: But you did EVENTUALLY.
Suddenly, a plan begins to form. I think back to all your Facebook replies to my American Horror Story vague cry for help status update because you always have answers to my problems.
Me: Alison reads the episode guides because the show gave her nightmares.
Scott: Awesome, I’m going to read those to you right now.
Me: NO! I might still convince you to watch with me. Just read a few and be intrigued.
Scott pulls up the synopses on his phone and within minutes yells: OMG!
Me: What is it? Does this mean you’ll watch it now?
Scott: No, never. But there’s a huge plot twist in season one.
Me: I hate you. Fine, can I watch the show again be myself or will I die?
Scott: Um, you’ll die.
So… who wants to come over and watch an episode of American Horror Story with me through my fingers followed by me trailing behind you for 2-3 hours until I’m calm enough to not have a bodyguard? Then we’ll all go to sleep in our respective beds and meet up again tomorrow night to do it all over again!
Okay, maybe I can see why Scott quit this job.