it’s not real, no it’s really not real

the blair witch project

the blair witch project

I’d like to think I was a relatively manly man. I shoo spiders in the general direction of an open window. I can creep down to the bathroom in the middle of the night without having to turn on the light. My bottom doesn’t tremble in fear at the thought of what might be under my bed….I checked, it was a boobie calendar and dust.

Now knowing all this I do wonder, nay demand to know, why certain films make the heart both pitter and patter at an astounding rate. It’s rather disconcerting that someone as moderately intelligent as myself is swayed by something that isn’t real. Hey! I heard those eyes rolling. I am so intelligent. Go on ask me any question. Anything at all. Oh so you want to ask me that question? Are you really sure you want it to be that one? Well…um….yes…42…that’s right the answer is 42. Or possibly C. Though getting back to the point at hand. I’m not sure I want to be having those sort of feelings. For you know what fear leads to and what it leads to after that, yes I’m going to the dark side for no one.

Ju-on: The Grudge

Ju-on: The Grudge

I’ve no doubt that more learned individuals will have pondered this point and here am I just thinking out loud. Because it is strange how, even when knowing something isn’t at all possible nor real, it can still give you the heebie jeebies. It piques the imagination. For it’s that capacity for imagining the worst, conjuring up the nastiest, making ourselves believe that it’s possible and that’s what does it. It starts it rolling downhill like a snowball. Picking up speed, getting bigger, faster, just an array of thoughts that keep hitting you over and over as your imagination can’t help but wonder what might be peering in the window late at night. There may be no one there but that doesn’t stop you thinking they could be out there. Every sound you hear no longer has an innocent explanation, no it’s something nefarious clawing at the door but it’s not at the door, it already be in the house, making it’s way towards you. You can just see it out the corner of your eye. You turn. But there’s nothing there.

Oh look, that nubile young lady just had her guts ripped out. Ah and that strapping young gentleman just had his face torn off. How jolly. You see it’s not the gore that gets you, no that’s merely a mix of goo and leftovers from the butcher. It’s the atmosphere it creates. The way it’s implied that something is there. It’s just beyond what might be and what is and your brain fills in the rest. The wondering starts, the imagination kicks in, and you ask yourself that most terrifying question of “What if?”. Yes what if that could really happen? What if there really is something under the bed? What if I’m looking out the window into the darkness, is something looking back? What if the trees are rustling because they’re terrified too?

Of course all that is nothing but silly superstition. Nothing like that will ever happen. At least that’s what I tell myself as I lay here in the dark with the tick, tick, ticking of a trio of clocks and the creaking of the floorboards which has to be the house settling for the night.

Yes it’s all just make-believe.


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