Original Stories
I Love Horror5/25/2018 I love horror. Stephen King, Saw, Tales from the Crypt. I love it in every shape and form. Even as a young boy, I would seek out every edition of Goosebumps I could get my hands on. I never really understood my fascination, but it’s always been there. Naturally my parents were worried. I didn’t play any sports, I wasn’t a part of any clubs, and I didn’t have any real hobbies aside from reading. I’m sure by now you can guess what genre I typically stuck to. I love my parents. And I understand why they did what they did. I think most parents would have done the same. But that doesn’t make it any easier to get over. You see my parents never really understood my passion for horror. All they could see was that their son was more interested in gore and blood soaked terror than playing in Little League. My childhood and early teen years are a blur if I’m honest. Doctors, pills, nurses, care facilities, psychiatrists….it’s all kind of jumbled together. But in my moments of clarity, I always noticed that something was missing. Like a piece of me had been taken. It had been so long since I’d read a book, or watched anything remotely scary…that I couldn’t figure out that it was horror, that was missing. My recollection is clearer after my release. A piece of paper declared me sane and I went back to living with my parents. Obviously they tried to shelter me for as a long as they could, but it wasn’t long before I rediscovered my obsession. As I drank in the image of her pooling blood, I realized it was this that had cost me years of my life. I finally understood that I needed to make a change. I needed to make sure I was never caught. So I carried out my pleasure only in times of solidarity. I would gorge myself on as much terror as I could find when my parents were at work. They had hired someone to look after me but she rarely paid attention to me or my activities. And it was easy to mask what I was watching or reading on the rare occasion she checked. I relished in my new old habits. Everyday was a new opportunity to explore the malevolent elements of human imagination. But as the years went on, my passion faded. The unexpected twists became patterns. The blood had lost its crimson shine. The darkness had lost its allure. Solemnly I wondered if horror was now lost to me. But as I said…I love horror. And I soon found that she loved me as well. Pale images of horror in the day were replaced by gleaming new terrors in the night. The flat scares of the outside world were no match for my own imagination. My mind had become clay for my mistress, and she filled my heart with fear. The demon that darts across the room in the corner of my eye. The spectre always watching from over my shoulder. The murderous jester under my bed. These were all gifts from her. And what ghastly gifts they were! Whenever the sun fell beyond the horizon, a new nightmare on dream street was waiting for me. These were such fantastic new horrors, I new that I couldn’t keep them all to myself. I came to learn that I was meant to share this new darkness. An untapped well of fright, just waiting to be exposed to the world. My parents were first. Like I told you before, I love my parents. And so they were the first. I wanted them to understand the love of my life. It took some time, but eventually they understood. They had finally felt the terror in their hearts as I did. We’re a much happier family now. Mom hasn’t stopped smiling since that day. And dad is finally losing that weight he’s been really trying to get rid off. They’re such wonderful people. I’d bet they’d love to meet you. I might give them a bath before you come over though. They’re starting to smell.
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