I hesitate to reach into the kitchen sink’s drain although I have no hand-mangling garbage disposal; I’m all too aware that the Blob could at any moment, in defiance of all laws of physics, seize my arm and pull me right through the pipes for a little afternoon nosh. Frogs and turtles are to be avoided whenever possible, lest they attack you en masse. One never knows when one will be confronted by a horde of amphibians under the influence of some sort of radiation that has suddenly given them a taste for human flesh. Spiders, despite this hippy-dippy claptrap I hear about them eating nuisance insects, are simply waiting for an opportune meteor to land and infect them with some sort of virus that will blow them up to the size of a three story building. Best to squash them all, PR be damned.

I believe what the movies tell me.

I used to think that I hadn’t seen as many movies as everyone else because of our repressive childhood, but really it was some form of mental self-defense. I just keep believing everything in them has happened or will happen to me. I freely confess that anytime I watch House, I get a little teary when Wilson enters the room, alive despite having committed suicide in Dead Poets Society. You’re alive, Wilson! I sob into a blanket. Thank God! Despite such occasional moments of joy, my unwilling suspension of disbelief is a crippling factor, keeping me from enjoying all the movies my friends love – Nightmare on Elm Street, Child’s Play, Halloween.

Flatliners.
With Honors.
The Care Bears Movie.

I think the problem is getting worse.

No matter how hard I try to convince my brain that this is fiction, not reality, I remain unconvinced. Frankly, I know me all too well -- I can’t be trusted. And, not to run the old brain down, but the cells responsible for gasping, crying, and all other forms of freaking out are seriously gullible. “Just a movie, just a movie,” I whisper to my teddy bear from the safety of my bed in my brightly lit room, laying on the side facing the closet so that I’ll notice immediately if the chair wedged under the knob should twitch. The cells ignore me and superglue the “Fight or Flight” switch into the “Flight” position. Can’t be too careful, they caution themselves. That’s how the Mothman lures you into a false sense of security.

I can’t see any cure for it. God help me if I ever lose my teddy bear.