A few things happen when I shower in an empty house.
The first is this: I always assume that there’s something at the door from UPS or Purolator or, say, the York Region Police.
The second is this: I always a assume that there’s a baby crying. Even though my baby is seven years old. And not at home at the time.
The third—and most important—is this: I assume the entire ordeal will end in a Psycho-esque knife stabbing.
Obviously, I watch too many scary movies.
What I left out was that static on the television makes me believe a scary child named Samara is going to crawl out of it and leave wet puddles and, well, my life behind.
I refuse to say the word Candyman out loud.
When I stand in front of a mirror, the reflection will reveal another person behind me. A murderer, obviously.
Dark woods are an absolute non-issue for me because, well, Blair Witches, of course.
And don’t get me started on identical twins.
And natural bodies of water.
What about you? Any irrational scary movie fears?