“The horrifying events that took place in the Hoyt family’s vacation home at 1801 Clark Road on February 11, 2005, are still not entirely known” –Tagline From The Strangers.
The other day on TV I watched this film trailer from a upcoming movie called The Strangers. Then I went online to YouTube and watched it again. And again. And once more. There’s nothing remarkable about it or, seemingly, the film: A family gets attacked in their isolated cabin by a group of masked strangers. Nothing new here. Yet, later that night I found myself walking slower, with heavier breath, through the darkened hallway of my apartment. I was terrified, absolutely terrified, thinking of the narrator’s voice describing my own situation as I turned a corner waiting for someone to jump out at me. When I went to bed: same thing. I had to do a series of checks around the room before shutting my light.
Why was I so scared by this thing? What about it had hit me in a way that no other film trailer has done, perhaps ever? Nothing. The next morning I realized that I wasn’t at all scared of this film, which doesn’t even look that good. No, a crappy B-Movie hadn’t scared me.
For several weeks now, I’ve been struggling to find work, to find a place to live, to decide–with finality–how I want to spend the rest of my life, and to do all of this without having to cease being who I am. This can be pretty scary stuff, but not once, not once, have I told anyone (least of all myself) that, “Wow, this is terrifying sometimes”. Most of us never say things life that. We’ll get angry, we’ll yell, we may even cry, but to say “I’m scared” and mean it, and have it be based on meaningful things, puts us in a exposed position of weakness that is itself quite scary. Those who admit to being scared admit to not knowing everything because only the unknown is scary. But we can unashamedly get scared at a film that’s supposed to be scary even if, as in this case, the situation portrayed is so impossible and foreign to your own life that it offers no real threat.
I wonder though how many other things you and I have done this with, how many other ridiculous fears we’ve used to project our real problems? These days are nothing if not a time of fear. Think of all the things that force us to walk down hallways a bit slower: terrorism, cataclysmic disaster, economic catastrophe, sweeping epidemics, war, devils, demons, and the child molester hidden behind every window. Are these real? Maybe some of them are, but even still, do they warrant the attention and fear we give them? Does it, perhaps, belong somewhere else?
I guess what I’m asking is: Is this really what scares you?
Have you considered Subscribing to all of this madness?
Here, in the beginning was the word. And the word said 'here' and here he was. He knew not why he was here (do any of us?), but he was here and there was nothing else here, only darkness--though lacking even the quantity called 'darkness'. And though there was not yet loneliness, terror, or cold; the being found himself terribly lonely and cold. Before the being could utter a magic word or a command, light raised up to the sky and illumination seeped onto the earth causing the being to smile for a moment, but then again he found himself crying because the light had only further lit up and revealed the full extent of nothingness.
The old men of the village had their eyes firmly focused on politics again. And the economy. And property values. And sports. But not their wives; their wives were safe at home now--safe and unlooked on. The candlelit dinners and music, the awkward dancing and even more awkward reading of poetry had stopped when the young men left. No need for it anymore. Yes, the old leaders of the village no longer had to watch their spouses like hawks--even though they sat at home all day, bored. So, though there was a war going on, the elders were all noticeably calmer than during peacetime and the council meeting had a relaxed air to it.
"Liberty Univer..." Mark stopped. It was the first time either of them had said that, the word "kill". Madison Square was completely dark now except for a few people at the enclosed dog-run. 
Kyle thought as he went for a better arrangement of the list. His structure still seemed off and taking it out of alphabetical order hadn't fixed the problem. He scribbled down on his notepad again: Homosexuals, blacks, Aisans, lesbians...
Both the young teenager and the old officer were terribly embarrassed as the Police cruiser careened through some of Wilson's earliest paved roads. 
There was nothing that crazy about the nickname; Americans are a practical, simple, right-to-the-point kind of people: And quite simply, practically, that's what it was good at. Well, of course, planes are, first and foremost, good at flying, but this one was particularly well suited for killing Arabs. It was untraceable on radar, could effectively dodge either a bullet or a missile--while it's own projectiles were effectively unstoppable, and so precise that, according to one Army pilot, they could take out a towelhead without disrupting a hair on his goat's ass (his words, not mine). This was the fear of God, or Allah, or whatever.
Summer in the city. The grid is lit up like a dirty grill, hot and red, caking on the filth and the remnants of last night's meat. It's the weekend, but who cares, we have places to go, the atoms say, stretching apart, thrown together, brushing up against eachother's agendas. A week ago, a crane fell and killed two and we stood on the cool breezy street, talking and complaining to absolute strangers, calling for Mike's resignation, for action, for bureaucratic blood. Now the papers report that a crane operator had been bribed and, so long as the AC works, let's bribe him some more and move, move, keep moving, the city is swell, though it feels like hell.
I can relate. But strangely enough, if I put myself in the situation you are, imagining I am back to your age, I was fearless. Now, I wonder what has put this fear in you that is not caused by experience…