It’s kinda interesting that this is my first 30 Day Horror Challenge Strikes Back post since returning from my vacation in Myrtle Beach, because the character that scared me the most did so many years ago when I was on vacation in Myrtle Beach. Isn’t it ironic? Don’t ya think? Anyway, said character was probably just about the worst thing a kid could have seen while at the beach. I guarantee you though; I wasn’t the only one whose vacation this character has completely ruined over the years. Not by a long shot.
Before we get to that, let me state that in my life, I can really only remember being scared by a movie three times. I’m not counting when I was three and went to see Return of the Jedi and freaked out when those bastard storm troopers were killing the ewoks. I wasn’t scared, just sad and pissed off, and ready to join the rebellion myself. The only time I remember being scared by a film in my adult life I was 19. That night I drove for an hour to see a limited release screening of The Blair Witch Project. Of course, I felt really stupid three weeks later when it was in every multiplex known to man. This was before the “found footage” movie became an overused cliché, so while I knew it was a fictional movie, it was impressively realistic to me at the time. There was a pretty dense forest behind my house, and my nightly ritual was to go out the back door, go in the woods, and smoke a joi…er…cigarette, before bed. This particular night, I walked into the woods, took one puff, and began to look around. I started getting an uneasy feeling, seeing all the trees and shadows dancing in the moonlight, and I decided I didn’t want to be in the woods that night. I didn’t want to be in the woods for a couple more nights either. That wasn’t a particular character though. In fact, maybe it was just paranoia. I did do a lot of drugs in those days.
The other two instances of horror characters scaring the hell out of me occurred when I was very young. When I was four, my mother, who would never let me watch anything, for some reason let me watch the TV miniseries V: The Final Battle with her. I was fine with the weird lizard people, but for some reason I flipped out when one of the aliens in human form expanded her jaw like a snake to eat a large rodent of some kind. I’ve gone back and watched it since, and the effects are laughable now; but when I was four that was some freaky stuff. That lizard woman pales in comparison to the character that scared me the most though.
It was either 1988 or 1989, I’m not sure. That would make me 8 or 9 years old. Every summer, my family went to Myrtle Beach. My folks knew someone who rented us their condo for the week. They took the bedroom and I slept on the couch. We only had basic cable at our house, so the beach was a rare chance to sneak and watch some HBO or Cinemax once mom and dad had gone to bed. Don’t lie; you all did it too. I waited impatiently for something I wasn’t supposed to see to come on. I might hear some bad language or see some violent stuff. Of course in later years it evolved into an undying quest for boobs. On the first night of this vacation, however, Jaws was on. All I knew was that it was about a shark, and I thought sharks were pretty cool. I then watched in horror as people were eaten and boats were destroyed, and general hell was raised by the gigantic great white.
The next morning, it was time to head to the beach. I faced a choice, get in that ocean or admit that I watched a forbidden flick and get in trouble. Was I going to get in the water? Oh hell no! Every time I approached the surf, I heard that familiar theme song pounding in my brain. Da dum, da dum. I could just see that shark eying my legs from the deep. Da dum, da dum. Every squeal of joy from someone frolicking in the water sounded like the scream of a swimmer being devoured. Da dum, da dum. It took mom three or four days to even get me to go in the pool. Freshwater was still water, and that shark lived in water. Da dum. Da dum. Needless do say, I spent a lot of time building sandcastles that week. I’ve always loved the water. Swimming, boating, just chilling at the beach, whatever. By the time the next year’s vacation rolled around, I was fine again. For that one fateful week, however, that damn shark had me terrified to even stick a toe in. So yeah, Jaws (or Bruce as he is sometimes known) was the character that scared me the most. Thanks Spielberg, you ruined my damn vacation.
One last note, while he scared the hell out of me that week, the Jaws Nintendo game ended up being one of my childhood favorites. In retrospect, it wasn't much of a game, but maybe, just maybe, subconsciously I was conquering my fear by killing an 8 bit Jaws. Hmmm.
