I'll be the first to admit I am not a horror movie fan. Nope, just not for me. I've never understood someone's desire to be scared out of their mind while watching a movie. Most movies create the jolt by startling their victims with a series of lights and flashes. The tension builds, and the loud noise scares you out of your chair. No. Thank. You.
I don't remember my first scary movie; apparently, I have repressed it. My parents tell me of a time when my dad was watching a horror movie (now remember this was in the early 1960s and probably black and white, too). I sneaked behind his chair to watch undetected. I was successfully watching undiscovered until the monster appeared. My father often commented he wasn't sure which scared him more, the beast or the scream that came from behind his chair. I have no memory of the event.
In addition to my stealthy preamble into creature features, two additional events permanently cured me of horror movies in my teenage years. The first event was a sleepover at a friend's house when we decided to stay up and watch "Nightmare Theater" I don't remember much about the movie other than it was a zombie movie, and some poor guy named Morgan was the sole survivor. During the day, Morgan would hunt zombies by finding their hiding places and driving a wooden spike through their hearts. (I might be mixing up my movies lines a bit) however, at night, the zombies crowded around his house, pounding on the door and windows while crying, "Come out, Morgan." I was sufficiently scared, and I don't recall us ever thinking that watching a horror movie during a sleepover was a good idea again. We played pool instead.
I found myself alone late one evening for the second event and decided to watch a movie. I don't believe it was a horror movie; however, it was probably a slasher film, a popular genre during my high school years. During the movie, I kept hearing something outside. I was downstairs (ground level) at the time. About the third time I listened to the noise, I finally decided to check it out. I wasn't precisely brave; however, we did have an intercom with outdoor speakers by each door.
From the master switch, I could talk or listen. So I went upstairs to check the front door first; I'd listen for a bit, but nothing. Then I checked the back door, which was kind of foolish as the back door was approximately 4 feet directly behind me from the master panel in the kitchen. I'm unsure what I would have done if something had made a noise in that location: deck door, nothing. However, I immediately heard something moving under the carport when I flipped the switch to listen to our downstairs door. Soon a deep breath came rattling through the intercom, and I about screamed like a little girl. It was a deep throaty breath, not mechanical like a pump, but deep and billowy like a bellows sucking in air to blow on a fire. After that, more rattling, like cheap wrapping paper, the kind of noise it makes when you're trying to sneak a peak at Christmas presents and don't want anyone to hear.
The more I listened to the sound, the less scared I became. This sound wasn't from some intruder trying to break into our house; this was something else; I had no idea what it was; however, short of an alien zombie attack, curiosity got the better of me, and I finally turned on the porch light. I couldn't see anything near the back door beside the regular stuff: our milk delivery box, wood pile, folded tarp, rake, and hoe. No bogyman. Disappointed, I went back upstairs and listened again. Still, the deep breathing sounds and rustling noise came through loud and clear. Finally, I picked up our ax and quietly opened the front door. The porch light was still on as I walked around the corner of the house under the carport—nothing in sight and no noise.
I had about attributed the noise to an electrical short when the deep billowy breath occurred right at my feet, under the tarp. Using the ax blade to hook a corner of the tarp, I slowly pull it back to reveal an enormous blow snake, the largest I have ever seen. Non-poisonous this snake was coiled tightly under the tarp, and with each deep breath, the snake would almost double in size. This movement was causing the tarp to run, scrape, and rattle against the wood pile and brick. I've lived in the desert country my entire life and could quickly identify the intruder as harmless, so I returned the tarp and walked back into the house. I'd tell my dad about it tomorrow if it was still around, but I decided enough TV, and it was time to go to bed.
Written August 3, 2022