Smell. Apparently the secret is smell.
I love horror but could never “do” a haunted house. Partly because my own house at 3am with the lights turned off is scary enough,1 but mainly because I am incredibly sensitive to jump scares. Seriously. The sight of balloons makes me anxious because I start imagining my own reaction–and, more importantly, my imagined other people’s reaction to my reaction, and my imagined embarrassment over it–if they should pop. So any kind of horror that relies on jump scares in any way, shape, or form just makes me angry and defensive rather than, yanno. Scared.
Hm. Maybe I should write a book about that. I’ll call it Social Anxiety: The True Horror.
- Fuck you, imagination! ↩