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The summer of 2005 was long and hot. Blair had just been voted in for a third term, Brangelina was conceived, and boys with guitars were all over the airwaves. I’m told by my mum that I spent a lot of it jumping into the sea and being dragged on ludicrously long bike rides with my dad. Not that I remember any of this, of course. No, the only thing I can recall from that time is one fateful night at my friend’s house, where I sat trembling behind a giant, tasselled cushion for the best part of two hours. The source of my terror? The critically eviscerated Robert De Niro horror film Hide and Seek, which had just been released on DVD.
To proper grown-ups – including film critics – the movie, which starred De Niro and Dakota Fanning as a father and creepy daughter left alone after a mother’s suicide, was “silly”. The Guardian called the script “insultingly bad” and asked: “What have we done to deserve this?” But to me, this tale of an imaginary friend who murders people’s cats and girlfriends, leaving them lying in bloody bathtubs, was absolutely harrowing. It was the first and last horror film I have ever watched. With all the excitement around the new movie Longlegs, which has been called “a satanic horror that effectively instils panic” (no thank you), I’ve found myself looking back on Hide and Seek. The film officially confirmed my status as a complete wimp, a bona fide scaredy cat, and still wreaks havoc with my life today.
That summer, after the night at my friend’s, the signs were bad straight away. I was, bless my soul, wracked with anxiety. To my mum’s confusion, having raised a daughter who’d spend hours in the bath playing floor-flooding games with soap, I was completely incapable of getting in the tub for months. Because of, you know, all the BLOOD. (I still showered, obviously, I wasn’t that weird.) And causing further alarm for my parents, I also went off spaghetti bolognese, my favourite meal, because it was also the little girl in the film’s favourite meal. Luckily, I have since overcome this particular obstacle.
But there are a few things I haven’t got over. It is out of the question for me to be home alone at night without frequently checking every cupboard in the house that a person could conceivably fit inside, and looking under beds. Sometimes I do it even when my boyfriend’s there. He’s stopped commenting on it. And I can’t really close my eyes in the shower, in case someone suddenly appears in the room, which has led to lots of shampoo-in-eyes-related pain. I sometimes feel sad that even though I love houses with floor-to-ceiling windows – so chic – I can probably never live in one because they’re obviously terrifying. Anyone could be looking in from outside.
My fears have got in the way of my professional life, too. I couldn’t join in on all the chat in the office about Get Out because I had to turn Jordan Peele’s masterpiece off after 10 minutes when the mounting sense of dread became unbearable. When I was a showbiz reporter, I couldn’t pick up stories about trailer releases for new horror movies because I couldn’t watch them. And I’ve had to turn down the opportunity to interview great actors because I can’t bring myself to put on the films they’re in. At the last publication I worked for, a colleague told me in detail about the baby-ripping scene in the film Mother! – because he knew I could never watch it – and I still think about it weekly and feel sick.
Recently, I’ve been feeling quite chuffed that I’ve managed to watch Twin Peaks. Halfway into season two of David Lynch’s metaphysical horror(ish) series, I must admit, I’m no fan of “the grey-haired man”, but generally I’m coping OK so far. I’d love to be able to face the origins of my fears and rewatch Hide and Seek, to check how hilariously bad it is, but the truth is, I’m just too scared. Give me a romcom instead any day.
*This article has been amended to say that Blair was elected for a third term in 2005
