Why do you love horror?

Is it for the blood?  The gore?  The violence?  The fear?  The terror?  The creatures?  The monsters?  The killers?  The rapists?  The victims?  The crying children?  The screaming mothers?  The missing little girl?  The broken lock?  The eye behind the door?  The mystery?  The carnage?  The discovery of the mass grave?  The hatred?  The psychopaths?  The grisly works of skeleton art?  The murder weapons?  The axe?  The machete?  The glove with knives?  The disgusting surgery?  The awkward laughs?  The sex?  The lust?  The naïve teenagers?  The chase?  The hunt?  The guts?  The mistaken identity?  The sinister music?  The sinister laughs?  The cheerleaders?  The slumber partiers?  The underage drinkers?  The happy campers?  The disease?  The infection?  The sickness?  The loose dirt over the shaking coffins?  The sound of dripping?  The sound of chomping?  The sound of death?  The urge to vomit?  The urge to cover your eyes?  The urge to keep watching?  The urge to want more?  The explosions?  The invasions?  The missions gone bad?  The betrayals?  How nothing is how it seems?  How there is nobody to trust? The look in her eye when she knows she’s going to die?  The sound in his voice when he shrieks?  How evil knows is found in every age, gender, species, time, object and world?  How no matter what, nobody is safe?  The beautiful death over and over again?

Why do you love horror?  Well, probably the same reasons that I do.

We can be sick together.

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