There aren’t many things that scare me… This is a lie. Only today I ceded ownership of my garden to a particularly bolshie spider (in my defense, it was the size of my FOOT and stood its ground when I squeaked ‘shoo’, so…what other option did I have?), I am not fond of heights or confined spaces (for which I blame Alan Garner, thank you very much for those nightmares!), I once got completely freaked out by someone whistling alone in the dark, and I can’t read MR James except on the brightest summer day.
HOWEVER, the one gold-standard freak out the Moore spooky thing that always gets me? Dolls. Not any dolls, I don’t freak out while my niece chews on the head of her sister’s barbie. In their place – naked, scribbled on, and upside down in a jam jar (‘she’s snorkling’) they are inoffensive. It’s in bedrooms. I cannot bear the idea of sleeping with beady little eyes watching me. I even put books that have faces on them cover down when I go to sleep.
So this film? Going to horrify the LIFE out of me. I might still watch it though, on the same principles that I have four copies of MR James books in my library.