Blog Dis
Mr. Perkins, you still scare me
2024-05-30
Every summer as the sticky, fluidity of humidity moves into my apartment like some slithering unwelcome fog, I re-acquaint myself with that irrational emotion called fear. Ironically, it's something I do to myself and every summer I ask myself the same question: Why? And I come up with the same reply: Because I am compelled! The reason would naturally precede the question and the answer, and this is because I take ice-cold showers in the dead of night to help me fall asleep when the atmosphere is especially thick and heavy with humidity. Last week, as a prime example, our temperatures were unseasonably warm, crawling up to 36 Celsius, and lo and behold, I took my first late-night cold-shower.
And this is when my fears come home to roost. I shower with the bathroom door open and all the lights turned off (to keep my place as cool as possible); It's just me and my nakedness, the late night, and the eerily feeling I'm not alone in my apartment. For whenever I shower in the humidity at night, I'm drawn to the fear of facing Anthony Perkins from the 1960 classic film, Psycho, dressed in a shabby white dress with a ridiculous mop of a wig resting atop his crazy-ass head, and a monster-sized dagger coming down through the shower curtain, lacerating the very flesh off my bones. The fear is so very real that as I shower in the cold stream, shivering and loving the sensation of my skin prickling to the cold, I have to turn my body around in sections and every time I turn my back to the open door, I fear at any moment that Mr. Perkins will make a surprise visit. He is a diabolical character of twisted mind and evil-doing, made real and brought to life by The master of suspense, Mr. Hitchcock.
Time has passed in considerable blocks since this movie hit the screens and forever changed the way people thought about taking showers. But how can a reasonably logical and modern woman such as myself actually harbor fear over a fictional character? That is the power of fiction. Good fiction, laced with just enough suspense and a healthy does of subliminal undercurrent can leave enough of a residue that your own imagination says, "Thank you ever so much! Now leave the rest to me and I shall run with the ball... every so often I'll scare the bejeebers out of he or she who owns me...but keep in mind," says the imagination, "I, in fact, own your ass."
Janet Leigh, who played Marion Crane to Anthony Perkin's Norman Bates admitted that after filming the movie she could no longer take a shower without being absolutely petrified of someone sneaking up on her to kill her thru the shower curtain. If you've already seen this movie, then you'd know that you don't actually see the knife going into Leigh's body. But Mr. Hitchcock understood that the mere tickle of knowing a knife was being used, meant that a body would soon turn up, as blood swirled around the drain, then washed away with the water. [And to think it was filmed in black and white. Imagine how gruesome the blood would have looked if filmed in colour.]
I feel the shivers. I'm very scared, Mr. Perkins. Yet again, you've thwarted my sense of logic and wisdom in knowing that movies are just bloody movies. Being a writer of fantasy fiction, more specifically urban paranormal with regard to my Crimson novels, I should have better control over my imagination and be able to conjure up a lovely image while showering in the dead of night. But oh no! Imaginations are like feral animals, instinctual and ruthless, caring not for the normal or mundane but rather embracing all that goes bumpety bump in the night. Hands hold knives and stab, stab, stab and bodies fall down and die, die, die!
Go on! Tell me that I'm silly for these fears, and for continuing to shower in the dark, in the humidity, with the bathroom door open. It's made no difference when I close the door, either, in case you're wondering. My imagination still thinks the door handle will move and before I can cover my wet breasts and pull the shower curtain open to come face to face with pure psychotic evil, Norman has stabbed me several times and no one hears me screaming! No one! Not one single soul! [Bear in mind I've traveled into Middle Eastern countries, arriving by myself into airports, at 3 AM when all is dark and sketchy, which requires a degree of courage and maybe even a little bit of stupidity too.]
When you're afraid, you know you are alive. When you shower at night, you take your imagination by the hand and wrap a wet towel around your eyes. Be aware! Mr. Perkins thrives in your head where a special place has been reserved inside your imagination, a very special spot indeed - it is the place where fear gestates.
And this is when my fears come home to roost. I shower with the bathroom door open and all the lights turned off (to keep my place as cool as possible); It's just me and my nakedness, the late night, and the eerily feeling I'm not alone in my apartment. For whenever I shower in the humidity at night, I'm drawn to the fear of facing Anthony Perkins from the 1960 classic film, Psycho, dressed in a shabby white dress with a ridiculous mop of a wig resting atop his crazy-ass head, and a monster-sized dagger coming down through the shower curtain, lacerating the very flesh off my bones. The fear is so very real that as I shower in the cold stream, shivering and loving the sensation of my skin prickling to the cold, I have to turn my body around in sections and every time I turn my back to the open door, I fear at any moment that Mr. Perkins will make a surprise visit. He is a diabolical character of twisted mind and evil-doing, made real and brought to life by The master of suspense, Mr. Hitchcock.
Time has passed in considerable blocks since this movie hit the screens and forever changed the way people thought about taking showers. But how can a reasonably logical and modern woman such as myself actually harbor fear over a fictional character? That is the power of fiction. Good fiction, laced with just enough suspense and a healthy does of subliminal undercurrent can leave enough of a residue that your own imagination says, "Thank you ever so much! Now leave the rest to me and I shall run with the ball... every so often I'll scare the bejeebers out of he or she who owns me...but keep in mind," says the imagination, "I, in fact, own your ass."
Janet Leigh, who played Marion Crane to Anthony Perkin's Norman Bates admitted that after filming the movie she could no longer take a shower without being absolutely petrified of someone sneaking up on her to kill her thru the shower curtain. If you've already seen this movie, then you'd know that you don't actually see the knife going into Leigh's body. But Mr. Hitchcock understood that the mere tickle of knowing a knife was being used, meant that a body would soon turn up, as blood swirled around the drain, then washed away with the water. [And to think it was filmed in black and white. Imagine how gruesome the blood would have looked if filmed in colour.]
I feel the shivers. I'm very scared, Mr. Perkins. Yet again, you've thwarted my sense of logic and wisdom in knowing that movies are just bloody movies. Being a writer of fantasy fiction, more specifically urban paranormal with regard to my Crimson novels, I should have better control over my imagination and be able to conjure up a lovely image while showering in the dead of night. But oh no! Imaginations are like feral animals, instinctual and ruthless, caring not for the normal or mundane but rather embracing all that goes bumpety bump in the night. Hands hold knives and stab, stab, stab and bodies fall down and die, die, die!
Go on! Tell me that I'm silly for these fears, and for continuing to shower in the dark, in the humidity, with the bathroom door open. It's made no difference when I close the door, either, in case you're wondering. My imagination still thinks the door handle will move and before I can cover my wet breasts and pull the shower curtain open to come face to face with pure psychotic evil, Norman has stabbed me several times and no one hears me screaming! No one! Not one single soul! [Bear in mind I've traveled into Middle Eastern countries, arriving by myself into airports, at 3 AM when all is dark and sketchy, which requires a degree of courage and maybe even a little bit of stupidity too.]
When you're afraid, you know you are alive. When you shower at night, you take your imagination by the hand and wrap a wet towel around your eyes. Be aware! Mr. Perkins thrives in your head where a special place has been reserved inside your imagination, a very special spot indeed - it is the place where fear gestates.
