I haven't been really scared—like "Nah, I can't go to bed tonight" scared—in a pretty long time. I blame my rationality, my unceasing ability to be like, "Dog, this isn't real life." It's a gift and a curse. But what it really means is that most of my memories of being scared shitless by movies or TV shows are from when I was pretty young, and they're all pretty embarrassing in hindsight. Thinner scared the crap out of me, and I just rewatched the trailer and it looks wildly awful; the Boy Meets World Halloween special where Feeny got scissors in the back shook me. And the ghost of Maureen Prescott in Scream 3 fucking terrified me. 

It was my 11th birthday and Scream 3 had come out the same weekend, so for my party my mom took all my friends and I to the theater. I don't really know how—like, who was letting 8-year-old me watch the first two Screams?—but I was big fan of the franchise, so I was very amped for this party. Everything was going well—I was shotgunning Sour Patch Kids and someone in a Ghostface mask was slashing dudes—and then all of the sudden Ghost Prescott rolled up on Sidney's nice, isolated house in the mountains, howling "Siiiiidney" and floating around the backyard in a generally creepy way, as ghosts do. What the hell, Wes Craven!? Ghosts weren't on the menu! I only signed up to see generically handsome guys be really meta whilst gutting people! I wasn't prepared for this! It totally threw me off my game on my birthday, and I had to spend the rest of the movie making sure I didn't look too scared in front of all my friends.

Like Thinner and that Boy Meets World episode, I'm sure this part of Scream 3 is laughable now, but at the time, Craven freaking got me, man.—Andrew Gruttadaro