I’ve never been much of a horror movie fan. All that gore scares the living daylights out of me.
I attribute my fear to the permanent psychological, emotional and mental scarring that resulted after viewing George Romero’s, “Night of the Living Dead.”
It’s been over 30 years since, and I still shudder when I think about it.
Because of this, I can’t explain my fascination with AMC’s new television series, “The Walking Dead,” a series that deals with the survival of a group of people in a world that’s been overtaken by zombies.
Every week I sit glued to the television set as I witness the characters battle their way out of little pickles that thus far have included, outrunning a zombie mob, shooting zombies from a two-story window, and one of the characters having to escape an Army tank while hundreds of the critters lay on top of, on the side of, and under it.
To say “balls of steel” is a requirement, not only for the men and women in the series, but also for the viewers, is an understatement.
(My long fingernails seized to exist after the airing of the first episode)
Needless to say, my fascination escalates with each episode as I witness the protagonist, Deputy Sherrif Rick Grimes (Andrew Lincoln), make his way through the wastelands in the attempt to find his family.
Need I mention the hordes of zombies he has to take out along the way?
But this show has done more than just give me the heeber jeebers.
It’s also managed to ruin my evening walks with Roxy.
Take tonight, for example.
As we approached the cemetary that is three blocks from where we live, I could feel my heart racing.
Roxy, unaffected, continued to scout for a place to empty her bladder.
I could feel the paranoia setting in and very much like in the movie “Sixth Sense,” I felt the hairs in the back of my neck stand up.
Any moment, I expected not one, but a small army of zombies to break through the flimsy wire fence.
Would I run? Would I stay frozen in my tracks? Would I pass out? Would I offer Roxy as an appetizer?
What would Sherrif Grimes do?
Without giving it another thought, we high tailed out of there.
Thank you AMC for making us believe in zombies again. Thank you for scaring the crap out of us. Thank you for ruining our evening stroll.
(As a result, Roxy and I may require therapy)
But don’t worry. We’ll be back next week for another helping of gore.