Ask anyone what they are afraid of and they will easily find an answer. Ghosts. A man in a mask. Clowns. A creepy doll. Or creepy clown dolls.

What is it about the fear inspired by horror movies that draws thousands of people each year to darkened theaters to put themselves through the heart racing, blood pumping experience? Whether it’s a madman slashing his way through horny teens to vampires, marauding ghouls, haunted houses or malevolent ghosts, we flock to this feast of fright. Happily munching on popcorn and slurping soda even as our minds are ravaged thoroughly. You’ve got to have a serious addiction to keep coming back for more.

Then there are those who avoid fear like a plague, wary of exposing themselves to an experience that might reveal more about themselves then they are comfortable with. In this world there are those who choose to fear and those who do not.

There are those who try to deny fear. They claim that nothing frightens them, but they would be lying. Since our ancestors huddled around small timid fires and saw dark shadows rear up against stone walls, never knowing what might lie in wait beyond that fragile circle of light, men and women have been afraid. Even if it’s only of the dark, and remember, there’s a lot that can hide in the dark. Then, ultimately, there are those who race to the knife, eager to let the sharp edge of fear slice through the public mask and spill forth the most vulnerable and fragile part of the psyche. It’s as essential as breathing to this unusual and somewhat warped group of individuals. Or is it more of a predilection? Uncontrollable and insatiable. We are irresistibly drawn to feed our addiction and without regret.

There might be the argument that the risk takers who dare rollercoasters or bungee jumping share a similar habit, and truth be told, they are branches on the massive trunk of the Fear family tree. There is a significant difference between fear of a physical injury and an absolute consummation of the soul by dread.

Fear of falling from a roller coaster or crashing headfirst into the ground is tactile and has boundaries. The fear that is invoked from a horror film is full of infinite psychological possibilities. It’s the pebble in the pool of our mind, rippling out into endless shudders. Fear feeds on fear, even when or if we tell ourselves, it’s only a movie. Nothing more than a product of a sick and twisted writer/directors nightmare that we have been invited to participate in. Insubstantial as an mirage and as easily dismissed.

Sure. Keep telling yourself that, because, in the end, lying in bed late at night we all have to face the dark alone. The moaning creak in the hallway, the grating scratch against the window, the harsh rattle of rain against the shutters. Our mind struggles to find answers and horror films eagerly provide horrific visions that make us yank the covers up and pray for dawn.

Unless of course hordes of drooling zombie clowns now inhabit the earth and are clawing at the door eager to eat your brain. Or there’s a demonical killer, dressed as a clown, lurking just outside the bedroom door waiting to beat us to death with an enormous red shoe. Ok, so maybe the clown part is a bit over the top, but you get the picture.

Our society doesn’t really allow us to show emotions like sorrow or anger without a certain degree of censure. Anger is perceived as dangerous and unhealthy, while sorrow is reviled as showing weakness. Fear, on the other hand, is the one emotion allowed to all of us with a certain degree of acceptance. Especially the fear roused by a horror movie. Credit is given to those directors and actors who can inspire fear and basically get even the bravest soul jumping out of their seat and their skin.

Fear is primal. Fear is raw. Fear is therapeutic.

Fear as therapy? Think about that for a moment. Fear causes an acute physical response throughout your entire nervous system. From dilated eyes to flushed skin and heart rate acceleration. Charles Darwin in his book, The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals explains:

What about the mess I just made of my underwear? Guess Charles didn’t want to go into that.

The response we have after the fear has faded makes horror junkies come back for their fix time after time. There is a euphoric rush of life that floods us from head to toe. We want to gaze into dark but keep our flashlight on and our back to a wall. Because the ultimate comfort of knowing it’s just a movie makes it bearable. Life’s real terrors are too often too upsetting to deal with. Once, in a fit of absolute stupidity, when offered the chance to see real life crime scene photos I said yes, I can handle it. I walked out of there shaken and feeling more fragile than anything the silver screen ever offered up.

Real life, you can keep it, I prefer the safe, insane world of horror movies. At least there I can tell myself that nothing like that could ever happen in real life. I will never wear a long dress, high heels and decide to explore the basement when several of my friends have been mutilated and murdered.

But then, you never know. Because as Norman Bates in Psycho told us, "We all go a little mad sometimes."