So I'm laying in bed, trying to figure out how I'm going to solve the newest case as the Ace Attorney, Phoenix Wright. Then, it hits me. I need to watch an old horror movie. I don't care what one, I just need one. I would prefer ghosts, but just about anything will do. I would prefer just after color film was done, but black and white will do.

So I flip over to AMC because usually they have Friday Night Fright Night or something, I think. They usually play some recent movie, followed by some old movie. It's kind of late, so maybe they've started on the old stuff. Once there was this silent film about bats or something that came on at something like three in the morning. I didn't watch it all, but I enjoyed what I saw.

However, AMC had failed me, much as they had with Jurassic Park. They're playing WWII movies. Dicks. I hope this isn't like that time I got the urge to watch Taxi Driver again, before I purchased it, so for two weeks I was constantly thinking about it.

Something about those old horror movies always gets to me. Maybe it's the fact that since they didn't have all the effects, they went for a different kind of scare. A character opens a window, and there's the ghost looking right at him, with this fucked up expression, like smiley4.gif , on his face. He just stays there, and the main character closes the window, leans against a wall breathing hard. Then, they open the window again and nothing is there. Then, nothing happens. That bit is done, it doesn't come shrieking through the window with an explosion and all this make-up and CGI smoke.

There was this one that I saw on AMC about an author who wrote murder mysteries and then one of his characters came to life. I didn't watch the whole thing, but I did watch about a half hour of it. It was really bad, and the make-up for this character was horrible. Yet, scenes like the one I just talked about still freaked me out in it. It happened a bunch, to the point where the main character thought this character was in the same room as him and his wife. He'd scream at her that there he was, right in the arm chair, and she'd try and comfort him and explain that nothing was there.

Oh sure, I was fine when I started this, but now I'm shakin' in my boots. I expect to to look out the window next to me (which I am not going to do) and see that stupid face grimacing right back at me. Or when I go back to my room I'll find him sitting in my broken chair. It has grown late and I have grown paranoid.