On fear and ice cream

Toward the end of college some close friends and I spent a fair bit of time playing Fatal Frame. If you’re not familiar, Fatal Frame is a series of survival horror video games, and they’re notoriously frightening. Because they’re single-player games, and because I’m a diva, I did the playing, and my friends watched (which is actually way less stressful–you try fighting angry ghosts while your buddies are sitting on the couch next to you and screaming).

The premise sounds stupid, but you’ll need a change of pants. (Fatal Frame Wiki)

My friend Greg–who has a pretty funny thing going on over at Open Letters to My Enemies–took the role of navigator, using an FAQ to guide me through the game when it got too tricky (none of the games in the franchise are particularly difficult, but the tension was high and I spent more time screaming than successfully solving puzzles).

Greg was very amused by my screaminess, so he decided to milk it. Reading ahead in the guide, he’d gleefully assure me that the next room contained nothing but delicious ice cream. This was code, of course, for something terrifying, and to this day I associate ice cream with horror. And horror with Greg. Which is apt. He knows it.

NOTHING SCARY IN HERE. WHY NOT TURN OUT ALL THE LIGHTS AND SIT A SPELL.