I used to be terrified of elevators. And by terrified I mean I would throw myself down on the ground kicking and screaming, not caring who I was embarrassing or who was there to see me. I was NOT getting in that small box of horror that I was certain would be the means of my demise. I just KNEW that the cables were going to snap and the elevator was going to plummet straight down to Hell where I would be chased by toasters, vacuums, and demons with cold cream on their fingertips.
…okay, it doesn’t sound like much now but when you’re eight it’s terrifying. To this day I can scare the crap out of myself in the middle of the night with nothing more than the mere recollection of those little red eyes glowing in a dark setting like they did in the movie. I imagine them at the bottom of the stairs waiting to…well…shoot me with their quills I guess since that was their thing.
Of course this is what really happens:
I know what you’re thinking. “Gee, Mabel, this girl is neurotic.” Au contraire. I am perfectly sane as long as I AVOID these things!
If not, well, see for yourself: