Because I am. Afraid. Of the basement, of the space beneath my bed, of shadows and storms, of what might be behind doors and curtains and corners and the very word and. Seriously. Put and in the dark and...?
I, however, am not scared of my brother, even though he did make me lie down in the street when we were little so he could stand above me to spit, saying he would catch it which of course he didn't, just spit on my face and laughed. Who cares if I've told this story a thousand times, so help me, he deserves this story told a thousand times more...but really this is a post about how proud I am of my brother.
Check this out: my brother made this movie with very little budget but a spitload of imagination. Shadow Lurkers preys on the universal childhood fear of the dark with the question: what happens when our shadows turn against us?
Thirty years later and I have almost forgiven my brother for spitting on me, mostly because I remember him letting me sleep on his floor when we were little and I was frozen afraid of the dark. I would creep in to his room and he'd toss me a pillow to curl up next to his bed, and sometimes he let me play his Atari. So check out his movie, and "like" the movie on Facebook. Because he's a fantastic storyteller, writer and director, but also because if there really are fucked up shadow things waiting in the dark (and I'm pretty sure there are), then I know my brother would still let me sleep on the floor next to his bed.