We go back to the 90s now. Barry’s video shop. The back wall was dedicated to what we now know as horror icons. You know the faces: Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Chucky, Ghostface — and the one that both fascinated and scared me the most, Freddy Krueger.
Of course, I couldn’t rent these movies. I was still watching Adam West’s Batman because the new films were fifteen‑plus. So for a while, Freddy remained an oversized VHS box. Older friends had seen the films, though. They were more than happy to fill me in on all the details — and the scare factor.
“Freddy 3 is my favourite, but if you think that’s scary don’t watch Freddy 1,” was something I remember. So in my head, these films became much more frightening than they really were.
What scared me at the time was this: unlike the other boogeymen, Freddy came for you when you were sleeping. Sooner or later, everyone has to sleep. Freddy also almost exclusively killed teenagers, and I had just become a teenager. Sad as it is, that’s where your mind goes at a young age. Being able to separate fact from fiction came later.
Then, one night in the mid‑1990s, an older friend was “babysitting” another friend in my year. This friend had Sky Movies and wanted everyone over at his. Because it was time to meet Freddy.
As a group of friends we laughed and talked through most of it. I remember friends who had seen that particular film jumping at various moments. Another used mock knives to make the claw sound. It was all good fun. The film that night was Part 3. It blended horror with dark fantasy and is still one of my favourites.
Then came time to leave. My house was only a small walk — a few metres, in fact, from my friend’s. A few metres in the dark, that is.
The babysitter looked at me, then out at the night, and sighed. “I’ll walk you home,” he said. Thankfully he didn’t add a phrase like I’ll be right back into that conversation.
Thanks, Anthony.
It’s October… it’s the dark month. It’s time to finally revisit Elm Street.
