Squeamish
I’ve said often that while I’m okay reading horror novels — it’s been about eight years now since I was turned on to Poppy Z. Brite — I don’t care to watch horror films. I grew up in the age of the Friday the 13th and Nightmare on Elm Street franchises, and even at an age where I was only concerned about whether or not I liked a film and had barely any conceptions about what made a “good film” and a “bad film,” there…