If there is anything I have learnt from the horror film genre, it is that the concurrence of a certain number of creepy circumstances will inevitably lead to a gruesome demise.
For instance, if it is a bitingly cold day with miserable rain and an ominous grey sky, and one is walking alone amongst warehouses in the middle of nowhere in a small European country where they speak a strange language, there is a 100% certainty that an axe murderer/possessed twelve year old twins are going to drag you into an abandoned warehouse, from whence you shall never leave and your screams will echo unheard through eternity.
I think we can all agree that this is a generally accepted fact of life.
So naturally, the other day when I found myself in that exact situation whilst trying to collect a dress I had ordered online, I considered sending text messages to friends bidding them farewell. And also giving my exact coordinates. Just in case my death would be caused by non-supernatural forces, and there would be a chance of recovering my body.
I huddled into my poofy jacket and faux-fur lined hood, which while providing protection against the flecks of rain whipping around my face in the wind, has the drawback of severely limiting peripheral vision. Thereby severely limiting my ability to be vigilant against a cowardly attack from the side or behind. I made it to the designated warehouse, which was surrounded by an impenetrable steel and wire fence. Entry was only granted to vehicles in possession of a security clearance, which is a fairly strong indication that the warehouse was in fact the headquarters of a secret cult. I tried to communicate my purpose through a crackly speaker system outside the gate, but to no avail. I snuck in to the compound, tailing a car as it rolled its way past the security fence. And slowly, with a pit of dread in my stomach and blood pounding in my ears, I made my way up the steps to meet my doom…
In case you were wondering, there is a twist in the plot. I didn’t die. I’m not writing this from beyond the grave.
Though that would be cool.
No. Something worse happened.
I had to pay a €30 import tax! And when I got home and tried the dress on, I realised I had ordered the wrong size.