Growing up, I was a huge fan of horror movies. There's nothing

The words of Ashley Bell strike a chord deep within the paradox of the human spirit: “Growing up, I was a huge fan of horror movies. There's nothing more fun than going into a movie with a smile because you know you're going to be scared to death. There's something thrilling about sitting there waiting for a scare to happen.” At first, this appears as a simple confession of childhood delight, yet behind it lies one of the great mysteries of the human heart—that we find joy even in the shadow of fear, and that sometimes terror itself can be a vessel of wonder.

To enter a darkened theater with a smile while knowing you will be scared to death is to embrace contradiction. It is to say: I welcome the trembling, I welcome the scream, for within it lies exhilaration. This is not madness, but courage—an acknowledgment that fear, when chosen and faced safely, can become a form of play. The ancients understood this well. The Greeks, in their tragedies, did not avoid fear; they summoned it, inviting the audience to sit in dread, to tremble, to weep. Yet they emerged purged, renewed, alive.

The thrill of waiting for the scare is perhaps the most profound part of Bell’s words. Anticipation sharpens the senses; it teaches patience in the face of the unknown. There is a beauty in sitting still, knowing the terror will come, yet choosing to remain. It is the training ground of courage. For in life, too, we sit waiting—waiting for trials, for grief, for the unexpected. Horror films, then, become rituals in which we practice fear, so that when real shadows fall, we are not wholly unprepared.

History offers us echoes of this strange joy in fear. The Roman gladiatorial games, though brutal, drew thousands who came to feel their hearts pound, not only in horror but in fascination. Centuries later, the gothic novels of the 18th century—Frankenstein, Dracula, The Castle of Otranto—were devoured by readers who longed to shiver as they turned each page. Fear has always been both enemy and companion, both shadow and teacher. Bell’s confession places her within this long tradition of humanity seeking to dance with dread.

But there is more here than entertainment. The lesson is that fear, when faced, becomes transformation. To smile at the doorway of fear is to reclaim its power. What could dominate us instead becomes an ally, sharpening our sense of life, reminding us of our own heartbeat. The child who learns to laugh at shadows grows into the adult who dares to confront the darkness of the world. Thus, horror is not only play—it is preparation.

The smile before the scare is the greatest symbol of this truth. It says: I know fear is coming, and yet I do not shrink. This is the seed of resilience. Whether in the theater or in the trials of existence, we are called to meet what terrifies us with anticipation, with readiness, and even with joy. For only in such moments do we feel the full scope of what it means to be alive.

Therefore, let us carry Ashley Bell’s wisdom into our lives. Do not flee from every fear. When the shadows gather, when the unknown looms, enter with a smile. Anticipate the scare, for it is in facing it that you discover your courage, and it is in surviving it that you rediscover your joy. Life, like the horror film, is filled with sudden frights and long nights of waiting—but it is also filled with the thrill of endurance, the victory of spirit, and the radiance of the smile that greets the darkness without surrender.

Carry forward this truth: “There’s nothing more fun than going into a movie with a smile because you know you’re going to be scared to death.” May it remind you that to live fully is to embrace not only comfort but fear, not only laughter but trembling—and that even in the presence of dread, the courageous heart may still choose to smile.