I love horror, I love scary movies, I love thrillers. If things

When Lana Parrilla declares, “I love horror, I love scary movies, I love thrillers. If things creep you out and spook you? I love it,” she speaks not only of taste in art, but of a deeper truth that has haunted the heart of humanity since ancient times. For from the dawn of storytelling, mankind has sought not only beauty and comfort, but also the chill of fear, the shiver in the night, the shadows that test the soul. Her words echo the recognition that in horror lies not simply fright, but fascination—a mirror held up to our deepest anxieties and our most hidden desires.

The origin of this love lies in the very nature of man. Fear was our earliest teacher. It kept us alive in the forests of our ancestors, warning us of beasts in the dark, of dangers unseen. Yet once safety was gained, once the fire was lit and the camp secure, man would retell the story of the terror, turning fear itself into a tale, a ritual, a form of art. Thus, the same instinct that made us tremble also gave birth to the scary story, to the thriller, to the spook that delights even as it unsettles. Parrilla’s love is therefore not new, but ancient, part of the eternal rhythm of human imagination.

Consider the ancient tale of Beowulf, where men sat in the mead hall and trembled at the tale of Grendel, the monster that crept from the night to devour them. They feared the darkness, yes, but they also thrilled in hearing of the hero who rose against it. The terror of Grendel was the fuel of courage, the spook was the spark that made the triumph brighter. Just as those men listened with wide eyes in the firelight, so too do we sit before the glow of the screen, loving the fear that rises within us, for it sharpens the soul and makes us alive to both dread and hope.

Parrilla’s words also remind us that there is power in embracing what unsettles us. Many turn away from fear, thinking it weakness, but to willingly step into the world of horror is to practice courage in disguise. To sit through the haunting music, the creeping shadows, the sudden shocks, is to say: I will face the things that spook me and endure them. In this way, the love of scary tales is more than entertainment—it is a rehearsal for life, where real fears must be faced with steady hearts.

The lesson is clear: do not despise fear, but learn from it. Fear is the forge of courage. Just as horror films allow us to dance with shadows without harm, so in life we can use our fears to sharpen our spirit. To love being spooked is to understand that fear is not the enemy, but the doorway to growth. Those who embrace their dread with open eyes become stronger than those who run from every shadow.

What then should you do? First, recognize your fears, and instead of fleeing, observe them. Second, find safe spaces, as in art or story, where you may engage your fears without danger, learning to endure their presence. Third, carry this strength into life itself, where the monsters are not on the screen but in the heart, in the challenges of work, loss, change, and uncertainty. Face them as the heroes of old faced their beasts, and you too shall grow in courage.

Thus, Parrilla’s love of the creepy, the spooky, the thrilling is not mere playfulness, but a declaration of something profoundly human. It is the acknowledgment that fear, when embraced, becomes a kind of joy, a reminder of our aliveness, a teacher that strengthens the soul. So remember, child of tomorrow: the shadows are not always to be avoided. Sometimes, to walk into them willingly is to find your strength, and to discover that even in the darkest tale, the light of your courage will shine.