A young man locks himself into the upstairs bedroom of a house where a party rages from which he feels too drunk to leave.
We watch him pass out, wake in sunlight, then — through the locked door — hear screams.
Aghast, he unlocks the door quietly — to see zombies thronging a blood-slick staircase where his former fellow guests lie twitching, oozing, zombified. Out the window, we see zombies shambling down Parisian boulevards. Our hero will spend the rest of this film trying to flee them.
Having been tricked into viewing this by someone who simply said it was French, I wondered: Why?
Not just Why are we watching this? But also: Why would anyone?
Given that real life is often so horrible, why invite extra — contrived, synthetic, yet hyper-realistic — horror into our homes, hearts, and minds? Why invite and maybe even imprint terrifying visions onto eyes that might otherwise think of oceans, say? Or cake?
As someone who has always struggled with anxiety, raised by someone whose pet phrase — whispered, growled or shouted — was "Be Goddamn Careful", I cannot fathom wanting to make it worse.
Why would I want my skin to prickle or my gut to wrench? Why would I want to clasp both hands over both eyes, squealing No no no no — and call it party time and family time and fun?
But millions do. Synthetic fear is a huge industry: Not only horror films but also horror-based video games, whose players blast and bayonet their way through haunted forests, demon-peopled donut shops, and post-apocalyptic hells.
But why? Are that many consumers so serene as to equate serenity with a sickness that only synthetically spurred fear can cure? Are horror films their form of hurry-up-and-scare-me reverse relaxation therapy?
Probably not, given that most horror fans are age 15 through 25, a demographic whose suicide rate is high and rising.
Given that fact, do some fans feel that horror films mirror their troubled minds? That these bloody immersions into soul-removal labs and alien invasions tweak — like cinematic versions of Autocorrect — idealized real life with its smiling faces and blue skies into the "real-er life" they know?
Do some tormented souls feel more at home in Silent Hill or 10 Cloverfield Lane than they feel — well, at home?
The immense popularity of horror films and horror-based video games suggests that gore-fest fun fulfills some deeper-than-mere-entertainment, maybe spiritual, need.
Ancient religions — practiced back when daily chores put everyone at risk of being speared by strangers, drowned in creeks and/or devoured by bears — featured sobering rites and scary tales illustrating the hazy veils dividing life from death.
From fire-walking to oracular prophecies, they warned the faithful to be ever-cautious, ever-conscious, ever-reverent toward whatever entities might spare them — ever-generous in tithes and sacrifices, ever-grateful for living another day.
Are horror films our modern version of those shocking wake-up-and-pray-for-protection tales? Is viewing them our modern version of those sacred dances, feasts and fasts, and other cortisol-releasing rites?
Like ceremonial scarring and marathons, do horror films initiate the young into awareness of the real-world pain and loss facing us all? Are Midsommar and Jeepers Creepers rites of passage?
Like those ancient rites, are horror films reminders of how frail bodies can be?
Are they ethical lessons, asking watchers: What, chased by zombies, would you do? Bravely strive to rescue others — or only your loved ones or yourself? How hard would you fight?
Like the biblical Book of Job and the Hindu story of Manu, who survived a Great Deluge, are horror films modern-day legends hailing human perseverance, strength and/or survival?
And is this — for those who love such films — their sacredness? Do Oldboy and Get Out and their ilk kindle glowing gratitude as, peeping through their fingers, viewers realize: Flaming barbs are not cascading from the sky! A wicked clown is not pursuing me through an abandoned theme park! Hallelujah!
Spirituality Essential Reads
Spark of Potential: Buddhist Insights on Spiritual Teachers 
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A version of this essay originally appeared at Spirituality & Health magazine.