I’m a scaredy cat who skips scary movies at Halloween. Life gives us enough jump scares

I was 18 – officially old enough to watch a horror movie – and Hostel was showing. You probably don’t remember it – ironically, it lives rent-free in my head.

The plot? I’m so glad you asked. Three American backpackers are lured to a Slovakian town, only to be captured by a group of underground thugs whose business is torturing and murdering people. All the makings of a delightful 94 minutes.

Twenty years later and I still don’t think I’m old enough to watch Hostel. Images of gouged eyeballs and severed fingers remain firmly lodged in my mind. Even with my best attempt at disappearing into the reclining seat, there were still some scenes that managed to seep through my half-closed eyes, embedding themselves in whatever corner of the brain stores things we’d rather forget.

My mind has always been a little sticky like that.

I remember being about 13 and watching The Texas Chainsaw Massacre with my best friend. Somehow, she managed to doze off midway through all the sawing, while I spent the night trembling, waiting for Leatherface to make his move.

So, why is it that some of us can switch off after the credits roll, or in my friend’s case during the movie, while others, like me, feel the fear for longer?

According to psychologist Aoife Durcan, who specialises in supporting highly sensitive people, part of the answer lies in the way we process emotional experiences. Some people, she explains, have a “greater depth of processing” when it comes to emotional experiences.

“If you have been exposed to particularly disturbing imagery, this can then stay with you for longer as you continue to process and reflect on what you have seen,” she says.

Which might explain why, 20 years later, I can still summon up scenes from Hostel with alarming clarity given how blatantly wrong the entire film was. I can’t imagine anyone one needs to see people being tied up and poked with sharp things.

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For the thrill-seekers among us, this kind of fear can feel exciting; the racing heart, the surge of adrenaline, that sense of what’s next. For the more faint-hearted – my fellow scaredy cats – the experience can become a little too visceral.

I must have endured hours of torture over the years – not just on-screen, but my own personal hell unleashed – at the hands of horror movie makers. Masked villains, psychotic strangers, deadly apparitions; I’ve seen them all. And while my pals appeared to be having a ball, I was praying I’d be spared from any such eventuality.

I don’t know why I didn’t bow out sooner.

I think I so desperately wanted to feel the same rush. I wanted to be part of the collective, not the anomaly who overthought and catastrophised every possible scenario.

I wanted to be a big girl.

I think there’s this notion that fear – particularly when it comes to ghosts and ghouls – is for children. That us grown-ups with mortgages and our own children should be able to rationalise that scary movies are just that: movies.

I am now thankfully wise enough to recognise that I will never be old enough to watch Hostel

That’s where my sticky mind gets me into trouble. It takes an idea, gives it substance, then clings to it like Velcro.

And unfortunately, a sticky mind doesn’t care how old you are.

At Halloween when scary movies dominating the airwaves, is there any cause for me to revisit Hostel all these years later? Could my cure be facing those sadist fiends with a new sense of resolve and courage?

I’m not convinced. And surely that uncertainty – that type of self-awareness – is important: If something feels too distressing, we don’t necessarily need to push through it.

And that feels like permission worth sharing.

After all, doesn’t life give us enough jump scares – impromptu emails, unexpected direct debits, withheld numbers?

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So, while the spooky season might lure some of us in with the promise of thrills – much like those poor American lads in Hostel – I am now thankfully wise enough to recognise that I will never be old enough to watch Hostel.

Instead, I shall revel in the softer side of Halloween.

I will drink warm things from large mugs, bury myself in blankets and carve friendly faces on to pumpkins. I will watch the Sanderson sisters run amok in Hocus Pocus, maybe even brave Goosebumps, and accept the fact that I still need parental guidance when it comes to movies.

Mostly, I will embrace Halloween for its cosiness and soft light and abandon any notion that I need to feel terror to enjoy it.

After all, in true horror movie fashion, survival is key.