The Visceral Reaction of Fear

I've had a handful of fears that I would categorize as irrational. One such fear was a fear of the Choose Your Own Adventure book series, which I found initially engrossing and ultimately extremely frightening.

I was introduced to the series as a six or seven-year old kid, and my older brother would read them to me, and then with nuanced effect, ask me the question which marked the fork in the road, such as, "Do you trust Brutus Clancy and follow him to the attic? Or do you sense a trap and run to the rear stairwell?"

It was great suspense and great fun so I actually had my parents buy me the box set. By the time I had gotten home and the books were put into my room, I was whimpering like a puppy and bawling that I didn't want the books in my room. My brother, being a good sport, was kind enough to put the books in his room, and I proceed to avoid eye contact with them for the rest of the time we lived in that house. So what happened?

Well, I think the fact that a large number of "possible endings" ended in some sort of grim death or other form of despair started to emotionally affect me. When you're a six-year old kid, literature that ends with, "You have enough oxygen in the cedar closet for three hours. Your disappearance will remain a mystery forever" tends to freak the living daylights out of you. Add to that Paul Granger's faux-realism illustrations, often of "just before death" or "scary bad guy" scenes, and all the ingredients were there to send me quivering under the covers in the fetal position. There's actually a fake Choose Your Own Adventure cover here that captures what terrified me so much. I got a good chuckle out of this, but I think there's a little six-year old inside of me that still is a little unsettled by it.

All in all, the fear of this book series is more funny than anything, and it seems silly in retrospect. Such is the case with many fears, I'd say.