A Crimson Rainbow

Chapter 2

I guess you're probably wondering who I am, right?  That's actually a good question, because I have been told quite often that I'm pretty fucking complicated.  So, the simple things first.  My name is Spencer Young, I'm 17, and I live in the far outer suburbs of Melbourne, Australia.  I'm average height, and have brown hair and eyes.  I'm really just ... pretty average in my looks.  That's where the simple things end.
I've had my fair share of people ask me why I paint my nails when I'm a guy.  It started when I was 12 as a way to stop biting my nails, and from there, I decided I wanted to make it look prettier, so in came the colours, the patterns, etc.  My clothing style could be described as "op shop chic" at best, since a lot of my clothes are from op shops.  It's not that I'm poor, in fact, far from it.  I just prefer the older style of clothes more than the newer stuff that's in stores now.  You know that line in Macklemore's Thrift Shop where he says "I'll where your granddad's clothes"?  Well, that's pretty much me.  I LOVE cardigans, ripped jeans, t-shirts promoting bands from the 70's and 80's ... now, here's the thing though.  Don't even dare to call my clothes "vintage", as that implies things that are coming back into fashion.  I like to look good, but I also don't want to look like anyone else. I want to be my own style, I want to just be "me".
I also seem to have a thing for straight guys.  I think it's a bit of a psychological fuck-up for me, because, well, like I said, I'm not poor.  I can pretty much get anything I want when it comes to clothes, electronics, etc. But to want a guy who I can never have ... I feel that's just my brain stopping me from getting everything I want.  I had tried to overcome this part of me by hooking up with random guys from online, but it was too easy, and I wasn't really attracted to THEM, it was more of just a way to get myself off.  For me to actually WANT someone, they can't want me, so it puts me in a real catch-fucking-22 situation.  Hence: complicated.

Now, the other thing you need to know about me, and you will understand this as we get further along my story, is that I love horror movies.  I mean, I fucking LOVE horror movies.  Give me old Hammer Horror movies with Christopher Lee, or newer Blumhouse films, and I'll tell you pretty much anything you want to know about them.  Vampires, ghosts, possessions, slashers, you name it, I know it.
One thing that frustrated me is when people would refer to certain movies as horror, when I would say they were thrillers.  To me, a 'thriller' involved humans only, whereas horrors involved non-humans, like killers that keep coming back from the dead.
I often got asked why I was so obsessed with horrors, since they were often so dark.  The answer was simple: they were an escape.  An escape to a world that couldn't exist, unlike thrillers. A world where, no matter how many times Michael Myers was shot, burned, stabbed or even decapitated, he just comes back for more.  It's like he made a bargain with Death, and, instead of dying himself, he would find more souls for the reaper.  I enjoyed the creativity in the deaths, to see how original they could be, even when the cause of death might have been done before.  An unoriginal death done in an original way was something I could always count on in certain movies.  The one thing I didn't count on, however, is that I would eventually lead a real monster to my door.