I really, really want to see 28 Days Later. It looks like a great little horror movie and everyone I've spoken to who saw it said it was great.

But here's the deal. I have a thing about zombies. A deep, abiding, irrational fear of the walking dead (not that there could be a rational fear of the undead, but you know what I mean). Yes, I know they don't exist. Doesn't matter. There is this tiny, little part of my brain that truly expects me some day to be attacked by a zombie. And as my flesh is being ripped from my bones and devoured, that little part will be screaming, "See!! I told you so!!!"

The Zombie Phobia
When I was a little kid, my nightmares usually involved me walking down my street in my pyjamas in the middle of the night. All the streetlights were out and none of the houses were lighted. And in my dream, I knew that all of my neighbors were looking out their windows at me, waiting to attack. In my dreams, my neighbors were all werewolves. At some point, right before I woke up, my wolfen neighbors would stream out of the houses and chase me. Just before they got me, I'd wake up.

This went on until Junior High or so.

At some point, the dreams changed. I was no longer in my neighborhood, nor was I in my pyjamas, and the werewolves were now zombies.

Eventually the dream became a recurring one. I'd be in a house (a la Night of the Living Dead); something big and Victorian, with lots of little rooms and staircases. I'd be running from the zombies, who like zombies from Night of the Living Dead, were slow-moving but relentless. I'd always wake up before they got me, though.

Another feature of these dreams, I was more of an observer than a participant. I was the central character, but it was more like watching myself in a zombie movie than being in a zombie movie.

And that dream became my standard "stress dream." If I was having trouble, I could be pretty sure I'd have the zombie dream.

Fast forward to a couple of years ago. Still having the dreams from time to time. Same dream as always, sometimes little things change but nothing much.

Then, my friend Mike shows me one of the ". . . of the Living Dead" movies. Now, I had up until this point managed to avoid almost all zombie movies for the obvious reasons. But he said this one was more like a comedy than a horror film. The one differnce, these zombies didn't just shamble around . . . they could run.

A couple of days later, so could my dream zombies.

I'm not sure that I've forgiven Mike for this yet.

Anyway, jump a little further in the future. My shrink puts me on Prozac. One of the interesting side effects is that my dreams become much more vivid and much more immediate. I'm no longer a spectator in my dreams; I'm an active participant. The sex dreams were absolutely amazing. Colors, textures, tastes, everything seemed like it was real. I often woke up unsure whether something was a dream or reality. I thought it was the coolest thing in the world.

Until my first zombie dream.

Suffice it to say, that was an unpleasant experience. I could feel them. Hear them. Smell them. And they were able to catch me, which they had never been able to before. And worst of all, I could no longer just tell myself that it was a dream. I woke up choking back a scream and couldn't go back to sleep that night.

Adios, Prozac.

Now the zombie dreams have returned to normal. Though I haven't had one for quite a while.

Until last night.

Now I know that this zombie dream was triggered by the commercials and trailers for 28 Days Later, because it was basically like them. No Victorian house. No bloated corpses seeking blood or brains. Just red-eyed, vaguely human creatures stalking me.

And you know what? It was terrifying.

So I'm thinking that I may have to skip 28 Days Later and go see something else instead. But perversely, I still want to see it. I'm sure common sense will win out in the end. Of course, Mike wants to see it too and I'm sure he could hector me into seeing it with him.

Maybe I should just go out of town this weekend.