A few years ago, I used to fly from London to New York for a week every month or so on business. Sat in business class on my third glass of Champagne, I decided to watch The Ring on the in-seat TV. I broke my cardinal rule about watching horror films on my own, and needless to say spent most of the rest of the week sleeping with the lights on at the hotel.
Then the impossible happened.
On the last day of my trip, my 5.30am alarm unceremoniously dragged me out of bed, and I started packing up the amazing amount of stuff that gathers from a short trip. I sat down to complete the express checkout bill and that's when it happened.
The TV came on. On snow. It had been seven days. I completely froze, waiting for Samara to crawl out of the TV. My heart was pounding, and a cold sweat washed over my face. Then I realized I'd just sat on the remote, and the girl in need of a hair cut and a facial wouldn't be visiting today.
I really shouldn't watch horror films on my own.
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