I hate horror films. I hate them with a passion. I hate the jump scares and the loud jolt of music that follows each one. I hate how the main characters can never catch a break. I hate how the villains are never the cheesy, B-rate slashers clad in thrift shop clothes like back in the day, but paranormal creatures that don’t pop out until after your second look into the bathroom mirror.

The inherent human desire known as curiosity is the real villain in my story. If you’re like me, and you watch horror films only to regret it later that night when you’re in the shower and sticking your head out of the curtains every five seconds to make sure a demonic nun isn’t waiting for you on the toilet, curiosity may be the villain in your story as well.

Think about it. When you’re backed up on the highway because of a huge pileup, by the time you get to the crash you can’t help but turn your head and check out the wreckage. You were curious.

When you were a kid watching horror films on the TV, your hands clenching your face for dear life as you block your eyes from seeing the gore on the screen, your fingers can’t help but separate, opening a hole for your eyes to peek through and see who just got murdered five ways to Sunday. You were curious.

That’s another reason why I hate horror films. They bring out the curiosity in me. They point out my very human flaw of wanting to know.

After the “based on a true story” message fades to black in the “The Conjuring 2” commercial, I feel an itch coming on. It’s an itch on my ear that whispers, “Don’t you want to see what terrible, ungodly, and most importantly, real, events haunted this family?”

The event was real? I think to myself. Like Ed and Lorraine Warren, the protagonists in this sequel and the original film, I need to investigate this.

I go with a friend to our local movie theater. Once we settle into our seats, he pulls out a bag of Starbursts he smuggled inside. The only thing scarier than horror films is the price of snacks at the movie theater. That and monogamy, but that’s a different story.

The preview for “Lights Out” testifies to our childhood fear of whatever is hiding in the dark once we turn off the lights. It’s the horror film we never asked for, but will most likely see anyway. The real film hasn’t even started yet, and I’ve already peed a little.

The film is loaded with not only jump scares, but red herrings, suspense, and truly disturbing images. Director James Wan has already solidified himself in Hollywood as the essential horror movie man, and rightfully so.

While other horror films indulge themselves in one jump scare after another, it all becomes very tiring. The jump scares may continue to get flinches from the audience, but after a while, it’s just a repetitive, cheap way to get a reaction.

Wan, on the other hand, perfectly builds up the tension in this film. Scare scenes start slow, almost comical. The victims react to quaint little disturbances here and there, but as they slowly find themselves getting tortured more and more, we, as the audience desperately want the torture to stop for the characters’ sakes. But this is a good thing, as it is a sign that we are truly frightened (not just flinching at loud noises and sudden images), and we care for these characters to make it out of this story alive and intact.

This leads to another tremendous plus: “The Conjuring 2” has a lot of heart in it. Not only for the family being haunted, but also for Ed and Lorraine, who are reluctant to take on yet another grueling task of paranormal disturbances. What could have been a tiring sequel that offered the same story as the first film became a triumph in bravery, belief, and family.

Once the film ends, the characters are shown side by side with pictures of their real life counterparts. I can only imagine how much scarier the film would have been with normal looking people instead of the beautiful Hollywood people we know and love.

That being said, I still hate horror films for what they do to me on a personal level. My friend and I leave the theater discussing our favorite parts, and as he drops me off at my apartment, I watch his car vanish into the night as if he was my last tether to safety.

Now I’m alone, and that’s the worst thing to be after watching this movie. Hallways seem darker. Creaks from walking on the carpet and closing doors aren’t just noise, they are demons waiting for me on the other side. My ringtone becomes a jump scare, and I go to bed with my late grandmother’s rosary in hand.