When I Was A Kid, Spider-Man On Genesis Was The Scariest Shit

Illustration for article titled When I Was A Kid, Spider-Man On Genesis Was The Scariest Shit
Image: MobyGames

Like a lot of people around this time of year, I spend a lot of October thinking about being frightened. This is pretty new for me. I was a nervous, fearful kid who grew up as a teen in a religious home, so I spent my entire youth avoiding horror either by choice or by compulsion. As an adult, I’ve started to delve into horror, to wrestle with its ideas and the fears of my younger self—watching movies and playing games both new and old, reflecting on what scared me then and what scares me now.


One of the first games to scare me wasn’t even a horror game at all. It was Spider-Man vs. The Kingpin, a 1991 Sega Genesis game that had Spider-Man, framed for planting a bomb in New York City, on a mission to hunt down some of his most famous villains in order to get the keys necessary to disarm the bomb.

Unlike a lot of superhero games of the ‘90s, Spider-Man vs. The Kingpin wasn’t a loud beat-em-up or a colorful platformer—it was moody, and dedicated to being as faithful an adaptation as a 16-bit video game could be. Character models were remarkably detailed, and illustrated stills that were shown between levels strove for comic book fidelity. It’s soundtrack was spare and brooding, and its animations had real weight.

I loved the game, because I loved Spider-Man. But I could never get past the second level, down in the sewers, because I was terrified of the Lizard, and always shut the console off when he appeared.

Looking back, the Lizard isn’t that fearsome-looking—the character model for Doctor Octopus is far more imposing—but it worked. I quit every time. I would quit even faster when I tried to play the game on Nightmare difficulty. That added Venom to the first stage, which scared me even more.

It’s funny that I kept trying to play this game when there were only about 15 minutes tops I could spend actually enjoying it. I suppose I wanted to try, if only for a little bit, to be as brave as I thought I had to be in order to be a hero, hoping maybe one day that I would wake up and somehow discover that courage grew in me overnight.

I don’t frighten like I used to, but that chill I felt when I pushed myself to take on something I knew would scare me, the chill that I always succumbed to because I wasn’t as brave as I wanted to be? I’m always afraid it’ll come back.



I can sympathize. I was (and to some degree, still am) a horror wuss as a kid. I’m a lot better about it now, largely because I have a better understanding of how horror elements work (I love horror fiction, but not so much films; I jump-scare easily).

Unlike you, I didn’t grow up in a particularly religious home. My folks took me to church when I was a kid, but they were never terribly devout—I actually became the proselytizing asshole when I was in high school (and then broke with the faith entirely; it seems I do nothing by half measures). I think most of my aversion to horror comes from an overactive imagination; works out great for writing fiction, not so much for watching horror flicks or going to haunted houses.

If you want to feel a little better about being scared, though, get this: I am mortally frightened of water I cannot see to the bottom of. I’ve been swimming in the ocean and four of the Great Lakes, but I never stay in for long. Logically, I know there’s not much down there (apart from sharks in the ocean—or really big fucking sturgeon in the Lakes) that poses any threat to me, but my mind continuously conjures images of sea monsters and the like, so I tend to avoid taking dips (boats are fine, but I don’t like being in the water much).

This fear is so pronounced that I had issues with the water level in Mario 64 that contains the eel. Got through it, but that thing freaked me right the fuck out—I had to psych myself up to swim down and provoke it to strike.

...I was also fourteen when Mario 64 launched, so my excuses are rather thin.