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Not to belabor my point, but the Scooby-Doo analogy is only meant to convey that I'm still entertained by how unreal horror films can be. I still like to be scared, and try to be scared, in the safe comfort of my own home.
Stephen King, in Danse Macabre, seems to think horror is a coping mechanism. The horrors of the real world are genuinely scary, so we watch horror and breathe a sigh of relief, "Well, at least I don't have a burnt-up wienie chasing me in my dreams!"
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Oh, parlez-nous à boire, non pas du marriage
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