Maggie Smith has been watching a lot of horror movies lately—and no, that’s not a metaphor. It’s a new tradition for the Ohioan poet and her 14-year-old daughter, Violet: They’re working through a loose syllabus of all the classics, like Nightmare on Elm Street and The Exorcist, from home. There’s usually popcorn and a shared blanket, plus the family’s Boston terrier snoring nearby; frankly, the vibes sound immaculate. “We can hide our eyes if we need to or pause if we’re freaking out,” Smith tells me. “Or I’ll say, ‘No, no, it’s too gory. Look away!’ And then I’ll tell her when to look back.” In the Smith house, at least, no one has to face their fears alone.
