Some people are afraid of heights. Some are afraid of spiders, snakes and creepy crawly things in general. Some are afraid of dying. Some are afraid of clowns.

Everyone has a phobia of some sort, but my biggest fear might surprise you.

I am not afraid of peanut butter sticking to the roof of my mouth (arachibutyrophobia). I am not afraid of long words (hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia). I am not afraid of beards (pogonophobia).

My fear is so specific there isn’t even a word for it. I’ll set the scene for you.

The year was 1995; most of America had been charmed by this particular character more than a decade before. I guess that’s why my mother decided to show her 4-year-old daughter this movie, though I think I would still be afraid no matter what age I saw it at.

This year marks the 30th anniversary of the 1982 story of a perfectly normal boy who becomes friends with an extraterrestrial.

My name is Maureen Quinlan and I am deathly and pathologically afraid of E.T.

If I even catch a glimpse of the wrinkly skinned alien, I react much like the 6-year-old Drew Barrymore reacted in the movie: with a blood-curdling scream.

I’m cringing just describing him. Everything about him scares me. Everything about the movie scarred me for life.

The bike flying into the sky, the hazmat suit guys, the mother, the red hoodie. I can’t even recall much else because I try to block it out of my memory.

I would never want to be friends with something that looked like that and wanted to eat my Reese’s Pieces. Get your own.

To make things worse, when I was 6, my family took me on an Orlando adventure.

I loved Mickey and Minnie Mouse. I met Cinderella. I rode the tea cups and filled my autograph book with signatures from the greats like Chip and Dale and Pluto.

But it was the trip to Universal Parks and Resort Orlando that validated my fear. There was a photo studio where visitors could take a picture in a classic scene from a movie. My mother, not realizing I was afraid of the gentle E.T., made me sit on the bike from the scene at the end of the movie with E.T. hidden in the basket.

I barely remember the trip because I am trying to forget the memory of being so close to my least favorite creature.

My next encounter was many years later. It was Halloween. I was in high school. I was dressed like Wilma Flintstone. I enjoyed seeing everyone dressed as bees, nerds and princesses.

Then one boy was dressed in an all white paint suit. As we went around the room telling others what we were dressed as, the boy pulled out a stuffed animal of E.T. small enough to fit in a side pocket on the paint suit.

He was dressed as one of the government scientists in the hazmat suits. I squirmed in my seat and waited for him to put the toy back in his pocket.

The stuffed animal was harmless, but it sure as hell scared me.  As irrational or silly as my fear is, I don’t see myself conquering it anytime soon. I’m not about to sit down and watch the movie to see if I’m still afraid. I’m not about to try and see what is so cute and innocent and harmless about E.T.

If Universal Pictures decides to release the classic tale of a friendly alien invading earth in 3D, you can guarantee I will not be anywhere within a 10-mile radius of a movie theater until it goes out of theaters again.

I know it was nominated for Best Picture. I know it has one of the best movie scores of all time. I know it is one of Steven Spielberg’s most legendary films. I know it started Drew Barrymore’s career. I know it made Reese’s Pieces a bigger seller than M&Ms that year. But you can bet I will never want E.T. to phone my home.

– Maureen Quinlan can be reached at [email protected]