It’s happening. I’m going to go to a haunted house tonight. This is not a thing I do.
I enjoy setting my house up spooky style and assisting people with adrenaline spikes as they just try to get some candy. That poor grandma. She knows what’s coming. Every year some monster will be jumping out of hydrangeas at her. Every year she screams.
It’s not like I want everyone to be scared. There is a “caw-CAW!” signal that I call out to goblin Katie if the treaters are too little to traumatize. But if you’re a middle schooler who is trying to pass off your Pop Warner football jersey as a costume; jump scares will rain down upon thee.
With all the scaring I do, you’d think I’d be down for being scared. Not so much. While there are some scares I like, for the most part I avoid being startled. I still blame my mom for this since I was TWO YEARS OLD when she took me to see THE EXORCIST…in THE THEATER. *shiver
Me, the lady who had a guillotine in her front yard, dyed her pool red, and who makes fake broken glass for creepy snacks is a big scaredy-cat. I have only been to a handful of spooky things.
Shasta County old schoolers may remember the haunted house at the Monolith. It was in the teen days. I don’t remember whose back I burrowed my face in. It’s quite possible it was a stranger. I do remember the smell of fog machines and clove cigarettes though. I’m sure the smells are all I remembered because I didn’t open my eyes throughout the entire event. At all.
As an friend and family event, we did a Hawes night when the kids were young. I kept my eyes open in the corn maze, and made loud declarations of how I wasn’t scared. I sat on a throne of lies. But luckily, I also had other fears to prevent me over focusing on when someone was going to jump out of the quiet at me. Fears like, “Will one of these dads have a reactionary response and punch someone?” or “Will we get in trouble that SOMEone just peed in the corn maze?” Luckily no punching or trouble occurred. Perhaps if the zombies heard the distinct sound of a can of beverage being opened they decided to steer clear of us. Even the undead know how to avoid drama.
Once free from worries there, we waited in a lengthy line for the zombie shoot. Groups rode in trailers with paint ball guns fixed on them. Poor zombie actors, padded as best they could hopped out of darkness for our sheer pleasure in a chance to splatter them with paint. It was ridiculously fun. The boys’ eyes twinkled with glee. My social worker heart had a nano second of feeling bad for whatever teenager was getting hammered by trailer after trailer of patrons. I got over it. But even though it was fun, it was still scary for my timid self. Those zombies just jump right at you! If I were a zombie, I’d scare me too. The payoff has to be pretty decent as I screech like a savage. I’m such a rock of emotional stability.
The only other spooky scene I ever participated in was a haunted classroom at Evergreen Middle School. This one was in my wheel house. Teachers scaring their junior high students. I imagine planning meetings in which there was chat about how things couldn’t be too scary. The science teacher cackled as he held up the fake chainsaw. The route was well lit. There was the classic bowl of guts (spaghetti). It was rated G. The whole experience was right up my alley.
We will see what tonight brings. Hopefully not a heart attack, but definitely some permanent hearing loss for my brother and Liz and a shriek at every scare. And maybe if I’m able to keep my eyes open, some new ideas on how to spook others.
Wish us luck, and thanks for reading!
Bifocals and Barbells 