I have never enjoyed being frightened. Sure, I have watched a
few scary movies in my day but my extremely vivid imagination has often
punished me for viewing them. So I have ceased watching things that cause my
imagination to go bump in the night.
My reactions to being scared mirror a much beloved Forrest
Gump saying; they are "like a box of chocolates, you never know what you
are gonna get". One Halloween, in particular, is a excellent example of my
disdain for being frightened and the resulting reaction to being scared witless.
It was the day of my elementary schools
PTO Halloween Carnival. I was in the first grade at the time and had waited
giddily all week for this day. All the students were dressed in festive
costumes - I had decided to be a jack o lantern for the season. There was food, fun, and much frolicking until
it was suggested that we visit the haunted house.
Now each booth or area at the school carnival was designed
by a specific grade level. Most of the activities were age appropriate; except for
the fifth grade Haunted House. Yes, those sadistic fifth graders just couldn't
resist terrorizing us lil ones. The dark foreboding sheets hung down from the
outdoor corridor. Eerie sounds and smoke wisped across the school courtyard.
The sounds of terrified children stabbed the cool autumn air. That was no place
for a little jack-o-lantern like me.
One of my friends desperately wanted to enter into this
Fifth grade House of Terror, and of course she didn’t want to go alone. So, she
convinced me and one other girl to come with her - I remember thinking that
this was probably not the wisest choice I had ever made in my young life. But
there we stood, a Jack-o-lantern, a ladybug, and a cowgirl, at the precipice of
elementary school hell. We had decided earlier that if we held hands it would
make things less scary - oh, the innocence of youth, eh? Hand in hand we shuffled
in. Within minutes my two other compatriots melted into crying, gnashing of
teeth, and I was forced to take the lead. The only way out was to go through
the darn thing, and I was forced to drag them out of this nightmare.
At one point we had to crawl through a tunnel. Inside this
tunnel was a hand that would grab you. Now I can go on and on about how this
takes groping to a whole new level, but I would be digressing. As I crawled through the tunnel, I met the
hairy hand, and it grabbed me. I don't think the poor child connected to the
hand expected what happened next.
Needless to say, I went berserk, insane really, to be fair. I began to
kangaroo kick at the wall, punch at the hand, and finally, I bit down - HARD
. This struggle continued for about 2 minutes. As my mania receded I began to
hear a wailing that was not my own. From behind the curtained wall shouts rang
out. "Ah! OW! Hey KID! Somebody help! Stop Biting!
HEEELLLLLPPPPP!" Sensing that I had
wounded my attacker, I jerked the shaking bodies of my friends out of the
tunnel, and began to run towards the only daylight I could see. We reached the blessed light of day and collapsed on the grass. Pale and shaking I glanced
up and beheld a roughed up fifth grader emerge from behind the black curtains. In
his back pocket was a hairy hand. Sniffling he was escorted over to the nurse,
who gave him ice for his severely bruised hand and chest. The nurse asked
"What happened?" To which he replied, "some kid punched and bit
me in the haunted house when I grabbed them." Stifling a chuckle, the
nurse's response was, "well you learned something didn't you?"
Yes, yes he did and so did I. I walked away that day with
the knowledge that I don't do scary. And apparently, for the health and safety
of others I shouldn't do scary.
You see even the sweetest of pumpkins have a
little bite to them…especially if the pulp is scared outta of them.
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