I don’t really do scary. I’ve seen three horror movies in my life, and they still give me the willies if I’m home alone at night. There could be people under the stairs, or a tape in the VCR with a creepy little girl inside, or strange rock formations in the woods that might make people stand in corners. I’m just sayin’, if you’re gonna hit Blockbuster on the way over, you can save your $3.99.
The only time I’ve been to a bona fide haunted house was in Canadian Niagara Falls, and my sister and I lasted 30 seconds. I had myself psyched that we were going to triumph over the oogie boogies (because you got a BUTTON that said you SURVIVED the 7 levels of TERROR!), but once we got to our first scary actor, we lost it and leapt out the first door we found, finding ourselves 30 feet off the ground on a very rickety fire escape.
I’m still not really sure which fate I would have chosen.
Thankfully our zombie, an underpaid college kid who had the decency to take off his mask, escorted us out so we wouldn’t have to climb down two stories and jump into a dumpster.
When Halloween rolled around two years ago, I wasn’t entirely sure that a haunted forest was something I could handle. “Oh, I’ll be there,” Alan promised, “I’ll protect you.”
He never specified from what, but I don’t think he realized he’d need to protect me from myself.
As our guide ushered us into the Scary Shack, I had a bad premonition because I SWEAR I saw some Jason wannabes lurking on the other side. It was when the chainsaws began buzzing that we realized it was time to RUN FOR OUR LIVES!
Alan and I kept pushing each other to go faster as a horde of Jasons gunned their chainsaws at us, but we kept stumbling on wood chips and nearly falling on each other. Then I encountered a muddy patch and realized my foot was STUCK! The Jasons were getting closer, and in addition to revving their chainsaws, they had taken to thwacking innocent trees. In my desperation to escape I yanked my foot free, but it was a few seconds before I realized that my shoe hadn’t come with it! I kept running, cursing each wood chip that made its way into my sock, until finally the Jasons heard their cue to go terrorize the next group of unsuspecting customers and left us alone.
We were finally safe! But as you may have noticed, our party was one shoe fewer.
This was when I kind of had to break our collective suspension of disbelief.
Backtracking to the Scary Shack, I tugged on one of the Jason’s sleeves. “Um, have you seen a shoe anywhere?”
The Jasons, who had just moments ago given us the chase of our lives, turned out to be very kindly fellows with Midwestern accents. “I think it’s over here,” one offered.
It just goes to show that even crazy psycho lunatics with power tools can be very polite and helpful. But regardless, should you encounter a chainsaw-wielding, hockey-masked dude in a dark alley, I recommend fleeing first and asking about your footwear later.
