A Haunting Dilemma

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Halloween isn’t my favorite holiday, partly because it doesn’t involve a day off. There are really only two things I like about it: candy and small children wearing costumes, neither of which you really need Halloween for.

But whether I like it or not, here we are. ’Tis the season when normally sane people put on creepy costumes, buy wheelbarrows full of candy for the neighborhood children and go off to haunted houses. Not me. I dress as an eccentric middle-aged woman on Halloween, same as I do every other holiday.

I do load up on Halloween candy but it’s not for the kids. We don’t get that many trick-or-treaters where I live. Maybe my costume scares them away.

And I’ll never go to another haunted house, even if they leave the lights on for me. Halloween is already plenty scary for me. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Halloween comes just before the scariest day of the year: Election Day.

I don’t need skeletons popping out of the dark to startle me. I jump when someone honks at me at a stoplight, especially if I’ve dozed off. Some people might say I’m jumpy but I prefer to say I have well-developed reflexes. In my opinion, those who doesn’t startle easily have sluggish reflexes and probably shouldn’t be allowed to operate motorized vehicles.

I don’t need blood-curdling screams or zombies coming at me to scare me either. I’m terrified when a spider crawls out of my cupboard. Or when my grocery store moves everything around. Or when a computer person tells me it’s time to update my software.

I bet you’re thinking I’m scared of everything. Am not! I’m not afraid of flying. I read that more than twenty million Americans are, but I’m not and here’s why: A lot of people go on trips and most of them come back.

Some people are afraid of cemeteries. Not me. I lived next to one for years and I never had a problem with my neighbors.

I’ve heard people fear public speaking more than death. But if you give me the choice to speak or die, you won’t be able to shut me up.

People are scared of all sorts of things: germs, birds, clowns, doctors. None of those bother me in the least—unless you put them in a haunted house.

Knowing how I feel about them, you may be surprised to learn that I’ve not only been to haunted houses, but it was also once my job to persuade other unsuspecting souls to attend them. For many years I was the public relations person for a non-profit that hosted an annual free haunted house for the public. A vegetarian probably wouldn’t make the best spokesperson for cattle producers. A Prius owner might have a hard time selling Humvees. And chickens probably shouldn’t promote haunted houses. I don’t mean actual chickens. They can promote whatever they want. I mean fraidy-cat chickens like me.

But that’s exactly what I did. Then all the while I was telling people how wonderful our haunted house was, I was thinking, “There’s no such thing as a wonderful haunted house.” In the public relations business, this is called “lying.”

But I was being completely honest when I told them that I’d once gone to the haunted house and it scared me so badly that I’d never been back.

I’d actually gone twice, but one of those times they’d left the lights on, so I’m not sure that counts. It was the morning after the haunted house and I had to walk across the street to the building where it was, by then, being dismantled. Along the way I met up with a friend who hadn’t heard about the haunted house. I realize that doesn’t speak well for my skills as a promoter.

I asked her to walk along so we could talk, but I was unaware that she was unaware, so I failed to warn her about what we might see when we entered the building. And what we saw was lots and lots of blood. She didn’t stick around long enough to find out it was fake.

I’m proud to say that unlike my now former friend, I was unfazed by the haunted house in broad daylight. It wasn’t my blood we were looking at.

The other time I attended the haunted house it was actually the morning before it opened, and the lights were off. A handful of employees were invited to test it. I worked for a company made up of compassionate people who served others. It was daytime and it was the organizer’s first attempt at a haunted house. How bad could it be? I’ll tell you. It was torture. I hated it. I thought it would never end, which is, I suppose, a resounding endorsement of a haunted house.

Dorothy Rosby is the author of ’Tis the Season to Feel Inadequate; Holidays, Special Occasions and Other Times Our Celebrations Get Out of Hand and other books. Contact her at www.dorothyrosby.com/contact.