Saturday, October 25, 2014

Day 298

I have always been the screamer.

Now get your mind out of the gutter. What I mean is I have always been the one who screams every time someone or something jumps out at them- even if you are right in front of me. The guys at the firehouse used to get a kick out of hiding underneath the engine when I came in to work, then grabbing my ankles and hollering as I walked by. I screamed like a maniac every damn time.

With the weather being unusually warm this evening, and only one week until Halloween, my husband and I made a last-minute decision to induct our son into the world of haunted houses. He has been bugging us about going for weeks, insisting he is now old enough to "tough it out". My husband found one that opened "at dusk", which we figured gave us plenty of time afterward to watch the evening football games with friends.

The Riverside Jaycees have been putting on a Haunted House every year since 1987. It was the first Haunted House I went to as a young teen, holding on for dear life to my stepdad and yes...screaming. The Jaycees are a 100% volunteer program that provides community service year round to those in need. From food drives to building wheelchair ramps, this group of young adults (you must be 18-40 years old to be a member) uses the money they make at the Haunted House to help fund their other projects.

As we pulled up, the sun was setting, and the strobe lights were already in high gear. Following the signs, we made our way to the familiar chained off line markers reminiscent of amusement parks. Surprisingly, we were the first ones in line, raising my hopes even more for an early in and early out.

A large sign was displayed at the entrance, and the 11-year old started to read through the rules. He stopped on Rule Number 4: The actors will touch you. You will not touch the actors.

He read it again, just to make sure he hadn't made a mistake.

No mistake. They were going to touch him. This was something he hadn't bargained for...when the gentleman who stood at the door finally came over, he asked him, "Do you have any clowns in there?"

He smiled. "No...of course not...first time here?" The 11-year old nodded, reiterating that he hates clowns. "I totally understand," said the man. "What's your name, son?"

Now, the 11-year old just thought the guy was just being nice. But my husband and I both knew the truth- that guy was radioing ahead to all the damn clowns in the place and telling them the first kid through was scared of clowns and to call him by his name...

Well, dusk turned into full-blooded night. They FINALLY let us in, only to make us stand in a pitch black room by ourselves with scary music playing. We put the 11-year old between us, and plunged into the blackness, hoping against hope that there really weren't any clowns.

We were greeted by Freddy, as well as a whole host of demons and bloody young girls holding baby dolls. People grabbed our ankles as we walked, and reached out to us from cages. They whispered my son's name at times, while they screamed it at others. He actually did relatively well until the zombie section. I knew letting him watch The Walking Dead would come back to haunt me. The zombies took great advantage of the rule where they can touch you, and I think the poor kid almost literally crawled up his dad's back.

And of course, there were clowns. Clowns that knew his name and that he didn't like clowns. Poor kid. He will never go to the circus again, that's for darn sure...

After exiting the house, we were lead into the woods, where more demons chased us down paths and obstacles prevented us from finding our way out. They had a great maze at the end, with smoke and strobe lights and never-ending dead-ends. The 11-year old was actually the one who found the door to get out, allowing us to emerge once again into the field-turned-parking lot where we began our journey.

Tonight's picture celebrates getting the crap scared out of you at haunted houses, trails, and hayrides. It brought back memories of my own teenage years, clutching on to my boyfriend or girlfriends and screaming my guts out. But if you do go to one, just don't be stupid enough to tell them your name...

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