Why do I DO THIS?

Why in the name of all that's holy do I follow these links???

So, we carved our pumpkin tonight. It was kind of cool -- we went to our friends' house and carved the pumpkins with those kits that come with the little tools and the stencils? Very neat. And we watched Mulan and Hercules and The Replacements -- which is an awesome movie, if you've never seen it. And we come home, and the first thing I see is cleolinda's LJ entry on snopes.com.

A site I believe I will never visit again, because I now have the heebie-jeebs. *shiver*

...

Aw, hell -- who am I kidding? I'm going to spend all night scouring the damned site, and then I'll be up all night.

They're coming to get you, Barbara...

Creeping myself out last night got me thinking today.

( A very long diatribe on that which scares us... )

Now that I got that out of my system -- I have a pretty humorous Halloween-themed story to share.

Every year, the theme parks down here (and I assume elsewhere) gear up to scare the hell out of patrons willing to shell out $50 for the experience. (Well, Disney doesn't, but that shouldn't surprise anyone.) Universal Studios and Busch Gardens are the two big guns -- Universal's "Halloween Horror Nights" has been running successfully for 14 years, and Busch Gardens' "Howl-O-Scream" is newer, but no less successful. In fact, Howl-O-Scream is considered more hardcore for the not-easily-spooked, as their ghoulies are allowed to touch patrons, while Universal Studios has more legal red tape binding them. (I think there might have been a lawsuit in the past -- not sure.)

Anyway, last year we went to Halloween Horror Nights at Universal Studios. I was of two minds about it -- I was looking forward to it, because I'd never gone before, and I like a good (not dangerous) scare. But I was also apprehensive, for reasons that are probably obvious. I was assured that it's "not scary at all" -- of course the people who assured me are virtually unscareable.

The night went... well, it wasn't entirely uneventful. There were a few good scares in the various haunted houses, but nothing that caused any major emotional scarring.

Until, of course, we went to the final haunted house.

See, every year at Universal, there's a different theme for the Halloween Horror Nights. Last year, the theme was "You Ought to be in Pictures" and there was a satisfactorily creepy advertising campaign featuring "The Director," and the general feel of the commercials was that he was making stylized snuff films (with a creepy Victorian flavor, complete with eerie jack-in-the-box music). So when we got to the featured haunted house, the "All Night Drive-In" (with the "R" and "V" in "drive" burnt out so that it in fact read "All Night D i e In," I for one was super apprehensive.

Granted, after 2.5 hours in line, apprehension turned to annoyance, and I was ready to get the hell out of the park and go back to the hotel.

So, anyway -- we get inside, and are corralled in a single-file line. The two largest, burliest guys in our party flanked the women-folk, and we walked into this large room with a huge screen playing scenes from the creepy Victorianesque snuff films, and a scratchy soundtrack of the song "You Ought to be in Pictures" playing over the sound system. There were slashes in the movie screen, through which "The Director" was ushering people.

When we passed through, it was pitch-dark, and while I could see nothing, what I heard created the oddest response I had ever experienced.

The theme music to the movie "Halloween." (Creepiest theme music EVAR, btw.)

My reaction? A strange blending of "OMGSOCOOL!" and "WTF AM I DOING HERE??"

When I could finally see, I found that the layout was basically the set for the first Halloween movie -- the house. Living room, kitchen -- that sort of thing. And as we shuffled through (single file -- always single file), "Michael Meyers" popped out at various points, scaring the holy (and unholy) hell out of patrons.

Considering my boundless fear of the "masked psychopath" horror film sub-genre, there were better places I could have found myself.

At any rate, the general rule in such places is "if you look at them, they won't try and scare you." It was a good rule of thumb, and had worked for me all night. And it worked in there. I couldn't SEE, of course, but I LOOKED everywhere that a man-sized person could pop out of.

The line stalled just as our portion of the line reached the end of the "Halloween" section. At my left was a console TV, circa 1970's. It flickered on, and showed nothing but snow. Now by this point, I had put together that "You Ought to be in Pictures" basically meant "we're gonna stick your sorry ass in horror movies and laugh while we scare you silly" and when I see an old console TV playing snow, I think first of Poltergeist, one of my favorite scary movies, ever. So I'm phenomenally excited. What scene are they going to use? The pool scene? What are they going to do? In my excitement, I turned around to point out the TV to George (who was behind me, holding my hand).

Unfortunately, in mid-turn, I found myself face to face with Michael Meyers, brandishing a knife. Admittedly, it was a FAKE knife, but it's funny how your brain doesn't process little details like that right away.

The main thing I still remember about him was how TALL he was. I am not a short person by any stretch of the imagination. I'm 5'10" -- he had to be at least 6'4" -- maybe taller. I had to look UP to see him. But there he was -- creepy white mask, blue coveralls, obligatory machete... and standing RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME.

I then lost every ounce of cool I had ever collected in the whole of my life.

I screamed. Seriously. I screamed bloody murder and cowered. George swears to this day that if he hadn't been holding my hand, I would have run out of there, leaving nothing but a me-shaped hole in the wall of the soundstage. He also says it was the most entertaining part of the evening, and was ALONE worth the price of admission.

I don't remember much about the rest of the night -- it was kind of a blur. I remember Freddy Krueger, I remember Jason Vorhees, and I vaguely remember Leatherface, but mostly I remember George pulling back on my arm, demanding I not tow him through the place we had spent two and a half hours waiting to get INTO.

Looking back, I kind of wished I had paid more attention to the frights in that house, but Mister Halloween rather put the kibosh on my ability to focus.

Good times, good times.