10-18-00 Eastern Echo

Haunted house revisited: bring along a spare pair of panties

Ah, the sweet perfume of autumn. The brisk air, scented with newly fallen leaves, ripe apples, and the tang of fresh urine running down our legs as we make our way out of the scariest haunted houses since the Amityville horror. Oh yeah, that's what makes this time of year so special; the profusion of haunted houses that open in the weeks before Halloween, designed to scare us silly and make us pee in our pants with fear. I don't like haunted houses anymore. You see, I really DID pee in my pants in one exceptionally scary JC-sponsored haunted house when I was 10 years old. My dad had bought me and a handful of friends extra-large Slurpees before taking us to the "Hell on Earth" haunted house that was built in an abandoned warehouse somewhere in Westland. This is how it happened: we were scrambling along a dark hallway, four of us bunched together (safety in numbers) holding hands and screeching at the top of our adolescent lungs, when one black-garbed giant appeared directly in our path, demanding payment for passage. One of us must be sacrificed for the safety of the others. They sacrificed me. Pushing me forward, they begged for mercy. The giant scooped me up and staggered (I was fighting him with all my strength) through a hidden passage into a large room littered with the arms and legs of his previous victims. (Okay, now I know they weren't REAL arms and legs, but at the age of 10 it is difficult to separate fiction from reality.) My terror was real. So was the pee running down my legs. I cried so earnestly that the giant took off his mask and tried to comfort me. He was just a sad-faced, middle-aged man who was going bald. His watery blue eyes held none of the ferocity that the costume had hinted at. He took me through the secret passages to the exit of the haunted house, where I shamefacedly stood with my father, waiting for my "friends" to emerge. Thankfully the night was dark and no one saw the telltale outline of disgrace on my jeans. You're probably expecting me to say I never went into another haunted house again. Wrong. Peer pressure forces us to do the most absurd things. Of course I never drank a Slurpee again. My kids are now getting to the age where they think being scared silly is great fun. They love it when I shut off all the lights in the basement and chase them around, screaming, "I'm going to suck your blood, blah blah blah." (Okay, that's a bad imitation of a vampire but they're still pretty impressed with my acting.) I do this because my mother played the same game with me and my sister. (Remind me to tell you about the 12 stitches she needed after I threw a lamp at her in my terrified frenzy.) Children love to be scared, as long as they realize their mother has not really turned into a vampire who hasn't eaten in a month. Recently we vacationed in Niagara Falls for a few days and they were intent on braving the "Frankenstein's Castle" permanent exhibit. Against my better judgment, we decided to give it a go. "It'll be fun, Mom. Really!" Fun it was not. Three children wailing inconsolably after only one minute in the dark is not my idea of fun. But there was no turning back. (We had paid nearly $30 for the honor of traipsing through Frankenstein's abode; dammit, we were going to get our money's worth.) The youngest quickly clawed his way into his father's arms, and so I was left with the other two clinging, screaming children attached securely to either leg. Fearing I'd be left behind, I put a death grip on the waistband of my husband's pants and buried my face in his back. "Are we having fun yet?!" I shouted to no one in particular. But someone in particular answered me; a werewolf's growl so near my ear that I felt his hot breath, "Yes Mommy, you're having fun." I screamed so loud I hurt my husband's ears and practically dislodged the children from their safe haven between my legs as I jerked away from the voice. It took us 10 minutes to make our way through the horror of zombies and werewolves, knife-wielding witches and crazed hunchbacks. I saw none of it, because I kept my head pressed securely against my husband's spine. The children have had their fill of haunted houses for now. It'll be several years before they muster enough courage to enter another dark and scary room without grabbing for my leg. We don't play the vampire game much anymore. The dark, the screaming, the running for our lives&ldots;I'm afraid I'll pee my pants. Linda Haffey now wears Depends™ whenever she is forced to go to the haunted houses with her friends. You can contact her at [email protected] to tell her about your own embarrassing moments.