Embracing the Creep-Out

Happy Halloween, ghouls and goblins!

Today is the day to embrace your fears, so I've decided to share a few of mine. To keep this list manageable I'm not including spiders and clowns. For one, I've already talked about them and their creepiness factors, but also, show me someone who is not at least mildly rattled by those two things and I will show a robot from the future sent back to destroy us all.

The rest of these are less cut and dry. Let me know if you're joining me in my creep-out or if these things don't really inspire the shudders in you.


Mirrors

Ever since I was a little kid, I've found mirrors a bit unsettling. There's the standard horror movie fear - you know, glance away from the mirror and then back to find that someone is standing behind you - but I think, even bigger than that is the fear that I will still be alone in the mirror, only my reflection will now be acting of it's own free will. That I'll be looking into a mirror absentmindedly as I wash my hands and all of a sudden my reflection will start grinning back at me. At which point I would, naturally, have to burn the house down.


Windows With No Blinds or Curtains

Even if one opts out of using said blinds or curtains, I think every window should have at least one of them - and not just for the people inside. About seven years ago, I was driving through Wisconsin in the middle of the night on my way to the World Circus Museum to do research for my final undergrad research paper. For endless stretches of road, there were no street lights, but every once in awhile there would be a glow off to the side of highway. I'd glance over and it would be a straight shot into someone's living or dining or bedroom, sometimes all of the above. Big time willies. A little bit too Rear Window for my tastes.


Mascots

To say that mascots creep me out may be underselling it a bit. I don't care who the team is or what their mascot happens to be. There is nothing less likely to inspire team spirit in me than someone in a costume that fully obscures who they are coming over to dance in my personal space. When I find myself in these situation, my first instinct always seems to be to knock their comically large heads right off. This may be the reason I'm not invited to many sporting events.


Hearts Carved Into Trees

You know what I'm talking about - that age old tradition of carving ones initials next to those of one's sweetheart to demonstrate one's endless love to the world. It really gives me the willies. Forget about the environmental impact of hacking your affections into bark, this ritual begs the question: Why in the world do so many people bring knives on dates??


Other People's Dreams

This isn't an across-the-board fear. I'm sure some people's dreams are just lovely. However, I spent too many years trying to figure out why the li'l sis was mad at me in the morning only to later be told that I'd been mean to her in a dream not to be wary of people's slumbering reveries. Not to mention, well.....other reasons.


So, those are mine. What about you? Have anything you'd like to share about the things that give you the willies?

Here's some background music while you think:

RAINN Auction: Sub Two Months!

RSVPs are officially rolling in! I think I could keep doing this event for a million years and still be dance-break-worthy excited every time one of those shows up in my mailbox - or, a million years from now, in my brain synchronizer, or whatever we're using then.

You may have seen some of these announcements on Twitter, but I wanted to catch everyone up on the amazing donations being given to December's RAINN auction. I mentioned last month that the donor list is a veritable bucket of awesome and October's additions have only made that more true.

Hello and thank you to the October contingent!

• Carole King
• Kristan Higgins
• Tessa Dare
• Sean Ferrel
• Diana Gabaldon
• Spirit Cruises
• Hotel Indigo
• StoryPeople
• fatfish
• Ghosts of New York
• United Skates of America
• Image3D
• Magic Paws
• Homebrews & Handgrenades
• The Kennedy Center
• Racine Salon & Spa

This list doesn't even include all the superbly generous folks who are both attending the auction and donating baskets - all of whom, save those who choose to donate anonymously, will be included on the final Donors of Phenomemazingtastic celebratory list in December.

Please excuse me whilst I do my traditional auction-is-shaping-up-to-be-amazing dance. (Spoiler alert: It involves a move I learned watching Center Stage 2: Turn It Up, which, come to think of it, totally deserves it's own BM,GPT.) Also, in honor of one of our donors, today's dance will be to a song that I've found very inspiring in my hardest moments:

Look for another update next month, with some little update-ettes on Twitter from now until then. Want more information on RAINN and the great work they do? Their website is right this way....

If you're interested in donating an item or basket for auction, there's still plenty of time - just shoot me an email. You can also support the cause by making a donation to my RAINNmakers page or just by spreading the word about this event. Every signal boost makes a huge difference, so thank you!!

Have a weekend of greatness!

Dark Corners & Creepy Dolls

We have officially entered the month of All Hallow's Eve. So, naturally, I'm thinking about scary things. Okay, not really scary things. Not like that doll from Annabelle. Seriously, come on folks. Maybe, if you absolutely must buy dolls, give yourself a fighting chance and at least stop buying the ones that already look demonic. Even if it turns out that they don't want to kill you (unlikely), there's no way that any child looking at one of those things from their crib everyday isn't going to grow up a bit traumatized. I'm feeling a little traumatized just thinking about it. 

No, no, no. I said I'm not thinking about scary dolls. NOT. Just like I'm not thinking spider. Evil, creepy, crawly harbingers of doom who want to crawl all over me whilst I slumber, nesting in my hair and - No! Stop it, brain! We are thinking about non-scary scary things. NON-SCARY SCARY. I have to sleep again someday, you jerk. 

You know, like the little sis. 

When we were kids, my sister loved little more than lying in wait and then jumping out and scaring the crap out of me. She appeared from behind doors, down dark hallways, once from a kitchen cabinet that I had foolishly believed to be filled only with pots and pans. 

There were always two things I could be sure of:

1. If there was a chance for my sister to make scream, she would take it. 

2. Before that scream had even finished, she would be insisting that I promise that I was never going to try to get her back. 

And I always did make that promise, partly because I just wanted her to stop saying it so I could focus on pushing my heart down out of my throat and partly because I knew in my heart of hearts that I had already scared her enough for a lifetime - HOWEVER INADVERTENTLY - and that I had to be a kind older sister. So, that's what I was. 

Mostly. 

You see, my parents got us My Twin dolls for Christmas one year. We loved them, but over the years my sister grew to be a bit creeped out by this toy with her face. She used to put it away in the closet on a regular basis. I can neither confirm nor deny if I was the reason this had to be done more than once. Nor will I admit to placing it on her bed, with the head tilted toward the door so the little sister doll would be staring at my little sister human when she came in. No, sir. I won't admit to anything of the sort. 

Look at that - I ended up thinking of scary dolls after all. And yet I'm smiling. 

Possibly in a maniacal fashion. But who can really say?

Holiday Ho, Ho, Horror

It’s no secret that I’m a big fan of made-for-TV Christmas movies (See: this insanity). That being said, even with my blinding love of this genre, I can’t help but notice that if it wasn’t for everyone realizing the true meaning of Christmas by the end of them, some of these movies would be straight up horror flicks.

So, today, I offer you a smattering of synopses and you get to guess whether they belong to one of my beloved holiday movies or to one of my hated horror films. Answers are at the bottom. NO PEEKING.

1. Woman kidnaps man at gunpoint and proceeds to drag him blindfolded to her family’s cabin where they will be completely cut off from any technology. 

2. Man gets in car accident and wakes up in cabin, cut off from the world, with a woman who has no intention of letting him leave.

3. On the way to their holiday destination a man and his family take a short cut and pick up a young woman and her baby, a decision which changes their lives forever.

4. Man tracks woman down through letter that she sent to soldiers for the holidays. He does not tell her of his intentions, but instead slowly ingratiates himself with her family while undermining her romantic relationship.

5. With her husband away for military duty, a mother learns more about her daughter and herself than she ever expected.

6. Older man keeps tabs on younger woman, luring her into an employment opportunity before revealing the startling information he has on her.

7. Single mother and her aging uncle invite a strange man into their home and soon find that he is insinuating himself into every aspect of their lives.

8. A young couple searching for the woman’s sister find themselves at a strange motel with an even stranger proprietor.

So, how are we feeling? Jolly or jumpy?

ANSWERS:

1. Christmas: Holiday in Handcuffs
2. Horror: Misery
3. Horror: Dead End
4. Christmas: The Christmas Card
5. Horror: The Bad Seed
6. Christmas: Crazy for Christmas
7. Christmas: The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
8. Horror: Psycho

Spider Vs. Slasher

So, I mentioned yesterday that there was a spider who horned in on my alone time.

Now, I don't want to say that I'm scared of spiders. Not that it's not true. I just feel like an idiot saying it. So, let's just go with, they make me uncomfortable. In a slightly maniacal fashion.

This guy was big. Like maybe half dollar sized. Weirdly enough, this made him a bit more tolerable because the big ones tend to be, in my experience, more lethargic, not possessing the creepy ass speed of their smaller brethren. So, I thought, maybe we could coexist peacefully. I proposed a deal to the arachnid: He didn't move and I would pretend like the fact that I was a million times bigger meant I wouldn't scream like a tiny baby child if he touched me.

To keep him from thinking I was too soft, I employed a Dread Pirate Roberts attitude as I scurried past the beast on my way to the bedroom.

"Good night, spider. I'll most likely kill you in the morning."

But the spider kept to his web and slowly I relaxed. And by relaxed, I mean that I only looked over to make sure that the spider was staying put every ten minutes rather than seconds. See? Easy breezy.

In those moments of calm, it occurred to me that my definitively embarrassing behavior as a result of the aforementioned arachnid was not far removed from that of characters in horror movies. I would run up the stairs quickly (I know, I know, NEVER go up!) and in the back of my mind I kept picturing the spider grabbing my ankles through the open staircase. I would hear the house settle and jump, thinking maybe it was from the weight of spider movement.

I imagined myself as that babysitter who calls the police about getting a bunch of weird calls and is told "The calls are coming from inside the house." The serial killer is coming up the stairs toward me.

And here's how the scene played out in my head - me, still on the phone with the dispatcher, having the following conversation:

Okay. Okay. I can hear him coming up the stairs. Please send the police quickly. I'm going to hide under the bed. Oh....Oh hell no. 

**bloodcurdling scream** 

What? No. No he's not up here. You think that was for him? Are you kidding me? There's a spider under my bed. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. You know what, sir? I'm going to take my chances with the slasher. Don't tell me to calm down! A SPIDER is under MY BED. A SPIDER. What are you not understanding here?? 

**Slasher busts through door** 

Fantastic. Just what I need right now. Yeah. It's him. He's in the room. You know what, man? It's all yours. Oh, and the sickle. Really subtle. And you look like an idiot in that clown mask. You wanna scare people? Dress like a spider. Yeah. Yes, sir, I'm still on the phone. Don't you swing that sickle at me. No, sir. Why in the world would I be saying that to you? Yeah, I get it. Police on their way. Great. Will you stop worrying about this clown? If you swing that sickle at me one more time, I am going to shove it so far up where the sun don't shine I can't even tell you. Do I look like I'm kidding? You wanna kill something? Great. How about starting with the monster scurrying under the bed? You know, make yourself useful for once. Sir, stop yelling about the police! You really want to help?? Just send over a good exterminator!

I am sorry to say that, in the end, the cottage spider could not keep to his side of the deal. Not only did he make his move, but he made it in the direction of my bedroom. And that is behavior for which a lady can just not stand.

If you'll excuse me, I'll be hiding under the bed...

I’ve seen a whole slew of previews for two new TV shows lately, Bates Motel and Hannibal. I really, really hate seeing these advertisements.

Why?

Because they make me want to watch the shows.

I have never been able to successfully sit through a full viewing of the movies these shows are prequeling. I was a freshman in high school when I saw the climactic scene of Psycho on one of those TMC top hundred lists. It was maybe a five minute clip. Just enough to scare me out of my mind. And result in a deep seated fear of men in shawls.

Hannibal the Cannibal? Hello nightmares. I know only the unfortunately bare bones of his story. Which is the way I like it.

When it comes to this stuff, I believe the clinical term used to describe a person such as myself is scaredy-cat. A title I’m very comfortable with.

So sweet baby monkeys WHY do I want to watch these TV shows??

I know how these two men turn out. Spoiler alert – no so great. You know, because of all the lack of social graces and killing and what not.

But then the previews come on. Hannibal has me ready to throw things at the TV in about half a second. And maybe shout, How do you not already see he’s a lunatic? Bates Motel is even more nefarious getting my brain to scream, How??? How did he get from point A to point B? Always crazy? Just a little off but pushed to the other side of the line? I must know!

Damn it.

I have, however, come up with a solution. I shall be running, whilst yelling at the top of my lungs, from the room whenever these come on the screen. I will not let them draw me in!

Otherwise, I’ll go broke from the purchase of additional blankets under which to burrow, the never-ending phone calls home to the parents, and the constant leaving on of all the lights (not to mention engendering the hatred of environmental groups). Just a little too expensive for my tastes.

And the paralyzing fear? That ain’t so hot neither.

Perusing the Wanteds

This weekend I watched Safety Not Guaranteed (definitely worth a watch, by the way). The story is kicked off when a journalist and a couple of interns go to investigate a man who placed an unusual ad in the paper.

WANTED: Someone to go back in time with me. This is not a joke. You’ll get paid after we get back. Must bring your own weapons. I have only done this once before. Safety not guaranteed.

I thought a lot about whether or not I’d answer this ad. I mean, I’d certainly want to. A chance at time travel is pretty hard to pass up. I’m totally fine with not getting my money up front, but I would need a little more information about the target date and the purpose of the travel. If we’re going back for research purposes or to fix something, awesome. But if the placer of this ad is interested in screwing things up….well, then it’s even more important for me to go so that there’s someone there to try and stop him.

The ad that was displayed on Emma Trevayne's tumblr the other day, I would answer with less reservation. I don’t really have to many questions for the person who placed it. It’s fairly straightforward, provides good instruction, is clear that this is not an attack on all dragons, just the one. So, I wouldn’t have any problem following those bullets, but I would add another in between two and three. Prior to the discussed slaying, I would try to have a conversation with the dragon, see if I can get a better idea regarding what she’s looking for in OKC. I’m not sure I’m ready to take out such a creature if her only crime is that she caught the episode of Man V. Food where Adam Richman ends up in Oklahoma City, and subsequently had a yen for catfish.

After giving it the necessary thought, here are the other ads that I would be willing to answer:

• Gremlin wrangler. I have experience with mischief makers. Also, this job would probably help me in my efforts to avoid late night snacking.
• One-Eyed Willie’s treasure hunter. We all know that the bulk of Willie’s treasure was cast out to sea on an unmanned ship. I love being out on the water and I also believe myself to be fairly intuitive when it comes to spotting booby traps. I may not be able to get you to the ship, but once we’re there, I will ensure your safety. Money back guarantee. Provided we’re all still alive.
• Haunted house flipper. I know how to swing a hammer, have a decent eye for interior design, and don’t mind a few specters lurking whilst I work. The house may still be laden with spirits of the past, but when I’m done with it, it’s gonna look brand new. It should also be noted that I am the target demographic for buying such a property, as well.

Do not however, forward me anything for the following:

• Gorgon slayer. These ladies have gotten a bad rap. If my name meant “terrible” or “dreadful,” I’d probably be a little ticked off too. Despite their sometimes abrasive personalities, they can protect against evil and also do a bit of healing. So, just leave them alone.
• Unicorn hunter. You should just be ashamed of yourself.
• Mascot picking focus group member. Mascots are possibly the most terrifying things in the world and every time I see one coming toward me, I just want to punch it in its, generally comically oversized, head.

All right, folks, let me know which ads you’d be interested in seeing.

Until next time, see you in the classifieds!

Superhero Capes Are Really Just Fancy Security Blankets

As a kid, I didn’t believe in monsters at all.

Until the lights went out.

Yeah, I talked a good game, but once it was dark, every shadow seemed to have ominous purpose. Demons of all shapes and sizes, waiting to pounce.

Sure, I took precautions, but they were always only temporary solutions.

I always made sure the Wicked Witch doll was in a drawer when bedtime rolled around. But even then I knew that a couple of pieces of wood were paltry compared to her magic fire balls. And I’ve mentioned that my favorite reading place for scarier books was the bathroom, because with the shower curtain open, I could see every corner. No way any monsters were going to jump out at me there. But in the back of my mind was the little voice reminding me that eventually, I was going to finish and have to make a run for it back to my bedroom.

I needed something more lasting. Thankfully, superheroes provided me with the answer here.

The cape.

There had to be a reason so many of them wore capes. Sure, as a fashion choice, it was interesting, but not generally the most practical accessory. So, there must be more to it than that. The sheet of fabric must serve as some kind of protective force. Right?

Well, it certainly seemed right back then.

Over time, I became convinced that the only thing standing between me and the night monsters were the blankets on my bed. I slept covered from head to toe. My sister, on the other hand, was a sleep kicker, which caused me no little stress as I was determined to save us from the Winkies evil machinations. So, I would wait up until she was asleep to make sure that she was fully covered with the monster repelling Beauty & The Beast sheets.

On the rare nights where nightmare recovery requires some parental assistance, I would wrap a sheet around my shoulders when I ran to my parents’ room. Only way to ensure some degree of safety in my travels.

My tolerance for scary things has grown over the years. The Wicked Witch had her reasons for being annoyed. And I can’t think of the last time I felt the need to lock myself in a bathroom to comfortably read a book.

But, I will say, when I pick up a thriller, or the music in a movie or show suddenly takes a turn for the menacing, it’s always nice to have a blanket nearby. 

Santa and Sardonicus

My sister was always afraid of Santa.

Well, that’s not entirely accurate. She wasn’t afraid to sit on Santa’s lap at the mall. She was a big fan of Santa on Christmas morning. But Christmas Eve? Not so much.

Every year, the family collects by one of the upstairs bedroom windows to look for Santa’s sleigh. I was always beside myself with excitement. The magic was about to begin. I’d been waiting for this since December 26^th of the year before.

My sister, on the other hand, had one goal – get the hell to sleep before the big guy got there. And looking for reindeer just slowed down the process. She could handle at most a couple of minutes of it before she was yelling at all of us to just get in bed.

As I was a big fan of Mr. Kringle, I could never really understand her discomfort. Maybe it had something to do with his being able to get into locked houses. Or maybe she just took the whole “you better watch out” sentiment more seriously than I. All I know is that she was equal parts excitement and fear on December 24^th, while I was just pure excitement.

Except for one year.

Now the blame can’t be laid on Santa for this one. Nope. I place it squarely on the shoulders of another bearded man – my dad.

You see, his birthday is just a few days before Christmas. Today, in fact. (Happy b-day, Pops!) And one year, my older cousin gave him a birthday card during our Christmas Eve dinner. On the front was a cat with a huge, human smile.

The first time I saw it, I thought it was mildly creepy, but then my dad started talking about a movie that the card reminded him of. Well, not the card exactly, but the smile. That damn smile.

My cousin had never heard of the movie, so my dad regaled her with the tale of Mr. Sardonicus a poor man cursed with a grotesque smile after digging up his deceased father to acquire the winning lottery ticket in the older man’s pocket.

Dad has a flare for horror stories, so he was particularly dramatic as he told of the moment that the man’s wife first saw his cursed face. Wondering why her husband wasn’t speaking, she slowly lifts a candle in the darkness and there he stands in all his glory.

Later that night, lying in bed I was suddenly struck with the image of looking over at my sister only to have her looking back at me with the smile of that stupid cat. The Mr. Sardonicus smile. The thought scared me enough I started crying.

Well she heard me. And thought I was crying over Santa. So she started crying.

Shortly after, my parents came up to check on us and found us sitting next to each other in bed, still crying. Needless to say, not what they were expecting.

My dad felt horrible. He hadn’t realized that I was lurking and listening in on the horror stories and it certainly hadn’t been his intent to scare the bejeepers out of his little girl.

I got over it, of course. Somewhat. I mean, I stopped crying and stopped being scared that all the people I knew were going to be cursed with evil smiles. The thought of Mr. Sardonicus stopped being something that popped into my head every Christmas. I remembered the card as being unsettling, but not the exact image.

It was nice. 

Years later, I came home to spend Christmas with the folks after my first semester at college. As I put my stuff down in my bedroom, I noticed something on my pillow.

There, smiling up at me, was the cat card.

Rainy morning dreams

It’s a very rainy fall day. I don’t know about you, but such conditions inspire in me the desire to pull the comforter over my shoulders, trudge out to the couch, curl up and watch some appropriately themed movies.

Now, it’s Friday, so I’m at the office, which means no movies, no couches, and perhaps most horrifyingly, no comforters (and it’s chilly in here).

But that doesn’t mean a girl can’t dream…

So, to that end, here are some of my favorite Halloween season viewing options:

1. Arsenic and Old Lace

You really can’t top Cary Grant. Plus, who doesn’t want to hang out with the Brewster sisters?

2. Hocus Pocus

Witches, zombies, possessed cats and a musical number? All my favorite aspects of Halloween (and, you know, any other day I can get all these things together).

3. It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown

Because I can always count on Linus for some holiday perspective. And even Lucy has some Halloween spirit!

4. Practical Magic

I’m partial to any story that focuses on sisters, but throw in some magic? I’m sold.

5. Casper

Who doesn’t miss 1995? It was really a great year for Christina Ricci/Devon Sawa movies.

No, I don’t like actual scary movies. I’m a total weenie. If I watch them, I just end up spending the night sitting up in the Roomie’s room, throwing things at her face to keep her awake, in case the monsters come. It’s a bad situation for everyone. So, STOP JUDGING my family friendly preferences!

And have a lovely weekend.

Most Horrifying of Horror Stories

You know that part in the story where the beleaguered, terrorized babysitter finally puts all the pieces together and realizes that the calls are indeed coming from inside the house? Well, we all might find ourselves in that position soon.

One dark, dreary evening, the phone will ring. You pick it up, assuming it’s a friend calling to schedule a long overdue Quantum Leap marathon, but instead you’re faced with the enemy.

You won’t realize it right away, of course.

At first, you’ll just take the silence to mean that the call was dropped, but then you’ll hear it. A light scratching. The slight hissing of breath. The munching of acorns.

Your stomach twists, because even though you’ll wish it wasn’t so, that maybe one of your friends is just playing a cruel trick, you’ll know.

And then the chattering will start. But you don’t just hear it through the phone now. It’s coming faintly from the other room.

It’s coming from inside the house.

Despite what your gut tells you – despite the number of times you’ve cursed at fictional characters for doing exactly what you’re about to – you’ll move slowly, carefully towards the sound.

The chattering gets louder, amplified even further by the call you’ve forgotten to end.

You push the door open and there it is. The visage of your nightmares. A monster disguised as furry cuteness.

And it’s presence isn’t even the worst part.

This beast has got skills. Death-defying skills.

Just ask these Germans:

You may find yourself in awe of the Superman-like talents of the beast. Fight that. This is what they want. For us to feel fragile simply because we can’t jump four stories and keep running.

We’re in the trenches of mental warfare now. So, don’t let them get in your head! As long as we continue to fight, there’s hope.

Stay strong, friends.

Ghosts in the Machine

My sister and I had a walk-in closet growing up. It was a great space my dad built over the garage and attached to our bedroom.

It held many an awesome thing, but what really made it special was that it had no windows. If you turned the lights out in there, it was pitch black. Which was fantastic. You see, the sister and I would bring groups of friends in there, sit in a circle with a flashlight, turn off the lights and tell ghost stories.

Unlike the sister, I was never much for the great outdoors. The bugs were the main turn off, but there was also a high creepy factor to being out in the middle of nowhere in the dark. So, no camping for me, but I still really liked ghost stories. Which made the closet perfect. All the necessary darkness from the safety of home.

Sometimes we’d make up stories. Tales of horror and woe that had us shaking in our Rainbow Bright stirrup pants. On other occasions I would read stories from the books that I had picked up in different places. Whenever we went to a historic site with the family, I always tried to get a book of ghost stories from the location.

My interest in ghosts did not wane over the years. In fact, when I was considering colleges, one of the things I put on Gettysburg’s “pro list” was that it seemed to have an abundance of ghost stories.

Now, I've yet to encounter a ghost, but see no reason to give up hope. One day when I finally own the haunted house I have always dreamed of, I’m fairly confident in my ability to make some spooky friends. And then once I’m ghost myself, I’m really hoping that the job my dreams have been training me to do pans out.

In the meantime, though, my sister has been kind enough to give me a spectacular gift: a vintage Polaroid camera. Seeing as nobody has used it in awhile, it wasn’t very surprising to us that some of the doohickeys (technical term) need to be cleaned. But the thing is, we couldn’t really figure that out until we’d taken a couple pictures. And once we put a packet of film in, we didn’t want to ruin it by opening the camera up to clean things. All of this has led to something wondrous. Faux ghost photos. Both creepy and awesome. Enjoy.

After a tragic accident involving a banana peel, a kerosene

lamp and a lot of hay, a young bride and her father now 

haunt the barn where she was to be wed, posing for 

wedding pictures that never took place. 

The Siren of the Sea. She haunts a small coastal village,

luring many young men to watery graves. Not because

a young man had anything to do with her own passing.

Just because she thinks it's fun.

Known as the Murderous Maniac, this ghost reveals

himself every 14.5 years on either his birthday or

his half-birthday. Legend has it, he's fairly friendly.

Just really loves yelling "Surprise!" and "Happy Bday!"

Nothing murderous or maniacal about him. Apparently,

the person naming ghosts that day was prone to hyberbolic

statements and an avid fan of alliteration. 

And now, for the most terrifying ghoul of all...

The towel bunny. Nobody knows his story. But everyone

knows to stay the hell out of his way.

 

The Struggle Between Good and Evil

Horror movies and superhero movies have a lot in common.

For starters, no one ever really dies. In terms of the big characters, that is. Sure, they may look like they’re dead, you can even watch them in the dying process, but odds are they’ll find their way back at some point. This leads to the second similarity – these two types of movies, more than any others it would seem, have endless sequel possibilities. Since you can always count on people not really being dead, there are always more stories to explore. Both these types of movies tend to tell stories with moral applications. They show both attributes to aspire to and those that need to be fought.

Like superhero movies, horror movies often have a main protagonist that shows up in subsequent movies, and is forced into fighting the bad guy once again. And in both types of movies, while the threat may subside for a time, it never goes away completely.

The plight of the superhero never ends. They never achieve the ultimate victory where they can easily pack away their cape, shield, lantern, spandex body suit, or what have you, and think, Well, now that that’s all finished, I can finally open that profiterole shop I’ve always dreamed of. No, there are always new and returning bad guys.

The surviving victims of the crazy serial killer from movie one may think that they’ve gotten their lives back and then bam, crazy serial killer returns to show them they’ve had no such luck. Or in the case of C. Thomas Howell in The Hitcher II: I’ve Been Waiting, the character just keeps allowing homicidal strangers into his car.

And the cycle goes ‘round and ‘round.

Despite the similarities, I find that I hate horror movies almost as much as I love superhero movies.

Now, I don’t mind if a movie is scary or suspenseful. I can deal with occasionally jumping while I’m watching the film. But I don’t want to feel all creepified for hours after the movie is over. I get that residual emotion is a sign that a movie has done its job. My hatred of horror movies has nothing to do with their quality. Some are definitely top notch. I just know that if I watch one, regardless of whether or not it’s well made, I’m going to be sleeping with my lights on. And by sleeping, I mean sitting in my room with my lights on thinking about how I’ll probably never sleep again.

Even more than not wanting to be scared for long periods of time, I don’t want to feel depressed after watching a movie. I want to know that the good guy will, nine times out of ten, succeed in saving whoever needs saving. I want to know that the same good guy will be back in the subsequent movies and not be killed off in the second or third so that loved ones are stuck continuing the fight against the never-diminishing evil. And if the good guy does die, I want it to be in some heroic sacrifice. Not because he or she ran upstairs when they should have just gone outside, or insisted on walking through the house without turning on any lights even though they know that someone wants to kill them, or just because they keep picking up those damn hitchhikers (seriously, just stop it). I want good to prevail.

Now, I’m sure some of my friends who are devout lovers of the horror genre could make some legitimate arguments in favor of these movies that I avoid watching. But what it comes down to for me is that when a superhero movie is over I think, Why not me? And when a horror movie ends, all I think is, Why?

Biding Her Time

Back in the old college days, Roomie and I used to share a room.

She often would head off to sleep earlier than I, as I had episodes of X-Files to watch (which she hated). One night, after hours of rooting for Mulder and Scully’s paranormal crime-solving skills – I, too, want to believe.– I decided it was time to go to bed.

When I walked into the room, Roomie was sitting straight up in her bed, just staring at the door. Her face was totally blank. Having spent as much time as I had watching the mysterious and creepifying, I, quite naturally I think, jumped. She gave no indication of having noticed my surprise. Instead she said, in complete monotone, “I just woke up,” and promptly fell back on her bed, grumbling for a few minutes before, once again, falling silent.

She had no recollection of this in the morning.

Well, I was sufficiently creeped out, but I’d never heard her talk in her sleep before, so I figured it was a weird anomaly. Sadly, not so.

Over the next few weeks, I heard random, short bursts of words coming from her side of the room as I fell asleep. And then one night, she uttered the most terrifying words ever spoken.

“Roommate alterations.”

I sat up and stared over at her bed, but nothing else came. That was it. “Roommate alterations,” then silence.

What could that possibly mean?

Me being me, I started envisioning the horrible things this alteration process might entail.

Her in a white lab coat and me strapped to a table as she began to cut open my head. On a far table, sits a jar with poor Abby Normal’s brain floating around in formaldehyde.

I’m being submerged into a tank of water, with large needles sticking out of my arms and legs. Through the hazy liquid I see her pull the switch, pumping Adamantium into my body. But I don’t have the healing mutation! I’ll never survive!

She straps me into a chair, attaching a helmet of jumper cables to my head. She paces the floor, whispering to herself, maniacally, as I wait for her to pull the switch.
The possibilities were equally endless and nightmarish.

I informed her the next morning that I knew of her plans. That I was on to her. That forewarned was forearmed. That Goonies never say die. That nobody puts Baby in a corner! (Yeah, I might have lost the thread a little bit there, but she got the point.)

Roomie laughed and said she didn’t remember saying that. She even agreed that it was a truly creepy thing to say. And wasn’t it all just so weird?

Sure, all the words were right, but I knew. Behind the sunny smile and blonde curls lay a mad scientist. Just waiting to get out.

Four years have passed since her terrifying mumbling and, as far as I’m aware, she has not attempted the fruition of her dastardly plot. But every once in awhile, she’ll look at me in a certain way and I wonder if, maybe, just maybe, she’s playing the long game.

Creepy Crawlers

I don’t kill bugs.

I hate them. Especially spiders with their spindly legs, shifty little bodies and unnatural speediness. It’s the speed that really gets me. Nothing should move that fast.

Normally, I consider myself a fairly brave person. I think I can handle most of what life throws my way. Unless it’s bugs. Then I turn from a normal woman into a shrieking banshee. And the mind-numbing panic doesn’t go away once the bug is gone. No. That stays, accompanied by the feeling that I’m covered in a million creepy crawlers.

But I don’t kill bugs.

And I blame books for this. Specifically, K.A. Applegate’s Animorphs. I loved those books. So much so that I still scan construction sites as I drive by for possible downed alien ships.

Anyway, more than once that scrappy group of kids morphed into insects. Since reading that, whenever I go to kill a bug, my brain yells Wait! How can you be sure that’s not a person fighting an alien take-over in there? I find myself unable to complete the crushing.

So, I end up standing their like an idiot with a plastic cup and a napkin. Positioning the cup over the bug is bad enough, but then getting close enough to slip the napkin under the cup while keeping the bug inside? Let’s just say it involves quite a bit of undignified whimpering. Once that is complete, I now have to get the contraption outside. I then chuck the cup with all my might – generally this means it lands about a foot and a half in front of me – and go running back into my apartment where I do what I’ve termed the “icky-creepy-crawler-dance.” It’s not until later, when I’ve given the bug plenty of time to escape that I go retrieve the cup. Or, better yet, get someone else to get the cup to ensure that the crafty creepy-crawler isn’t lying in wait for my return.

I’m actually a very logical person. I know that bugs are just bugs, not Animorphs. I rationalize my continued inability to crush insects through a belief that once outside the bug finds its buggy friends and recounts my act of mercy. They dance together and sing of my benevolence, agreeing that because of my altruistic spirit, they will do their best to stay out of my way.

See? Logical.

Because I know that bugs are not people in morph. I do.

Except, maybe....