From the time I was allowed to watch them, I’ve always loved horror movies. In my teenage years I was less discriminating and would give almost any of them a shot. These days I don’t watch every single one, and I don’t like ones that are just about guts and gore. There has to be some kind of plot and, preferably, some kind of reason, twist, or mystery associated with the chills.
Wayne’s always been a good sport and humored my horror movie loving ways. He’ll go see them with me, even though he doesn’t much like them himself. It would stand to reason that since I seem to enjoy being scared that I’d also like haunted houses –of the variety that crop up at this time of year in malls and abandoned warehouses and barns and such. But when it comes those, I have issues.
My Haunted House Secret
Our first Halloween together, we went to a haunted house, at my suggestion. I thought with Wayne by my side I’d be braver.
I didn’t tell him that my sister used to take me before he came along. I didn’t tell him how one year I mangled some poor stranger’s sweater because I had been so terrified and grabbed onto the biggest person I could find to get me through.
I didn’t tell him that one year my sister had to take my friends and her friends through alone because I was so scared I refused to go in and waited for them outside.
I didn’t tell him how my dad had tried to take me and we made it through the first room before I started screaming my head off and personnel had to escort me out because I was truly paralyzed with fright, wouldn’t move, and was holding up the line.
But with Wayne, the love of my life by my side, I could do it. Right?
Get Me Outta Here!
Wrong!
The whole way through I clutched on to him, screaming how sick I felt and that I needed to find the closest exit. Concerned, and being the good boyfriend he was, Wayne tried to navigate me out of the place. But I wouldn’t go, which naturally confused him.
The thing he didn’t realize was that I’d scream I wanted out when we approached a point where someone was sure to jump out at us. You see, I wanted to go through the house to see the props, but I didn’t want to have people surprising me. (I know, I know, what’s the point of going to a haunted house then?)
When we finally got out of there, he vowed never to take me to another haunted house again. He had no idea I’d react the way I did. (He could tell I was genuinely scared –he had the marks on his arm to prove it.) He assured me he’d never put me through it again, because he was afraid next time I’d have a heart attack –or break his arm off.
We laugh about it now, but it wasn’t a very fun night. Enlightening for him and embarrassing for me.
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