My house was finally quiet. I had just said goodnight to my daughter less than an hour ago, and as I was walking into my bedroom, I could hear the deep steady breaths of my husband just a few feet away from me. I had paid the bills, ironed my work clothes, set my coffee maker for auto-brew, and turned out almost every light in the house. Now it was time for a hot relaxing shower before I crawled into bed. I was almost ready to step into the shower when I saw the closet light was on. I walked over to the closet, quickly opened the door and with my toes still at the threshold of the doorway, I reached forward to grab the old chain that hung from the light. As I did this, a horrible sound came out of the shadows to my right. It was a slow, loud exhale. I cringed and prepared myself for being attacked, or at the very least for being touched by something that had been waiting in my closet for me all night. Was it a crazy hobo? Was it something supernatural? Was it the ghost of a crazy hobo? I turned my face towards the sound and opened my eyes; they had been tightly shut as if doing so would have saved me from someone or something’s ill will. What I saw took me by surprise.
I saw… Absolutely nothing! Nothing that could hurt me at least. All that was there was my husband’s heavy leather jacket. I still was not sure what had made the noise, so I had to investigate further. I had to be able to find the source before I could relax and get into the shower. I touched the arm of his jacket and when I did, something behind the jacket grabbed my wrist! Okay, that’s not exactly what happened. I did hear the sound again though, and realized that a combination of the large plastic hanger covered in the leather, and the jacket’s sleeve both brushing the wall as I pushed against the opposite side, had made the haunting sound. At that point, I think I actually giggled. What a relief!
I stepped over to the shower and turned on the water. While waiting for the water to get hot, I must say, I felt somewhat foolish for being afraid. Yes, I had heard a creepy noise, but my reaction was not what I had hoped.
Halloween is quickly nearing, and even as early as Labor Day, I had been looking forward to it. I even started decorating my desk at work during the last week in September, with cotton spider webs, and cardboard cutouts of skulls and spiders. I was the first to put out candy also. Those sitting next to me quickly did the same. We even have a life-sized zombie standing in our window. I know I’m in my early thirties, but I don’t remember ever being this excited about All Hallow’s Eve. I think that title is way cooler than “Halloween”, by the way. When has the word “ween” ever be taken seriously?
I finally stepped into the shower, and started questioning my anxiousness for the approaching “witching hour”. I had really been wanting to go to a haunted house this year. Now I’m thinking if a jacket can scare the script right out of me, then I might not leave a haunted house without fainting or punching some poor haunted house volunteer in the face first.
I’ll tell you, I have never fainted. I’ve been knocked unconscious, but no matter how sick or how scared, I have never fainted. So I’m actually more concerned about punching someone than I am of hitting the dirt whilst peeing my pants. Yes… Whilst, because I have to be somewhat classy when writing about pee.
Why am I really looking forward to October thirty-first this year? Do I want to be scared? Maybe I want an adrenaline rush? I was actually talking about this with two of my chick friends last night, and mentioned the idea of going to one of the biggest haunted houses in our state. It is more of a haunted fairground than just a house. Then I wondered if it would be the same without a man to clutch onto. Maybe THAT is the appeal of being scared… Being able to scream and grab a man that will defend me in the face of evil. Ha! Do men even like it when women do that?
I might have finished my shower feeling a little sheepish for wincing at a scary noise, but I knew I still wanted to celebrate Halloween. And not just because it’s the one day a year that I can dress all slutty and get away with it (that’s a bonus), but because I want to be scared. I guess being scared or startled when expecting it and paying twenty-five bucks for it <i>is</i> fun. It’s not something that happens everyday. So bring on the demented looking clowns, the dark humid corridors, and the smoke machines… I’m ready to scream (and hopefully not pee myself)!