Well, with no little ones around these days to take Trick-or-Treating, I think I’ll just “treat” myself to a night in watching the scariest movie I have, “Hocus Pocus”, and a special Halloween dinner: a bacon-wrapped weenie with all the fixin’s. I may even go out and get myself a chocolate pumpkin to go with my movie-theater-style popcorn.
Horror movies have never been my thing. My family sometimes makes fun of my reluctance, nay, downright refusal, to watch anything even remotely scary, but I stick to my guns. And they should consider themselves lucky that I do. Otherwise, they’d never have another good night’s sleep.
Let me explain….many, many moons ago, when I was young and single and carefree, I was dating a guy who wanted to see “The Exorcist”. Being young, naïve, and in love (“Whatever ‘in love’ means”, to quote Prince Chuckie – another movie I refuse to watch!), I giddily said yes. Huge mistake. Monstrous.
I spent nearly all the rest of the evening in a semi-fetal position, not as easy as it sounds when you’re wedged into one of those puny movie theater folding seats. During that time, while poor Linda Blair was hovering over her bed and projectile vomiting over all and sundry, I mostly had my fingers in my ears and my eyes clamped firmly shut. When I did listen and/or look, I was, as you might imagine, properly horrified. The second feature wasn’t much better, although the details escape me now. Something about witch hunts and dungeons and torture. But only when I looked.
The date over, my boyfriend escorted me home and the usual goodnights were said. At the time I was between roommates. As I got ready for bed, the apartment seemed eerily quiet. After tossing and turning for hours, I finally fell asleep for a whole 32 seconds only to be jolted back into consciousness by a nightmare featuring tiny little devils with pitchforks running around my bed. Go figure.
Bolting upright in bed and grabbing my trusty landline (back then it was called “the telephone”), I called not my boyfriend, not anyone in my family, but a woman for whom I used to babysit. In the middle of the night. The wee small hours. The time of night when a phone call means only one thing….really bad news.
The really bad news was that I begged her to come and get me and take me to her house for the rest of the night. I absolutely could not, would not, spend one more minute alone with those little devils all over the place. I made the right call. She was always a good sport and this time was no different. She woke up her husband, also a good sport, and sent him to get me.
Back at their place, I was directed to the kids room where I crawled into the bottom bunk and fell into a dreamless sleep wrapped in the arms of a little angel. Devils be damned!
In the morning I got a good breakfast and a good deal of ribbing, but that was okay. Naturally, the story made the rounds in the neighborhood, got a lot of laughs, and no one ever let me forget it. And that was okay, too.
So, in the interest of my family getting a good night sleep without the spectre of a dazed and crazed woman clawing her way into their beds for protection from poltergeists, demons and devils, I’ll stick to Hocus Pocus and the like. It’s better for them. Much, much better.