I love Halloween. I think more holidays should be based around getting dressed up in awesome, creative and scary ways and getting candy from strangers. This year, six coworkers and I dressed up as the seven dwarfs and while not the scariest of costumes, I think our other coworkers were impressed by our dedication when we walked into the meeting room singing ‘Heigh-ho’. Also, being a dwarf means you can wear super comfy baggy clothes to the office.
Aside from dressing up, I usually celebrate Halloween with a Treehouse of Horror marathon with my sister. I still remember the first Treehouse of Horror I saw, it was the one where Mr. Burns is a vampire, and I had nightmares about vampires for weeks. What can I say – I was about 10 and far too imaginative as a child. Once I was a little older, I caught a couple more Treehouse episodes on tv one Halloween and was hooked. Now, my sister and I have a blast every Halloween, we eat tons of candy, watch the Simpsons, and nearly die laughing every time Homer runs over werewolf Flanders.
I’m not much into the really scary bits of Halloween though, no horror movies, no blood and guts that sort of thing. I’ve had a couple really good scares at Halloween, which is likely why. My first Halloween scare was actually on Halloween when I was 11. My parents had taken my sisters and I out trick or treating and we were coming home. We were just about to pull into our driveway, when the car ahead of us ran the stop sign at our corner. A truck t-boned the car and both vehicles ended up on their sides half on the road and half in the ditch. My Dad gunned the car into the driveway and both my parents flew out of the car, with Mom yelling at me (the oldest) to get my sisters inside and get as many blankets as I could find. I took both my sisters into the house, grabbed an armful of the old blankets and sheets from the basement and took them out to my parents. When I got there, my Dad was helping a woman from out of the car and my Mom was holding her jacket to a man’s head to staunch the bleeding. Dad took the blankets and told me to go back to the house and call the police (no 911 at this time out in the sticks). I ran back to the house and called the police. Everyone involved in the accident, including a baby, turned out ok, but it still scared the beejebbers out of me.
A few years later, around Halloween again, there was another accident in front of our property. I don’t think I heard the actually crash, but was awakened around midnight by someone pounding on the front door. It took me a couple minutes to realize what the sound was. I got out of bed and went to go see who was at the door. Flicking on the light and opening the door, I saw a bloody man, cradling his arm standing there, dripping blood on our deck. I picked up my jaw off the floor, opened the door to let him in and got him sitting down on a chair. I booked it up the stairs to my parents’ bedroom to wake them up. I must have sounded panicked, because they jumped out of bed to see what bloody stranger their daughter let into the house. It wasn’t a stranger, he lived down the road, but I couldn’t remember his name at the time and he’d had a bit too much to drink and not enough sleep that night. He fell asleep behind the wheel at hit a tree outside our house. Mom bandaged him up as best she could (if you’re going to crash your truck into a tree, do it outside a nurse’s house) and drove him to the hospital, while Dad pulled his truck off the tree and cleaned up the mess with the tractor. I went back to bed and tried to forget the image of a bloody man on our doorstop.
Finally, just this weekend, I gave myself another good Halloween scare. It finally got cool enough here that I started the woodstove down in my basement. I’m absolutely paranoid about this stove, despite having it inspected before I moved in, but thought I’d better start it and try and take the chill out of the house. After I got it going, I was thoroughly convinced that my entire house smelled like smoke and that I was going to have a chimney fire and burn my house down. My friend came over and listened to my paranoid delusions and then assured me that the house wasn’t going to burn down, it didn’t smell like smoke and basically talk some sense into me. I calmed down a bit, but still checked the stove before I went to bed to make sure it was totally out. The next morning, at 6:30, an alarm goes off. I jumped out of bed to see what’s going on. It’s the carbon monoxide detector. The damned thing is going off and flashing 97 ppm then 0, then 97, then 0. Holy crap, that damned wood stove is trying to kill me with poison gas, I thought to myself. I almost punched the test/reset button. The alarm stopped and I waited. 15 minutes later, the alarm is still silent. The only place the CO could come from is the basement, so I grab the CO detector and take it down there and plug it back in. I go back upstairs and wait to see if the alarm goes off, all the while, wondering if I flu-like symptoms and if my cat is acting weird because of poison gas. The alarm doesn’t go off. Nonetheless, I’m still freaking out. I opened the windows, and checked to see what time Canadian Tire opens so I can go buy more detectors. 10 AM, dammit, that’s still 2.5 hours away. I stayed by the windows until about 9:30, when I headed into town and bought two new CO detectors. I plugged them in, and of course, they don’t go off. My old CO detector had just gone on the fritz, coincidentally the morning after I started the wood stove for the time. Figures. My friend and I had a good laugh about this yesterday
Those are my scary Halloween stories – which have little to do with Halloween except for occurring on or near Halloween. Whatever. They still frightened me, which is really what Halloween is all about, right?
Do you have any scary Halloween stories? Or just scary experiences in general?
Have a spooky ‘un