Spooky season is once again upon us -- and, as per usual, I've assumed my annual role as the Grinch-o'-ween, grimacing at most things that October fans adore.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: I despise dressing up in costume. I despise other people dressed up in costume. I have social anxiety. Putting me into a party situation where I'm forced to small talk with people I barely know is a risky enough proposition on a GOOD day. But if you make me small talk with someone dressed up like Barbie or Chewbacca, it's basically like inviting me to a parade of panic attacks.
True story: one time I bumped into an old college friend at a Halloween thing. I was wearing normal clothes. He was dressed up like a Stormtrooper. He came up and did some schticky Stormtrooper bit, like "Halt! Identify yourself!" I laughed like a lunatic, turned tail, and legit RAN AWAY at a decent trot. That's how well I cope with not being able to recognize people in costume. Halloween parties are a swell time for me.
I also hate being scared. I've never been to a haunted house, nor will I. There are friends who count the days until haunted-house season every year. Heck, there are friends who count the days until they can put on make-up and go WORK at haunted houses every year. If that's your thing, groovy. If you want to squeal while my friends chase you around with rubber knives, have a blast. But it's definitely not MY thing -- and never more so than this year.
My usual response to haunted house invites used to be, "No thanks, you go have fun getting spooked. I know how many cheeseburgers I've eaten in my life, and I reckon my heart doesn't have too many scares left ha ha ha ho ho ho."
That joke loses its lustre after you spend the summer in cardiac rehab. You can keep your jump scares to yourself. There's a lot of things my life needs at the moment, but sudden bursts of adrenaline are NOT it. I'm on an all-tranquility diet with a side helping of blood thinners, thanks much.
Last night, however, was a test of how well that cardiac stent's working.
I went to the gym after work, so it was nice and dark and spooky as I was pulling down my alley. That's when I saw him. Standing in the middle of the alley, directly behind my garage, was a Random Creepy Guy. Like something straight out of a movie, there was a motionless figure standing perfectly still, Blair-Witch style, in the middle of the alley with his back to me. I quickly pulled into the garage and closed the overhead door while Creeper Guy continued to creep.
There's about six paces between my garage and my house, which is plenty enough room for a homicidal maniac to axe-murder me, I reckon. But it's also being filmed 24/7 by my security cameras, so if I DID get axe-murdered, at least my next of kin would have a nice snuff film as a souvenir. Before I opened the garage door, I pulled up my camera feed on my cell phone to make sure the coast was clear. There was nary a bogeyman in sight. Still, you can't be too safe. That's why I had a plan.
By opening my garage door, I was also silently setting off my security alarm. I knew I had exactly thirty seconds before it called the police. This would be just enough time to get into the house and deactivate the alarm, provided I had a murder-free stroll to my back door. I opened the garage door with every bit of my attention on the Random Creeper Guy in the alley. But with all my attention turned towards what was behind me, I didn't even notice what was in front of me.
At the top of my back steps, there's a little shelf to rest groceries or what-have-you while you open the door. What I didn't notice in the dark was the stray alley cat having a snooze on that shelf. Honestly, I don't know which of us was scared more. It hissed. I screamed. It jumped pretty much directly at my face. I nearly fell backwards off the steps. It zigged. I zagged. And somewhere in this fracas, my keys went flying to the ground.
"Hey Siri," I yelled. "Turn flashlight on."
"What was that?" replied Random Creepy Guy from over my shoulder. I screamed again.
It wasn't a creeper after all. It was my neighbor, who had been taking a break from lugging some heavy stuff down the alley. In that spooky and dark October moment, though, I just assumed he was Freddy and/or Jason and/or Michael Myers wrapped up in a tidy little murderous bow.
But rather than axe-murder me, he helped me find my keys. Then I had the fun duty of getting inside and immediately calling my security company, who were in the midst of sending the police to my back yard. It was not my finest moment. THIS IS WHY I HATE HALLOWEEN, PEOPLE.
Except that I honestly don't. While I hate jump scares and things that go REDRUM in the night, I like creepy stuff. As long as nothing jumps out and yells "BOO!," I like ghost hunting shows and eerie movies and chills in the air. In fact, I'm DJing a spooky Halloween party on the 31st. I might even go in costume and (gasp) talk to other people in costume. Just don't force me into dumb small talk. The last thing anyone needs is their DJ laughing like a maniac and running out the door.
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