Monday, October 31, 2011

Scarred For Life

It looked so foreboding.

I stood on the sidewalk and tried to summon my courage. My big brother, several steps ahead, looked back and tried to goad me on.  I wanted to.  I had planned to.  

But I couldn't. I was terrified. 

It was the picture of innocence any other day of the year.  I played with the kids who lived inside almost daily.  Though their mom yelled a lot more than mine did, she was pretty normal.  Good grief, the house across the street was even pink.

How scary can a pink house be?

I timidly followed my brother up the driveway.  I could hear spooky sounds coming from the open door; I knew it was the sound track from Disney's Haunted Mansion, but it didn't matter.  It was the epitome of creepy.

Closer and closer we crept.  It was dark inside the house; I couldn't see anybody.  

Then I heard the clanking.  

She walked down the hallway toward the door.  She wore a loose white robe draped in chains; chains that kept her earth bound, unable to enter into eternal rest.  The nylon stocking over her head was needed to hold her decaying features to her face. She limped toward us, her eyes boring into my brain.

I screamed and ran.  I may have even wet my pants.  

No candy was worth it.  Mrs. Lloyd left me scarred for life.

When I was eleven or twelve, Mrs. Lloyd was asked to put together a haunted room for our elementary school carnival.  We neighbor kids were asked to participate.  One kid guarded the pot full of brains and eyeballs.  Another lifted a big lid from a table, exposing a decapitated head that was still alive.  My job was to sit in a chair with blood dripping all over me and look dead. 

I could hear people whisper as they walked by.  I thought I was pretty convincing until I heard a boy arguing with his mother.  "She's not dead, Mommy.  It's just pretend."  He got closer and closer...and then...and then...he touched me.

I screamed and ran.  I may have even wet my pants.

I bet he did, too.  

He's probably scarred for life.


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