I must have asked my eight year old daughter a hundred times if she was sure she wanted to go into the haunted house. And every time, she nodded emphatically.
Feeling a little apprehensive, I took her into one last weekend, and, as her fingernails dug into my wrist, I was absolutely amazed she wasn't pleading to leave. That is, until we rounded our first corner, someone jumped from the shadows, and I let out a blood- curling scream.
What can I say? I was caught off guard.
The reason this was not an intelligent thing to do is, up to that point, my daughter assumed I was the brave one. I would protect her. And, no matter how much I tried to reassure her that everything was still fine, she stood there looking at me as if zombies had just removed my brain stem.
And that's when my daughter's legs went wet-noodle and she started to scream.
Suddenly, the strobe lights, moaning, laughing, and haunting sound effects completely over stimulated my senses. I felt claustrophobic. I must have panicked, because the next thing I knew, I was trying to push back towards the entrance shouting "Coming through, coming through, little girl about to pee her pants." Only, the crowd was so thick, there was no getting through the throngs of giddy people enjoying a good fright.
The more I tried swimming upstream, the more the wave pushed me back towards the ghouls and goblins. And, to make matters worse, I was totally dismayed when the pathetic yells of a voice screaming for a "little compassion" turned out to be mine.
So, I gave up and started moving with the crowd, only, my daughter didn't like that plan. Screaming at the pitch of her lungs, she threw her body to the ground. Besides recording the pitiable image of that, my brain also replayed my wife's last parting words to me when I told her I might stop at the haunted house on the way home from ballet class.
"Ken," she said emphatically, "don't you dare take our daughter to a haunted house! It will scare her to death!" (Isn't it funny how sometimes God makes us look like fools. I wish he made moms do that, too.)
Anyway, I guess my daughter on the floor began to create a bottleneck at the front door, because moments later, the house manager showed up to talk to me.
"What?!" I shouted at him. "I can't hear you! I think my daughter's screams shattered my ear drums! Hold that flashlight to your face and mouth the words, slowly!"
He told me I needed to get my little girl off the floor and keep moving.
I explained to him that was impossible. "Don't you have an emergency team to help get kids out quickly in a situation like this?" I asked. "A quick reaction force or something?"
"No."
"That's not very helpful," I complained.
"Well, maybe your daughter isn't ready for this, and should have stayed outside."
"That's good advice," I retorted. "Maybe you'd like to come over later and help my wife say 'I told you so.' You could stay for dinner."
Finally, I grabbed my daughter up, told her to bury her face into my chest (she did the same with her teeth), and I ran really fast through the haunted house.
I'd tell you what my wife said when I got home...but I don't want to scare anyone.
