When I was sixteen years young, I had a very creepy, haunting, and oddly disturbing experience at a haunted house. Two of my really close friends convinced me to go out of town to a haunted factory. Now, I am not the type of person that enjoys being scared, nor, am I the type to go looking for a scare either. Everything inside me was screaming run, hide, or just lie to them! Do whatever you have to do to get out of having to go. In the back of my mind I knew that this would not end well. Pulling up to the building was eerie all on its own. The entrance was facing east and there the devil sat on his black throne, pitchfork in hand and grinning like a madman. On either side of him a black cauldron spit hot flames, which lit up the entire foyer with a yellowish orange-red glow, which brought a little piece of Hell into reality. Dark, gloomy, hair raising music, probably borrowed from the soundtrack of a horror film, blasted from the speakers like theme music from a cult gathering. Sounds from inside the factory crept out of the broken-down, disturbingly dark, spider web infested windows and into the clear, crisp, cool autumn night sky. Every once in a while, the devil would growl out something like "Come on up kids!" or “Step right up, if you dare!” in a deep, vibrating, bellowing voice. Sometimes, he would merely let out a series of vein-chilling laughs that ricocheted in your thoughts and faded into the crowd’s endless laughter and chatter. As a fan of the horror film classics, somewhere inside I had begun to admire and respect the mastery of this Halloween extravaganza. Perhaps though, the growing fear of something I did not fully understand mixed with my Christian upbringing outweighed the eagerness to see what was on the inside. Alarm filled my body, as we inched closer to the entrance, and I began to tremble. The man behind the red face was something real, and that’s what made him scary to me. I did not know this man, he was a nameless soul. Would he even come to my saving, if need be? Would he put my life before his own life if something happened out of the ordinary? Would any of these people for that matter? No, I do not believe they would. Many people may simply write him off as an actor, an employee doing his job, or a volunteer enjoying a good scare, but, not me. All I seen was a demonic devil asking me to come into the gates of Hell. Panic filled my chest and I could not breathe. At that moment, a spine-chilling scream that could be heard from a mile away filled the waiting area. Where did it come from? I had to get out of there, I had to escape. Next thing I knew I was running for my life. All I could think of was getting back to the car, getting back to where it was safe. Finally, I reached for the door handle and just as I lifted up, I felt a hand on my shoulder. All of a sudden, I felt my fist make contact with something hard. I turned around, and to my bewilderment, it just so happened to be the nose of my best friend. There was blood gushing, tears were flowing, shocked and in disbelief, I just stood there, devastated. After everything had calmed down, and I realized what had happened, I began to apologize. Did you know there are a million ways to say I am sorry? Well I tried a good chunk of them, even though, she never did forgive me. In conclusion, I have learned it is best if I keep my curiosity for the unknown at bay and leave the scare seeking to those who dare. I will just stay in the safety of my home and watch horror flicks from under a blanket, behind a pillow, or wrapped around the arms of a strong man.

Two years ago I had a very embarrassing experience thanks to my son. As we were checking out at Wal-Mart he started aggravating me about wanting a bag of M&M’s. I told him no because he had misbehaved throughout the entire store. Ear piercing screams filled the check out isle. In a panic to hush him, I looked him in his eyes and said very sternly, “Ethan, sit there quietly or you are in big trouble when we get home.” His eyes grew very wide as he glanced over at the cashier. Scared to death he looked at me and said, “No mommy, please do not put me in the cage!” I stood there mortified. The next few awkwardly silent minuets felt like hours as the cashier finished checking me out. After she was done I grabbed my receipt, bolted for the car, threw my groceries into the trunk, and raced for home. Come to find out, my brother in law told Ethan that when kids are really bad their parents put them into dog cages and never let them out. Although it is funny now, at the time I wanted to crawl under a rock and hide. In conclusion, I learned that you should never underestimate your toddler. Always be ready for them to repeat something they have heard, even when it is the wrong place and time.