Thursday, October 27, 2011

Late Nights...

Salvador Dali's "Sleep"

Mr. Sandman

Wrap me in your arms, Mister Sandman,
Sweep me away from here.
Lift me, lucid, if you can,
on wings devoid of fear.

Slip your fingers behind my eyes,
let in the stuff of sleep.
Caress my ears with lullabies,
and sweep me off my feet.

Keep me safe throughout the night,
held in your longing touch,
but let me go when life resumes,
for death would be too much.

I was bored and couldn't sleep so I whipped this up... hope you enjoy!

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Fright Nights

In my last post, I mentioned my involvement with a haunted house, and my excitement for being a part of what actually terrifies me. Things have been going much, much better than expected.

Initially, I was worried that I would be unable to scare people. Although I am by no means conceited, I do realize that I am a fairly attractive, young, blonde woman, and I was afraid that it would be hard to make me into something terrifying without the use of a mask. I was, thankfully, wrong.

I showed up the day before they were set to open, afraid that these people who had been at this for years would be resistant to someone like me: a nerdy, overly-friendly bubbly twenty-one year old girl who looks like a high school sweetheart. I couldn't have been more wrong. This group is full of people that I've really grown to love, and although they are a little different, they are exactly my brand of odd. They invited me in with open arms, and I can truly see this as something I stick with for many years to come.

The house itself is very impressive, and not at all what I was expecting. Although they terrify me when I am forced to walk through, I always imagined a haunted house in the daylight to be something hokey, childish and cheap. This house, however, is very intricate, well thought out and detailed. They went to extraordinary lengths for something that is strictly for charity and to scare the ever-loving shit out of people.

Without going into too much detail, the house itself is enclosed in a small warehouse, divided by drywall and trap doors into what, now, looks like the somewhat logical organization of a house in that it contains a kitchen, living room, bedroom (my room), bathroom and den. It does, however, have some odd components."The vortex" is a spinning circular room with a metal mesh walkway that makes you feel absolutely drunk while walking through. It's pretty impressive. Also, on the way from the ticket booth to the actual house, you get to ride a bus. A terrifying, horrible bus that I was subjected to last night. Without ruining the surprise for those who wish to visit the house... it contains clowns. For my previous readers, let me remind you that I am absolutely, horribly shaken by clowns. Enough said.

Now into what I have accomplished in the three nights we have been open. The room I am in is very small, so that when people walk in they literally have about two feet between the bed I am laying on and the wall. I am underneath a blacklight with a strobe light flashing in the corner, in a blood covered dress. I didn't realize how much it would freak people out, but I'm a bit of a contortionist, so I make my neck appear almost broken to freak people out when they walk in.The bed is on  hydraulics, so when a group reaches the foot of the bed, I hit a button and it begins to rock. So far, one man has shat himself, MANY have started crying, more than a few have run out as fast as physically possible, and a few interesting things have happened.

1. An older woman walked into the room, and upon realizing I was Reagan from "The Exorcist", covered her eyes and started singing "this little light of mine" as loud as she could while running from the room. It was all I could do to keep from laughing.

2. A young boy (he looked around 11 or 12), walked into the room, saw me on the bed, and said "giggity giggity" before running out.

3. A group of frat boys who were making very vulgar comments about me laying in bed were trying to act tough... until the bed popped up and I screamed, at which point they all screamed like little girls and tried to run into the corner. A couple refused to move as I was on my hands and knees so they would have to walk right by my face. Priceless.

4. At the very least, I have three guys a night say something along the lines of "Dude, no, look she's actually pretty", which for some reason has been an amazing ego boost.

5. More than enough comments on "Oooh a girl who knows how to make the bed rock" or "I wish she was sitting on me while that bed was rocking", etc. Obviously, they need the extra help of a moving bed. It's amazing how easy it is to dehumanize someone because they're wearing makeup or a mask. I know for a fact that these boys would be too terrified to say anything like that to my face outside of that situation.

6. One guy literally pooped himself. The website listed below has statistics on people who pee, poop themselves, "chicken run" out of the house and throw up, but I didn't expect this many to happen with me. After I popped the bed up, one man said "dude, what is that smell?" (it absolutely reeked), and his friend yelled "JUST KEEP WALKING DAMNIT!" Made my night.

You're probably all wondering what I looked like, so here is a picture of me and another girl that works at the haunted house.

In case you can't tell, I'm on the right.

Although I like the way it turned out, this is more what I was going for:

Also, for more information on the haunted house, or for ticket information, click here. Thanks for powering through this post, and more to come!

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Haunted Houses

As I mentioned in a previous post, I am fairly terrified of clowns. For some reason, probably closely related, I am also terrified of haunted houses.

When I was a child, I went to one, single haunted house, and that was quite enough for me. Although looking back now, it was very cheesy and would probably make even a child laugh, I was still horrified. At the age of 20, I then went to one more haunted house. The absolute disaster that followed can be read in my previous blog "The Horror".

Now it's my turn.

A very good friend of mine has invited me to join in the festivities of her local haunted house. As she is currently pregnant (and we are all very excited!) she cannot be a part of the scare this year for safety reasons. As her weirdest, craziest friend, Lauren has invited me to take her place. You would think I would be more sympathetic, and try to be a little less scary since I have been in the position of complete and utter terror.


I'm giving this all I've got. I'm going in full out crazy, and my ultimate plan is to make at least one person cry. I will be dressed in a white lace wedding gown splattered with blood, full out white face makeup (like I really need it), hollowed out eyes, wild hair, and all the fake blood anyone could ever want. I will be on a hydraulic bed which will rock back and forth while I writhe like a crazy person. In other words, I'm going to be scary as hell.

I will begin this endeavor two days from now, and pictures will be on their way. One thing I can't quite figure out is what I should do, and any comment would be appreciated. I'm torn between:

A. Screaming like a terrifying banshee
B. A combination of mumbling and creepy singing
C. Making no noise whatsoever and following people with nothing but my eyes so they think I'm animatronic... until they try to get near me.
or finally D. Creepy laughing

Let me know what you think! Pictures on the way soon!

Monday, October 3, 2011

The Bull

Writing has always been a cathartic experience for me. My issue is simply that I have never attempted it in a public forum. I always used to have journals and notebooks full to bursting with angst-driven, slightly pathetic attempts at poetry and short stories... so this venue is a little different for me. Please forgive infrequent posting. Also, I hope you enjoy the new layout.

Today I thought I would share a bedtime story that was a favorite of my grandmother's. Most children went to sleep listening to such classics as "Little Red Riding Hood" or "The Three Little Pigs".

Not this child.

My grandmother is a very kind, very southern woman. She is also extremely religious, so most of her stories have a very deep, religious or southern backing. The moral of the following story is pretty clear. Bulls will murder you. I can see no other meaning. At any rate, let's get right into it.

The Bull
Once upon a time, there was a little girl who would never listen to the warnings of her parents. They would constantly warn her to stay away from the neighboring yard, because its owner was a large, mean bull, yet she refused to heed their advice. 

One day, the little girl was throwing her ball, and it rolled across the creek dividing the two pieces of property. Without even thinking, the foolish girl skipped across the creek bed and lingered in the yard of the bull to play. After a few minutes of play, the bull emerged from his home, and confronted her.

He threatened to kill her with his sharp horns if she did not listen to him. He had seen her on his property many times, and upon seeing her this day, had had enough. He told her that she would be his slave until she learned her lesson about listening to those who knew much better than she. Terrified, the little girl reluctantly walked into the Bull's massive home.

There was no way out. The little girl knew that if she did not do exactly as she was told, she would surely die. The Bull told her that she would clean his  home, wait on him hand and hoof, and under no circumstance enter the room with the red door. The little girl was too afraid to object, and went about with her duties as she was instructed.

After years in slavery to the Bull, the little girl was very close to her freedom. She had gained his trust, so instead of chaining her up when he went to market, he left her free to wander the house and finish her duties. 

Although she was afraid, she was also too curious to pass up the allure of the room with the red door. She waited until the Bull was out of the house and well on his way to the market before venturing to the forbidden room and slowly turning the door knob to see what was inside.
Thanks, Grandma, now I really want to close my eyes.

Upon opening the door, a hand fell out onto her clean, crisp white sock. It was covered in blood. The room was full of the bodies of little girls that the Bull had impaled on his sharp, black horns. The door had been stained in their foolish blood, and now her sock followed suit. Terrified, the little girl stuffed the bodies of the fallen girls back into the room and slammed the door shut. Her hands were wet with blood, and she quickly rinsed them off, but the blood would not come out of her sock.

Frantic, the little girl looked for a way to remove the evidence of her betrayal. She soon came across a mouse which had accompanied her in her chores over the years. She begged for her small friend to use his rough tongue to lick the blood from her sock before the Bull arrived. He reluctantly agreed, and after several minutes of working at the spot, it began to fade. 
When the blood was almost clean, the little girl heard the front door creak open, and the thunderous clap of the Bull's hooves on the wooden floor. The mouse panicked, and quickly retreated to his home in the walls. The Bull saw that something was amiss, but could not quite figure out what was wrong. After checking to make sure the red door was still shut and that there was no blood on the little girl, the Bull conceded and let her go. She then lived happily ever after.

What nightmares are made of.

Of course, after this story, there was no sleep for me. My grandmother, however, went right to sleep with no apparent problems. But then again, why would I have had normal bedtimes stories?

Until next time, and as always, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this look into my odd life.