For me scary situations haven’t always been my cup of tea. When I was a boy, say 8 or so I was invited to a haunted house. My cousin invited me out of the blue to attend. I had never been invited before but I went along like a lamb to slaughter.
We were going to the Haunted High School in Mabton, Washington. I am not sure it is still there or if they still have the haunted high school because I have never returned. It was my first haunted house and almost my last. It was started out as simple enough we walk room to room watching scenes in minor horror, torture scenes and beheadings, until we came to a room of a scene out of a graveyard. I wouldn’t have thought twice but in this room we paused.
“Jimmy,” came a whisper from somewhere in the room.
I looked around wondering where they voice was coming from.
“Jimmy,” called the voice. But this time I noticed it had came from the large coffin in the middle of the room.
I grabbed on to my cousin and pulled her with all my might. I wanted out.
“Jimmy,” came the voice from the coffin, I watched on in horror as the coffin’s lid opened and I spotted a zombie looking as if someone had just dug it up.
I turned and pulled harder as the Zombie limped his way across the room. Reaching out and calling my name. Just as I pee myself and threaten to bit my cousin’s finger off, she let go. I ran from the room and all I hear was laughter. I didn’t care I just wanted to get out of there.
It turned out to my cousin’s big brother and it was all planned. I couldn’t watch a horror movie for years unless my mother was in the room making me. (See Spiders on this blog, if you haven’t read it already.)