I have always wondered what it would be like to be scary. So when I heard, last year about this time, that a haunted house needed volunteers to help scare people I jumped at the chance, just as I hoped to make others jump in fear.
Long story short, I succeeded... sort of.
But let me back up.
Halloween was a scary time growing up in Southern California. Not because of the darn dentists who handed out floss instead of candy - we kids learned to skip those houses - but because of those persistent rumors of razor blades hidden in candy.
And then there were the jerks who would throw eggs at kids going trick or treating.
But for me the scariest Halloween moment happened when someone stole my bag of candy. There I was, just trick or treating, when suddenly a teenager stole my bag of candy.
I'm not sure whether I was more bothered by the theft or the sudden reduction in accessible candy, but either way I made the right move: I returned to a previously visited house and begged for mercy and refills. And got both.
I have always wanted to get that guy back by having a good time at Halloween as if to exorcise that demon.
And so it was that I became a demon of sorts myself, for a haunted house in Frederick.
I showed up the first night and volunteers showed me where I can put on fake blood and asked if I was interested in playing someone crazy.
Afterwards we all went out to eat, with half of us still having bloody make up on, and nobody batted an eye.
The next night was more of the same except I started flirting with someone there.
I mean, how often do you get a chance to use out this line: "So what's a cute mad scientist like you doing in a haunted house like this?"