Tales From a Haunted Corn Maze.

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It all started when three of my favorites came to visit for Halloween. Haley, Strick [names unchanged because I HAVE NO INTEREST IN PROTECTING THE GUILTY] and Gretchen [another innocent victim] are some of my dearest friends on the planet. I’d spent weeks eagerly anticipating their impending arrival and scheming up charming, upstate New York activities for us to do together. October is when the leaves around here spark into a thousand wild shades of yellows and reds—looking for all the world as though someone took a match to the skyline. Set against the canopied expanse of a clear blue New York sky and the rolling Adirondack mountains, well, there’s just something about New York in the fall. It makes me want to buy school supplies.

Visions of a pumpkin walnut pancake brunch danced in my head. Apple picking, cider drinking and hiking in the crisp autumn air were all on the menu—but the one thing that I was positively giddy over was the prospect of passing out candy to little wand-waving Elsas and sword-wielding Ninja turtles on Halloween. It was my first Halloween as a homeowner, and Kellan and I had long since determined to make a name for ourselves as the “good candy house” in our neighborhood. Our yard might look like it belongs in a trailer park, but darn it, WE HAVE REESE’S.

I digress.

As we all sat around the fire steadily working our way through a bottle of merlot, Haley and Strick informed Gretchen and I that we needed to watch a horror movie on Halloween night.

Now. I don’t know how you get your jollies, but for me it’s never been a horror movie. I see no point in being intentionally scared—I believe that real life is horrifying enough all by itself. I still get night terrors about the candy man with the hooked nose from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, so I think we can all agree that I don’t need to watch the undead crawl out of a television and get exorcised by a Catholic Priest.

Glancing over at Gretchen, it was clear we were in the same camp. Fire flashing from our prematurely-terrified eyes, we vehemently refused. Candy and cute Elsas: YES. Zombie apocalypse: JUST NO THANK YOU PLEASE.

Haley and Strick were insistent, claiming that a Halloween without being scared was something akin to the Whos waking up in Whoville on Christmas morning without their trees and trimmings and roast beast. I was all THE WHOS SANG ANYWAYS YOU MISSED THE WHOLE POINT and Haley was all IT’S THE EXORCIST OR A HAUNTED CORN MAZE.

After weighing our miserable options and being pressed and plied with the aforementioned merlot, Gretchen and I came to the unfortunate conclusion that a haunted corn maze would be marginally less terrifying than watching someone’s head spin around on her shoulders willy-nilly. Serendipity and google pointed us towards a haunted corn maze/haunted hayride combo a mere 45 minute drive away. Bonus? It was called NIGHT TERRORS. Which clearly inspired a lot of confidence.

Cornmaze1Arriving on the scene, we were greeted by a grunting zombie lifelessly dragging his club behind him, and an un-dead nurse with crazed eyes and a rather disconcerting trail of blood oozing from the corner of her mouth.

Valiantly determined not to wet herself in fear, Gretchen decided to make use of the available port-a-potty. [I, on the other hand, decided that I would rather have my eyeballs deep-fried and served on a Po Boy sandwich to the aforementioned nurse.]  No sooner had she closed the plastic port-a-potty door when the club-dragging zombie stumbled over and began to groan and viciously beat the wall with his stick. As the rest of us doubled over with uncontrollable laughter, a shrieking Gretchen flew out of the potty doors, pants mercifully still zipped.

I decided right there and then that every last penny of my fifteen dollars had been worth it.

After being unceremoniously loaded onto a rickety wagon, our rather disinterested looking guide took it upon herself to inform us no less than FOUR times that while the undead were free to touch and harass us, under no circumstances were we to touch or harass the undead. Sit on your hands if you must, I don’t care. Just know that there are plain clothed policeman patrolling the area, and if you harm one of the actors you will be prosecuted.

Meanwhile, I was all THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE WAGON WE HAVE TO GET OUT NOW.

Terrified screams echoed off the trees in the surrounding woods as we began to slowly roll into the murky night, the color draining from our wide-eyed faces.

We stopped at a haunted school house, a haunted brothel, a haunted saloon and a haunted graveyard. We all remained relatively poised with minimal dry-heaving, until we arrived at the haunted meat shop. As the wagon came to a faltering halt, foreboding looking men wearing pig masks began to slowly bleed out of the dark cover of the woods and towards our little wagon.

Without warning, we heard the chilling, unmistakable revving of chainsaws.

Chainsaw wielding pig-men leapt onto the wagon, wildly brandishing their weapons with all of the dramatic aplomb of Neil Armstrong planting the American flag on the moon. Terrified, tears began to pour down Gretchen’s cheeks as she hyperventilated PLEASEDON’TPLEASEDON’TPLEASEDON’T. Meanwhile, Strick channeled her inner ER doctor, dramatically commanding Gretchen to STAY WITH HER. Shaking with laughter and quite unsure as to what to do, Haley and I attempted to act as diversions, finally leaping on top of Gretchen and asking the pig men to take us instead.

The ride ended abruptly at the haunted corn maze—the only thing that stood between us and freedom. There was no choice: to get back to our car, we would have to battle cackling demon-clowns and faceless dolls begging us to play with them in a haunting, sing-song lilt. I believe it was at this point that Gretchen whipped out her iPhone and began to google “How to divorce your friends”.

The rest is a blur which lasted all of five minutes, and most of eternity. We decided to RUN as quickly as our legs could carry us through the tangled corn stalks, gingerly leaping overCornmaze2 zombie hands and evading demon-possessed hobos like a BOSS. At one point, in an effort to rally our spirits, Haley began bravely hollering the chant from Remember the Titans, each of us dutifully belting the echo. EVERYWHERE WE GO! PEOPLE WANT TO KNOW! WHO WE ARE! SO WE TELL THEM!

Ooh, ahh. And so forth. TAKE THAT DEMON HOBO.

The elated pride I felt bursting through the maze and into the wide open field where our car was parked was something akin to what I imagine birthing your first child might feel like.

You know, if you could give your child back and never look at him ever again.

 

 

Comments

  1. Tina Wilson says:

    Oh my word! You guys are certifiable nut cases! Uncle John and I laughed until it hurt! You got what you deserved. The hysterical part is that you PAID for this!

  2. BenjamenOber says:

    So funny that it is hard to pick a favorite line, this takes the cake: “THE WHOS SANG ANYWAYS YOU MISSED THE WHOLE POINT.” Hilarious and you managed to incept us your loyal readers with Christmas season.

  3. HAHAHA. That is all. ;)

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