By Dorothy Rosby
I can’t help thinking about haunted houses as we near the scariest day of the year: election day.
I’m joking! Sort of. I’m referring to Halloween, of course. ‘Tis the season when normally sane people go off to haunted houses, and sane or not, I’ve actually done it myself. Twice, in fact. The first time I visited the morning after the haunted house was over. The lights were on and it was being dismantled. I’m proud to say it didn’t scare me one bit.
But the lights were off in the other one. There were strange noises and a lot of skeletons, zombies and ghosts coming at me. They were all fake and I knew it. Still it was torture. I thought it would never end.
It makes me wonder how much more terrified I’d have been if the organizers had included some of the real-life things I’m afraid of, like angry bulls and that stuff I find in my strainer basket after I do dishes.