When I was in college I went to a haunted house. I also went to one in high school and one when I was in third grade. The whole experience was generally terrifying, and despite my love of horror movies and all things Halloween, I vowed to never go again.
This year my husband tricked me into going in the name of family fun, and promised that if I survived we could go see the original Nightmare on Elm Street (Johnny Depp in a half shirt), which was showing at a recently restored theater in the city.
To my absolute horror I found out we weren’t going to some small little haunted house either. It was Dream Reapers, A big, scary haunted house with Yelp reviews and more actors than animatronics. The kind where people chase you through the parking lot because they think it’s funny to hear you scream and watch you run. The kind I had successfully spent years avoiding.
Then at the theater no one was dressed like Freddy Krueger, so I didn’t even get my perfect photo op.