With Halloween upon us, it is time for me to reveal my fears. I am afraid of noises in the middle of the night. As an adult, I avoid reading scary books or watching horror movies. And you know what really scares me? Top two fears. Being trapped in the dark and haunted houses.
When I was growing up, I don't remember not being afraid of the dark. When I was about four years old, my family lived in Pennsylvania. It was a coal mining town, Pittson, and the streets were very hilly. We lived in an apartment above a building on the main street. The main floor was a store front, and it was mentioned a few years ago that my parents intended on opening a day care center, but never did. I do remember the basement of the building. The basement was dug out, the walls were actually black coal, cold to the touch and it was very dark. I would never go down there by myself.
My mom's brothers came to visit and the grown-ups decided to play a prank on an unsuspecting uncle of mine. He was the youngest brother in the family, who was closer in age to my sister than his siblings, so I think he was around eight years old.
Somehow, the grown-ups convinced us we needed to go down in the basement. With my young uncle in the lead, we descended the stairs into the dark, chilly basement. I remember being so scared, and huddled with my young uncle and sister as we went down the stairs. When we reached the bottom of the staircase, out stepped a person, flashed a light and revealed a skeleton face.
We all screamed, and stumbled over each other to climb the staircase. I was so scared, fell, and we all tumbled over each other. I remember the pounding of my heart, and the fear I would never leave the dark basement, and I would have to stay with the skeleton.
In all fairness to my parents, to this day they attest they warned my sister and I about what was going to happen. I don't doubt that they did, but maybe my four year old brain was too young to handle the concept. Maybe this was the first time I was ever scared.
Later in life, when I was about eight years old, my dad convinced me to go in a haunted house with him. Not sure why I ever agreed to go inside since haunted houses are traditionally dark, and everyone knew I was afraid of the dark.
I remember clinging to my dad. He walked in front of me, I held tight onto his back and buried my head in his jacket. I knew I would be okay since my dad would take care of me, but I was really scared. My face stayed buried until we walked into the last room. It was dark and lightening flashed. There were skeletons hanging down from the ceiling and you had to walk though them to get to the door.
My dad kept assuring me it would be okay, and I am sure by this time he fully regretted encouraging me to go through the haunted house with him. As we worked our way across the room, the people in front of us closed the exit door. The room was dark and then the lightening flashed. I remember my dad's voice, with a hint of panic, asking aloud to anyone who would listen, "How do we get out?"
His voice became angry as he reached the wall and started searching for the door. I clung onto his jacket with my heart beating. The door eventually opened, but the damage was done. Now, not only was I afraid of the dark, but haunted houses were also added to my list of fears.
