Watched by belladet
Everyone say: "Thank you, Johnny Depp's crop top."​
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The corn maze is all-consuming. Taller than me, the wheat-tinted husks graze the night sky, dancing in an October breeze. I’ve lost my friends, but I can hear their laughter in the distance. Someone calls my name, Bryce, and I try to turn where the voice is coming from. But all around me is corn, and with the other groups giggling and chatting somewhere throughout the maze, I’m entirely alone.
I push onto my tippy toes, trying to peer over the field to see how far I am from the haunted house. No luck. I huff, my breath fogging in front of my face, and pull my jacket tighter around my shoulders. I trudge through the maze, turning left and right, then left again until I reach what I think is the middle. A small bench sits in the center of a circled-out grassy area, still surrounded by corn. A murder of crows flies from behind me, startling me forward onto the frigid stone bench. I sit for a second, waiting to hear another call of my name, listening to the distant sounds of laughter and screams. I resist pulling out my iPhone 7 with only 20% left, fingers fiddling with the seam of my leggings, and I wait. And wait. And wait until something behind me moves, rustles the corn, and brushes my shoulder. I scream and slam my right elbow back and up into the face of Freddy Krueger.
“Oh fuck!” I shout, turning around and covering my mouth with my hands. Freddy groans, sinking to his knees. I spew out apologies and crouch down to see the damage. Freddy shakes his head, “It’s okay, I’m okay, I shouldn’t have-fuck,” but I can see blood sleeking down past his mask, and I feel the tears start to come. “Aw no, dude, don’t cry; I shouldn’t have,” sniff, “shouldn’t have crept up behind you. Damn, you’re strong.” He spits a glob of blood onto the ground. I feel faint.
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***
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Did you know there are around 1,200 haunted houses in the country? According to America Haunts, “Our love of being scared is by no means a recent phenomenon. Haunted attractions have a long history that dates all the way back to our earliest civilizations.” The desire to scare and be scared isn’t a new idea. I actually worked in a haunted house about a year after the “Freddy Krueger Incident,” and my friends and I called it happened. A fascination with horror has always been a huge facet of my personality.
Call it my 4th zodiac sign: Nosferatu. It started when I wanted to be an Egyptologist and was obsessed with mummies, courtesy of the movie Mummy. Ancient Egyptians believed the best way to avoid body snatchers and evil-doers was to scare them. They crafted elaborate mazes, traps, and tombs to confuse anything with ill intent. No, they weren’t charging admission, but this is one of the earliest examples of people making devices solely for the purpose of spookiness. Fast forward to the Dark Ages, and the European freaks and geeks were reenacting some of the scariest parts of the Bible. Even though they intended to scare folks into being pious, the audience enjoyed the scares, gore, and morals. This era even began the Halloween as we know it today.
In the 1800s, that’s when things started to get downright frightening. The Victorians loved horror. Posing with dead relatives, stuffing their pets, and Edgar Allan Poe were just some of the many weird and freakish pastimes the average person loved. Without the Victorian Gothic, we’d never have gotten Frankenstein or Dracula; personally, without vampires in my life, I’d be a much sadder person. The first recorded haunted house, Orton and Spooner Haunted House, started in 1915 in Liphook, England. The attraction was a small building powered by steam that used mechanical devices, sound effects, and costumed actors to scare visitors. The Orton and Spooner Ghost House was the first haunted attraction to charge admission, which marked a shift from community-driven events to commercial enterprises. Capitalism stops for no one! See, since the dawn of time, people have always loved that which goes bump in the night.
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***
I’m still apologizing as he stands, takes his mask off, and smiles brightly through the blood soaking his face. He must’ve been about 17, with the kind of face to make you pause in the mall, but I was too busy realizing I had broken someone's nose to notice his attractiveness. It coats his teeth, making him look more terrifying than before. I’m sobbing at this point, legitimately freaking the fuck out. He wipes the blood with his ripped red and black sweater and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, seriously. Come on, let's go get you water, and me, a fucking bandaid.” With his arm around my shoulder, we walk through the maze till we reach a backstage area. A huge sign staked into the ground reads “Allowed Personnel Only.”
After we found his boss and explained what happened, which was mostly Freddy talking since I was utterly inconsolable, an orange Fanta, Twix bar, and some comforting words later, I had made a new friend. Freddy, whose actual name was Will, continued to tell me it was okay. I hadn’t meant to, and Megan assured me that if Freddy didn’t care, then I was in no trouble. They took me into the Haunted House backstage area to sit in the green room. Two faded couches sat stuffed into this tiny room with faded beige paint and one yellow boob light on the ceiling. Band and movie posters were thumbtacked onto the walls, along with sticky notes with fuck Tommy or someone remember to tip the pizza delivery man written on them. We watched cable TV on their tiny box TV after Freddy corralled some of his coworkers to look for my friends.
“I really scared the shit out of you, didn’t I?” Will asked with a mouth full of cool ranch Doritos. I snorted. My face was still red and puffy from crying so hard. “Yeah, you really scared the shit out of me.” But the word “shit” was clunky in my 13-year-old mouth, and I mumbled it through a mouthful of Cheetos. We sat in awkward silence, waiting for my friends, watching the tiny box TV in all its grainy pixel glory. “Do you like working here?” I asked, licking the orange dust from my fingers. Will tilted his head back in thought, paper towel to his nose. “Yeah. I fucking love it. Do you like going to haunted houses?” I grinned sheepishly, “Yeah. I fucking love it.”
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***
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After I busted Will’s nose, I felt surprisingly not horrible. For the tiniest moment, I was invincible. The Hulk had nothing on me. The horribleness came after, when I saw the blood slipping down under his mask. The adrenaline morphed into guilt that curdled in my stomach as the potential charges rushed over me. I could hear the sirens feel the handcuffs clicking on my wrists. Even after Will assured me it was okay, trying to place the blame on himself, I was a nervous wreck. My stomach could barely handle the Cheetos his boss had shoved in my hands. When my friends found me, I started crying again. They threw their arms around me, shrieking oh em geeeeee we thought you died and dragged me outside to the parking lot. I leaned against Brooklyn’s rusty dark green Honda and threw up on the faded fall grass. Cheeto orange-d everywhere like a Jackson Pollock painting.
With my head on my arm, forehead cooling against the chilled metal door, I closed my eyes and felt my erratic heart. Ba dump, ba dump, ba dump. For a second, I was the star of an 80s slasher. My stomach churned over my anxiety, but slowly, a giddiness had taken place of the nausea. A grin slid over my face, and I lifted my head and laughed. Hard. Possessed by a hyena, I slid down to the ground and cackled, rocking back and forth, clapping my hands. Just about to hop in the car, Brooklyn rounded the front and knelt next to me. “Bella, what the fuck? Did you just puke?” she asked, her face twisted in disgust as she looked at the evidence by our feet. I laughed even harder. The adrenaline in my body was finally fading, replaced with bubbly endorphins for my survival. I was lighter than a feather. High on life, or more accurately, high on fear.
Fear is a funny thing. It walks a dangerous line between arousal and something deeply primal, although one can say those aren’t mutually exclusive. When our bodies are prepped for peril, we achieve a weird high. We’ve all heard of the “fight or flight” response, which evolved after one too many of our ancestors got eaten by a saber-toothed tiger. Depending on the person, fear can manifest differently. For some, fear gives us a rush of hormones and adrenaline that gives us superpowers. You’re faster, stronger, and can’t feel pain until after the high subsides. Normally, I’d have crumpled like a leaf if my elbow hit anything with that much force. For others, they’re reduced to a nauseated, quivering mess. But if fright doesn’t emotionally wreck you, fear can feel addicting.
With Brooklyn’s arms around my shoulders, she stood me up and got Bryce to open the car door. I sat in the passenger seat, breathing hard into cackles of laughter that shook my already sensitive stomach. I didn’t know it yet, but I’d be doing exactly what Will was doing in about a year. Although I wouldn’t get injured by a stray teen girl’s elbow, I’d be stuffed in a large dog cage with a prosthesis on my face, scratching at people’s ankles. But that’s a story for another time: this Bella needs to worry about getting home before curfew. In the car ride home, I rested my head against the window, having a total emo moment with Lorde on the radio. I crashed in the passenger seat of that Honda and dreamed of stripped sweaters and corn.
Fear manifests differently in everyone. A complex chemical reaction that brings us closer to animals than man. Blame your amygdala, the key part of your brain responsible for processing fear. It interacts with other brain regions like the prefrontal cortex (involved in reasoning) to decide whether you’re a deer in the headlights or a bobcat in the trees. I busted Freddy Krueger's nose when I was 13, and now Midsommar is a comfort movie. Fly like the butterfly effect, smash a scare actor's nose in. ​​
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KITTY KILLER
BEWARE THE BANG
After I busted Will’s nose, I felt surprisingly not horrible. For the tiniest moment, I was invincible. The Hulk had nothing on me. The horribleness came after, when I saw the blood slipping down under his mask. The adrenaline morphed into guilt that curdled in my stomach as the potential charges rushed over me. I could hear the sirens feel the handcuffs clicking on my wrists. Even after Will assured me it was okay, trying to place the blame on himself, I was a nervous wreck. My stomach could barely handle the Cheetos his boss had shoved in my hands. When my friends found me, I started crying again. They threw their arms around me, shrieking oh em geeeeee we thought you died and dragged me outside to the parking lot. I leaned against Brooklyn’s rusty dark green Honda and threw up on the faded fall grass. Cheeto orange-d everywhere like a Jackson Pollock painting.
With my head on my arm, forehead cooling against the chilled metal door, I closed my eyes and felt my erratic heart. Ba dump, ba dump, ba dump. The night had taken an unexpected turn. For a second, I was the star of an 80s slasher. My stomach churned over my anxiety, but slowly, a giddiness had taken place of the nausea. A grin slid over my face, and I lifted my head and laughed. Hard. Possessed by a hyena, I slid down to the ground and cackled, rocking back and forth, clapping my hands. Just about to hop in the car, Brooklyn rounded the front and knelt next to me. “Bella, what the fuck? Did you just puke?” she asked, her face twisted in disgust as she looked at the evidence by our feet. I laughed even harder. The adrenaline in my body was finally fading, replaced with bubbly endorphins for my survival. I was lighter than a feather. High on life, or more accurately, high on fear.
Fear is a funny thing. It walks a dangerous line between arousal and something deeply primal, although one can say those aren’t mutually exclusive. When our bodies are prepped for peril, we achieve a weird high. We’ve all heard of the “fight or flight” response, which evolved after one too many of our ancestors got eaten by a saber-toothed tiger. Depending on the person, fear can manifest differently. For some, fear gives us a rush of hormones and adrenaline that gives us superpowers. You’re faster, stronger, and can’t feel pain until after the high subsides. Normally, I’d have crumpled like a leaf if my elbow hit anything with that much force. For others, they’re reduced to a nauseated, quivering mess. But if fright doesn’t emotionally wreck you, fear can feel addicting. With Brooklyn’s arms around my shoulders, she stood me up and got Bryce to open the car door. I sat in the passenger seat, breathing hard into cackles of laughter that shook my already sensitive stomach. I didn’t know it yet, but I’d be doing exactly what Will was doing in about a year. Although I wouldn’t get injured by a stray teen girl’s elbow, I’d be stuffed in a large dog cage with a prosthesis on my face, scratching at people’s ankles. But that’s a story for another time: this Bella needs to worry about getting home before curfew.In the car ride home, I rested my head against the window, having a total emo moment with Lorde on the radio. I crashed in the passenger seat of that Honda and dreamed of stripped sweaters and corn.
Fear manifests differently in everyone. A complex chemical reaction that brings us closer to animals than man. Blame your amygdala, the key part of your brain responsible for processing fear. It interacts with other brain regions like the prefrontal cortex (involved in reasoning) to decide whether you’re a deer in the headlights or a bobcat in the trees. I busted Freddy Krueger's nose when I was 13, and now Midsommar is a comfort movie. Fly like the butterfly effect, smash a scare actor's nose in.
