If you read Date Night at a Haunted House is Supposed to Be Fun, Right? you know I have issues about haunted houses, haunted barns, scream parks, whatever you might call them. That’s why you might be surprised to know I did try to go to one with Wayne again.
Round Two
It was about four years ago. We were living in Jacksonville, Florida and I had a writer’s conference down in Altamonte Springs, which is right outside Orlando.
It was during October and the height of Universal Studios’ Halloween Horror Nights. It was supposed to be amazing and both Wayne and I were curious to check it out. Even though I was apprehensive about going, I figured I was older now. Surely I could do it.
Ha!
The Scare Zones
Because we heard how bad the crowds could be, we got there early. Right as the day park was winding down and the Horror Nights was beginning. Only a handful of other fright seekers were in the park.
Wayne pressed me to run to the back of the park so we could do the big rides that were sure to have lines later. But to get to them, we had to go through what they call “scare zones.”
Scare zones were filled with fog, sometimes even foam, and manned with ghastly ghouls ready to chase and terrorize. I tried to skirt the first one by cutting through a food area. But the ghouls found me. And came after me with chainsaws.
I grabbed on to Wayne, but guess what he did? Yanked his arm back, pushed me away, and said, “Get off me!” And he was not joking around.
Meltdown
So there I am, terrified, chainsaws coming at me, realizing I’m all alone and my big strong husband isn’t going to be any help. I did what anyone would do –ran!
But when I turned around, I found Wayne doubled over laughing at me.
Which pissed me off. But my anger had to wait. I was freaking out.
The next scare zone had vines closing in on us and these mutant straw beasts crowding around us. I made it through there and holed up in a cafeteria at the back of the park, cringing and crying every time a chainsaw sounded outside. (Not just crying. Bawling my head off.)
I had seen what was waiting in the next zone. If you ever saw Lord of the Rings and the ugly bad guys in that movie…these were about like those.
I refused to budge. I even approached one of the security guards, in tears mind you, and asked could I please be escorted out of the park. They couldn’t accommodate my request of course.
“I never said I wanted to be in a horror movie!”
Wayne was livid.
“Why are you acting like this? You’re such a baby. You love horror movies. What’s the difference between that and this?”
“I never said I wanted to be in a horror movie!”
I’ll never forget how he shook his head in disgust. He had no sympathy for me, but I actually didn’t care so much about that at that particular moment. I could not get it in my head that the ghoulies in the park were just people in costumes. I couldn’t stop crying or shaking. All I knew was I had to get out of there.
The Great Escape
Eventually the crowds thickened and I finessed my way into the middle of larger groups so I could make it through the scare zones with little to no harassment.
Wayne wouldn’t talk to me for two days. He had seen me in a whole new, very unflattering, light.
But similarly I’d seen him in a whole new, equally unflattering, light.
Lesson learned. We’ll never try to do that again.
Question for Readers
Do you enjoy haunted houses? Does your significant other? Have you ever been in a similar situation (either from Wayne’s perspective or mine)?
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