Coming home to our own little house of horrors | MomsCharlotte.com
TRACY LEE CURTIS


Tracy Lee Curtis is a humorist, writer and speaker. She writes family humor for the Charlotte Observer. Her column appears each Sunday.
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Coming home to our own little house of horrors

By ObserverTracy on 10/25/09 12:00

OK, here's what's spooky about Halloween: the compulsive way people are decorating for this occasion.

Like I need one more thing to do to impress the neighbors. Is it not enough that we recycle? Rake and bag our leaves? I have to create illusions of a haunted house too??

I think it's funny people actually have to spend money to make their houses scary. My house is plenty frightening...

(cue scary music)

Dusk falls. And the neighborhood darkens. A sharp chill in the air bites down on my bare neck, as I slowly make my way up the front steps - to the house - of horror!

(cue scary laughter)

I pull my trench coat around my neck. Leaves swirl around my legs in the wicked wind, and cobwebs blow wildly back and forth, finally wrapping themselves around the old - rusty - door knocker.

Slooowly, I open the door. (cue creaking door sound). The blackness of the interior sends a chill down my spine.

"Hel... Hel - lo ?"... Silence.

I reach for the light switch and flip the switch. No power! (Or, the husband forgot to change the light bulb). I take a step toward the living room. Tiny pieces of glass shatter beneath my feet. No. Wait. Animal Crackers. Animal Crackers, shatter beneath my feet.

Suddenly, a scream!

"Mommy!" And a scary silhouette appears before me.

"We're playing hide and seek in the dark!"

Another scream.

"Found ya!" My heart races as a dark figure darts into the room and tackles scary silhouette to the floor - as a giant palmetto bug runs for cover.

Nervous now, I make my way down the hall when a horrifying figure appears in the mirror. Another scream! (cue scream). Have I really looked like this all day? I feel my way to the kitchen and open the fridge to get some light. Terror grips me. There's nothing to eat!

We race down the hall to call Daddy, to warn him of the threat of no dinner. I reach for the phone. The line's been cut! (Or, somebody forgot to put it back on the charger).

I run to the bedroom and get caught in a plastic web of dry-cleaning hanging from the bedroom door frame. I can't breath - I can't move. I lose my footing and fall into a basket of dirty laundry.

"Help me! HELP me! How many days did you WEAR these SOCKS?!"

I struggle to my feet. Someone shoots me with a Nerf gun "I'm hit! I'm hit!" I fall into the bathroom, where the horror continues. Wet towels hang like ghosts from the shower rod - toothpaste oozes - water drips from the faucets. And I find myself lying on the scale!

(cue scream)

I have to get out - I race from the room - down the hall - to the front door. I get the door open and run screaming bloody murder out of my house. As all the neighbors watch in horror.

Yep, that ought to do it.

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