Just like we were 12 again

Haunted houses scarier than last time we looked

Last week, I could legitimately claim that I was 12 years old the last time I was in a haunted house. This week, I can legitimately claim that I acted 12 years old the last time I was in a haunted house.

You see, I managed to survive 22 Octobers in Northwest Arkansas without going to any of the spooky haunts that pop up this time of year. That's a solid record -- and a record I could've maintained, had it not been for some vertically challenged, dimple-cheeked conspirators commonly known as children.

I don't have any conspirators of my own, so I assumed I was safe. That's where they get you. The little instigators can sniff out an Achilles' heel like Dick Trammel can find a speaking engagement. It's a gift.

I was at an event that morning with my friend, Renee, and her family. When the subject of Halloween came up, she and I declared we wanted no part of a haunted house. This only thrilled her twin girls all the more, and before we knew it, we were headed for horror that very night.

The last haunted house I went to was at Oak Grove Elementary School with teachers dressed as witches in a decorated gymnasium. It was about a 40-foot jaunt through black lights and wolf howls with bowls of peeled grapes posing as eyeballs. How much could have changed since then?

We strolled up to the aptly named Nightmares Haunted House in north Bentonville. Now, part of the thrill of a haunted house is the surprise factor, so it's probably bad form for me to reveal what happens next. But, for the sake of investigative journalism, I have a duty to report my findings.

THEY SCARE YOU. They scare the absolute teetotal cow patties out of you. That's what I found. They take perfectly happy people who pay perfectly good money to be scared witless and make them long for clean underwear.

We took a "before" photo. I like to think it was to mark the occasion and show our smiling faces for Facebook, but I'm not entirely sure it wasn't to readily identify me in case I didn't make it back to the car. We were then herded onto a bus with other people not sane enough to stay home. The bus ride was so scary that Renee thought it was the tour and was grateful to be done. No. That was just transportation to the scary place. In the woods. Like every Criminal Minds episode begins.

The six of us advanced single file through 14 acres of fear while holding onto one another's clothing. Someone had a hold of the belt loop on my jeans, and depending on what was happening, I was either looking like a plumber or had a wedgie.

Yet through all the screams and gasps, something else happened. We were smiling -- all of us -- smiling ear to ear and laughing when others would scream and jump. Like we were 12.

But I'm not doing it again. Not until next October.

NAN Our Town on 10/18/2018

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