I Hate Halloween

Ever since high school, when I read Carrie, before anyone knew who Stephen King was, I have hated horror stuff. Shortly after I read the book, the movie came out and that iced it for me. After that final scene, (no, I mean the final, final scene with Amy Irving), I would never see another horror movie. I don’t understand why people group sex and violence into the same category; sex is a joyful act between two people and violence definitely isn’t. Why do some parents let young kids watch everyday violence on the news and in the movies, but turn off the love scenes? IT. DOES. NOT. MAKE. SENSE.

Anyway, I get the history of Halloween and I understand the traditional fun of letting little kids dress up and knock on doors for trick-or-treat, but this macabre obsession with dark, evil things disturbs me. If I had my way, our front porch would be decorated nicely with pumpkins, cornstalks, a lovely wreath for the door. But no, Brad wants the whole kit and caboodle. He spent $250 on strobe lights, and skulls that talk, and battery-operated eyeballs that peak out of the bushes. The worst part is the mask that oozes blood. I will spend Halloween evening in my bed with a good book and the door closed.