Trilogy of Terror

Who doesn’t love one last, good scare?

October is over. It’s true. But before the “amber waves of grain” go all “snowcapped mountains white,” we might have one more yarn. One last fright.

This is more Treehouse of Horror than anything else, so please keep up.

I grew up watching horror movies. Lots of them. My parents maybe should have been more protective of my cinematic childhood, but that is a therapy session for another day.

I remember watching Friday the 13th Part 7 where a young girl with psychic powers raises Jason Vorhees from the dead to wreak havoc one last time… until the next last time. Or Nightmare on Elm Street 4. Was that one Dream Warriors? Nah. That was Part 3. Four was…The Dream Master. (Thank you, Google.) Part 4 has my favorite quote. “Swish. Killed the fish.”

Hilarious in and out of context.

But there’s a distance there. A space between me sitting in the living room cuddled up with the blue glow of the TVs with actual tubes and the maniacal serial killers haunting the woods or your dreams or certain parts of Texas.

Today, let’s talk about real scares. Personal scares. And, since we’ve just mentioned them, let’s start at the movies.

Let me confide something in you. I thought that Scream was a tired idea before it came out. I was mistaken. It – at the time – was one of the scariest movies I had ever seen. But I was wrong about the girl on a video tape coming out of a well. (What the heck were you thinking, The Ring filmmakers?)

Like I said, I’ve been wrong in the past. I’ll be wrong in the future.

Ghostface became part of the cultural zeitgeist. Seeing a person dressed all in black with a bright white mask and wielding a hunting knife just became the norm. After the over one-hundred million dollar success of the original and a couple of sequels – this is before an underrated fourth in the series and three seasons of an undercooked tv series – people know who the heck Ghostface is. But, sitting in the darkened theater over twenty years ago, I had no idea what I was in for.

From the opening phone call with Drew to the final jump scare, I was all in. Along for the ride.

There are things now known as 4-D movie theaters. Once upon a time, this type of experience was contained in the fenced-in confines of a theme park. Water shooting you in the face. Bubbles falling from the ceiling. Fans stirring up smoke and blowing it around your seat.

Do you remember when I said I was along for the ride?

This was a 4-D theater before 4-D theaters existed. I hooped and hollered. I jumped at every stabby moment. I held hands and then twisted said hands until the blood was thoroughly rung out of said hands. I might have ended up sitting in a someone’s lap. But, I’ll never tell.

The kids who flanked me on either side? They never saw it coming.

Years later, I would revisit this same “thrill.” Most might not know, but the couple of days following Halloween are a fantastically deeply discounted time for us fans of the macabre. I snagged a full-sized, animatronic Ghostface from Spirit. And the fun began…

He was hidden all around the house to scare whomever was dumb enough not to see him coming. In showers. In the pantry. But… if you’re not paying attention after a fun night and a few drinks. Your mom is able to subtly put it behind the front door. You walk in completely oblivious. See a dark masked figure with a knife raised above its head. You could scream to the heavens and crumple to the floor.

I’m not saying this happened to me… But it could have…

Since it was just yesterday, let’s tell a tale of Halloween.

I do not like haunted places. I don’t wander grave yards at night. I don’t tempt fate heading into places where bad things have historically happened and where the miffed ghosts of the past may still wander the halls/tombstones/shady medical establishments.

Don’t start nothing. Won’t be nothing.

Some friends decided that heading to the Old Charleston Jail for a ghost tour would be the most splendiferous of all ideas. It’s not. That place is haunted. Don’t be dumb.

If you haven’t checked out our history on the Old City Jail that we posted on October 25th, skip over there when you’re done here.

Anyway…

We are dressed up in all kinds of Halloween garb. Some of us pirates, some of doctors. You get it. I was dressed in gold lame. Elvis Presley, baby.

Thank you. Thank you very much.

And we start the tour. This place was used for water torture. This is where they used electroshock therapy. These bars held this bad dude right across from that crazy lady. All in good fun, yeah?

A couple of the actors dressed as inmates are grabbing for us behind a set of thick iron bars. The tour guide yells, slams their hands with a billy club, slamming the outer huge iron door. SLAM! It echoed…

Then they continue with all the gory and gruesome details of the misdeeds done by those in charge over what seemed like millions of years. And… the huge iron door swung open narrowly missing me and my “friends.”

What did I do, you ask? I did what any sane man would do.

I screamed. Loud and high. And I picked up a male counterpart and threw them at the actor who jumped out and scared me.

My friend tells the story later, “I was walking forward and then… I wasn’t. I was facing left as I was being launched at one of the people running the tour.”

We made a hasty get away only seconds later.

But scares are rarely contained to the thirty-one days of October. A great shock to your system can be waiting around any and all corners.

Years ago…

Another friend, who at this point was living in Orlando, asked if I wanted to go Universal Studios. Now it’s no big deal. We head down to Universal Studios several times a year if we’re able.

We go religiously. (Don’t tell Jesus. The big turkey legs make him nervous.)

This was my first time.

And they have/had/have a Jurassic Park Ride. I love Jurassic Park. Dinos are my favorite. Love, love, love.

But… I’m so excited about this new (to me) attraction, I’m paying attention to exactly zero percent of the warning signs.

Does it have a brachiosaurus? (“Please remain seated at all times.”)

I wonder if there’s a raptor cage. (“Keep all hands and feet inside the vehicle.”)

Wait… after this I can go and pet a triceratops? (“People who are pregnant, have high blood pressure or heart conditions or are just not paying attention to these signs should not ride.”)

We hopped in a large boat and… we’re off.

“Welcome… to Jurassic Park. (Dun dun dun duuun dun. Dun dun dun duuun dun.)”

I am in heaven. Here’s an Ultrasaur. A stegosaurus. Don’t forget the Psittacosaurus, whatever that is. My eyes are open and I am a kid. Just excited to be there.

Then things went south.

A lizard throws us off course by head butting us from below. The raptor cage that I was wondering about? There it is. But the raptors inside have gotten loose. No Bueno. Where have they gone?

Two compys fight over scraps of clothing which I assumed were from a dead guy. The raptor cage from the first movie? DROPPED from above, stopping just above our heads.

This is not what I signed up for.

Bring back the Stegosaurus!

Then, a dark tunnel. Broken glass. Blood. Raptors left and right. Jumping out at us. Clawing. Hissing. Dilophosaurs spitting just like in the movie. Now, a welcome relief from the Florida heat, then another thing surprising me on what I assumed to be a peaceful water taxi tour through time. I was holding on to the lap bar for dear life. The entire time I had not noticed that we had been transported up and up and up through a chain system. Think “Splash Mountain” with teeth. Yet, that wasn’t the end of it.

And this terrifying enemy surfaced, as such enemies often do, in the seemingly most innocent and unlikely of places.

A large gaping black void sat in front of us. A roar bellowed at full force and stomping right toward us was the king mama jama. A full-size Tyrannosaurus Rex. I was a dead man. No one – but everyone else on the boat – saw this coming. Not only was he headed for us, but we were headed for him. The worst game of chicken ever.

A shaft of light from underneath. I looked down at the only way out. An 85-foot drop. Then? The clawing, hissing and spitting were from me. I expected none of this.

FLASH.

They took a picture of the most scared I have ever been in my entire life, the masochists. And then sold it to me for 14 bucks.

Please see the below:

So… If someone rings you. Asks what’s your favorite scary movie? Or tells you that you have only seven days to live? Or invites you to a haunted house? A theme park maybe?

Just say no. Hang up. And re-watch Friends. Because there’s safety in numbers.

~ Brandon L. Joyner