I
was probably 11, maybe 12 years old. I had spent the evening
trick-or-treating with my friend, BJ, in his neighborhood. BJ's
family were a little more well-off than my own (maybe a lot more), so
he lived in a pretty nice suburban community. I, on the other
hand, lived in the middle of the boonies, surrounded by cows and
trees. I had one neighbor across the street and only 2
more houses within the distance of a mile. Because of this,
trick-or-treating was a "no-go" in my neighborhood.
I'm
truly not even sure if BJ and I were actually "friends".
His father was a friend of my dad. We would go to their house on
occasional weekends to swim in his family's pool and have cookouts.
BJ was a few years younger than I, but possibly more mature in some
ways. I'm not sure how much we actually had in common other than both
being baseball fans and both loving NES. On top of his large
collection of DC Super Powers figures, he was also the first kid I
knew that owned "The Legend of Zelda", a fact that made
BJ pretty damn cool in my eyes.
I
can't tell you what we dressed as that Halloween, but I know that we
canvassed most of the surrounding blocks that night. For
whatever reason, I used old pillow cases for my trick-or-treat bags.
While my family always made the valid argument that they were
sturdier than the usual plastic trick-or-treat bags, I truly
believe it was more a case of forgetting to pick up a bag and making
do with what was on-hand.
BJ's
grandparents also lived in this same neighborhood. After our rounds
of begging from the neighbors, we ended our night at their house,
organizing our stashes while waiting for our respective parental
figures to pick us up and take us back home. In my case, I was
waiting for my father. For the most part, Dad was a decent enough
guy. However, he was easily distracted. As I would discover many
years later, he was particularly distracted if a freshly-lit joint
was passed his way. No, I don't know for certain that the reefer
played any part in his tardiness that night, but it sure makes
for one hell of a story.
BJ's
parents had come to get him first, leaving me to wait out the
remainder of my time in the company of an older couple that I really
didn't know. Don't get me wrong. They were nice enough people, but it
was pretty obvious that they had more important things to do than to
babysit someone else's kid. That's what the TV was for. They turned
on the set and left the room, leaving me under the guidance of
whatever channel they had previously left it on. The station was
nearing the end of a Halloween Night movie marathon. I never knew
what was played prior, but the movie starting at that moment was
1979's Tourist
Trap,
a film that I had never heard of. But hey, this was "regular"
TV.
How bad could it be?
The
answer: Pretty bad. Frighteningly so.
For
those unfamiliar with the film, Tourist Trap is the story of group of
young adults that take an ill-advised detour and find themselves
at a former roadside attraction where they are tormented by the
deranged owner and his cadre of telekinetically controlled
mannequins. The film wastes no time in taking its turn for the
deranged. People impaled with pipes, a human face used as a mask, and
lifelike mannequins with knowing eyes focused squarely on the camera.
As if they were staring back at the young eyes that were staring at
them. And this was just in the first 20 minutes. Ya know, before they
started moving.
I
can't tell you what my friend's grandparents were doing, but it was
most assuredly NOT supervising me. Had they been doing so, they may
have noticed the sheer terror creeping across my frightened face and
seeping deep into my brain. Instead, I was left to defend myself
against the onslaught of laughing mannequins.
Eventually,
my father did arrive to take me home. I didn't say anything to Dad
about it on the way home. I highly doubt that he would have
understood.
I
eventually forgot what the movie that I had watched was, but I never
forgot those mannequins. Years later, I stumbled across Tourist
Trap
again. I slid the DVD into the player, completely unaware of the
childhood trauma that would come washing back. As I'm now a much
older, much more jaded version of that kid, I wasn't as effected as I
was so long ago. The film, while still incredibly creepy, no longer
chilled me as it had all those Halloween's prior.
I
highly doubt that this experience made me the horror fan I am today.
I also doubt that it played any part in my decision to one day write
about these films. What I know for certain is that even now I
sometimes find myself looking over my shoulder as I walk through
clothing stores. That mannequin make look harmless in his Aeropostale
sweatshirt, but I now know better.
Submitted by Dustin Fallon