The Artichoke Vol. 8. No. 2

Happy Halloween!

OCTOBER 2018 | VOL. 8 NO. 2

HALLOWED OVER; MY LIFE IS A MESS

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ARTICHOKE

CONTRIBUTORS

Editor-In-Chief

Lamia Abozaid

Assistant Editor

Katherine Collier

Writers

Mashiat Altaf Laura Bourbonnais Brooke Dalton Kelly Estomo Madfish Fisher Rachael Henfrey Bianca Mazziotti Martika McLean Kalina Popova Vanessa Sandoval Isaiah- John Sison Maya Vukov Anna Wilson

Design Editor

Sarah Wong

Designers

Bri Coggans Kristina Pura-Cruz Zhen Li Samneet Mann Sarah Manyoki Mars Quave Mirabelle Wang Livia Widjaja Michelle Young

Past Issues: issuu.com/artichokemag Submissions: wintersfreepress@winterscouncil.com Contact Us: Facebook.com/ArtichokeMag

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WINTERS

IN THIS ISSUE

FEATURE

ENTERTAINMENT

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Time and Place - This Happened Lamia Abozaid

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Away From Home Laura Bourbonnais

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Witches and Stitches: An Appreciation MadFish Fisher

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Surreal.

Martika McLean

LIFESTYLE

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Hello Ghosts? I Need Some Support!

Brooke Dalton

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ARACHNOPHOBIA Kalina Popova

CREATIVE

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Dethroned Anna Wilson

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Halloween Horrors Laura Bourbonnais

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Our Own Personal Silent Hell Bianca Mazziotti

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Finished School! What’s Next?

Rachael Henfrey

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Costumes Isaiah-John Sison

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Missing Fall Maya Vukov

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Helen Mashiat Altaf

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10 THINGS THAT ARE SCARY TO THINK ABOUT WHEN I THINK ABOUT THEM Kelly Estomo

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An Informal Analysis on Haunted Attractions and How To Go In Already Dead on the Inside Vanessa Sandoval

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TIME & PL ACE

MAKEUP JULIA NELLES PHOTOGRAPHY FRANCES SANTIAGO CREATIVE DIRECTOR LAMIA ABOZAID

FEATURE

THIS H APPENED

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FEATURE

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FEATURE

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FEATURE

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Away from home BY LAURA BOURBONNAIS

Away from home, My head it roams, My afterthoughts, Stomach in knots.

Then I decide, I’m on a stride, Won’t compromise, Just for my pride.

Although I miss, I’m filled with bliss, My dreams adrift, My heart it lifts.

I’ll do my best, I’ll take the test, No sense in rest, Forget my stress.

Another day, Where I’m away, I have to say, I want to stay.

Stand up and smile, I run the mile, I’m still a child, ‘Enjoy the ride’.

So many things, Filled to the brim, I’ve found my wings, Feels like a hymn.

A family, My friends they’ll be, I am happy, With being me.

Sometimes I scare, My eyes they stare, Lungs out of air, My heart laid bare.

York’s my new home, My, how I’ve grown, Into my own.

FEATURE

My Thoughts on Being Away from Home

SO, TECHNICALLY THIS year is my second year of university, though my first year at York University. Last year, I studied Psychology and Linguistics at the University of Ottawa. I was hesitating between becoming a speech therapist and studying writing/art, for a while.

Not expecting anything, I auditioned for the Screenwriting Program as well as the Theatre Program at York University. I was pleasantly surprised to find out I got admitted to both. Amongst my thousands of dreams, writing has always been clear as day to me. If there is anything I want to achieve in my life, it is to become a successful published author. At first, I wanted to study Creative Writing as my major but I confidently took up the challenge of Screenwriting and am hoping to minor in Creative Writing.

When first getting to York, I was scared of losing my French. I am originally from Montréal and my entire family is from Québec and is francophone. Although I have lived in Eastern Ontario since I was four, I have always gone to French schools

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and been proud of my mother tongue.

I tend to pick up languages quickly and am fluent in English. Still, one of my main worries was that I would not feel at home in Toronto, where French is less commonly spoken, to say the least. However, I have already made great friends who feel like my second family and I can never imagine losing my French, nor would I let myself.

I have already been away from home, since I was away in Ottawa for the last academic year and for the entirety of the summer.

That said, I did not really get homesick when moving in to York. Of course, I love my family and home cooked meals and my dog. And like everyone else, I have moments where I wish I could teleport home to receive a hug from my mom, but all in all, I am so happy to be at York. Plus, technology allows me to speak on the phone with my parents when I miss them.

There is no shame in missing our parents either. It just means we are beings with a heart and feelings.

There are so many things happening here and so many opportunities I want to seize.

Of course, I feel anxious or unsure of myself at times, but there is no reason for those feelings to stop me. Overall, I feel very happy to be attending an amazing writing program at York and as cliché as it sounds, I cannot wait to find out what the future holds for all of us.

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Witches and Stitches: An Appreciation

This is dedicated to my favourite halloween film: Witches in Stitches.

Shout to my sisters, Raychael and Ryanne, for this throwback.

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FEATURE

BY MADFISH FISHER

HOP ON A broomstick; Let us go for a ride; To a little crazy house where three witches reside; Sisters giving each other stitches over magic and spells; They trick or treat, they are ringing your door bells; Double double; Family always brings trouble; Topsy Turvy Times; The suburban forest did not see it coming; Suddenly, Boom Crash Crackle And bang; One sister turned into a pumpkin spiraling into hell; The kids at the party did not know it was a spell; This jack-o-lantern became the life of the party; The sisters thought it was funny; Zap, Zap, Zap; That is all you heard after the

sister fixed her stitches once she returned; Watching this as a kid, I felt a certain sense of warmth; The mirror this movie held was more than just the truth; Each character reflected every fraction of my family; The VCR made us see ourselves in a different introspectively; Nostalgia Oh Nostalgia!

Makes me miss home; Always wish I could go back to those moments of pure magic; Pumpkins Witches Love Trick or treating And more; That’s the real fear though...

Getting old.

Love, MadFish xoxo

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Dethroned

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SLEEP GOT ACQUAINTED with my demons while I was busy flirting with happiness.

It felt betrayed that I found comfort elsewhere, and now that I am back hiding between its arms seeking shelter from my reality, it is getting its revenge. Sleep learned all my fears, all my doubts, all my failures, and confronts me with them at dawn. I am sorry, I betrayed you. I am sorry, I thought I no longer needed a sweetescape. But where do I run to now that you no longer accept me?

Mornings are not good when the sun reminds that you survived another day only to suffer for an extra twenty four hours. How do people find hope in the light when it all does is show you all the monsters you were running away from in the dark, when it shows you that your fears are as real as your agony?

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CREATIVE

BY ANNA WILSON

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When asked “where do I see myself in 10 years?” the first answer that comes to my mind is… “I don’t”. I cannot imagine what I would be doing if I do not want to live long enough to do it. The only future I see for myself is wrapping all my thoughts around my neck, while I stand on chair made of all my fears as my depression pushes me off of it. Or maybe walking on a cliff along side my demons, while I am listening to their whispers encouraging me to jump before they actually take my hand and force me to fall with them. Sometimes I see myself laying down, helpless and lifeless, after all the poetry I held strongly inside me finally found a way out, and with them left my soul that couldn’t bear to live in a body so weak. When asked “where do I see myself in 10 years?”

I answer “On a beach with my husband and two kids” or any other mundane answer I can think of.

I have been so terrified to end your era thinking it will be the end of mine as well, but, my love, it’s not. The end of your era is the beginning of my empire. I will stand in the face of my fears and declare power. My hope is no longer enslaved to your smile. From this day, my love, I find hope beyond your eyes.

My love for you was the most profound thing I have ever felt. But I will learn to see the beauty within myself. I am more than my love to you.

I am a whole kingdom.

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PERSONAL SILENT HELL BY BIANCA MAZZIOTTI

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CREATIVE

THE SCARIEST THING about it is that I do not know when it will end, if it will end.

It is like there is a darkness twisting at my insides as I scream for it to stop.

Every day the knots just get larger and larger.

How many others have knots just as big as mine?

I do not know if I want to.

It has carried me much further than the light ever has.

Forcefully pushing me into the next day.

All of us in our own personal silent hell.

The darkness chases me anyway, Walking around as if everything is perfect.

My life is perfect, I have it all together.

My smile stitched on, the thread taught and getting weaker from all the years that it held my lip up.

The darkness has woven its way into my identity, I do not know how to separate it from me anymore.

So even if I try to unravel the knots and escape, I know that it will get me.

Halloween is not the scariest time of the year for some of us.

Because Halloween is the only day where our external world reflects what we feel inside all of the time.

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COSTUMES BY ISAIAH-JOHN SISON

AHHH! THE MOST spooky scary superstitious spectral holiday is almost here, and I am SHOOK. I have waited my whole life to be an adult…

To have the power to fulfill the words, “You can be whatever you want to be!”

And the day is fast approaching—

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The only day that statement ever rings true.

The only day my parents will not be disappointed When I choose not to be A doctor A lawyer An accountant An engineer ANYTHING but an arts student.

IT IS HALLOWEEN. I should be having fun!

I should be soaking in the dying trees The long, dark, chilling nights The rotting pumpkin sculptures The horror stories Everything I love to hate at any other time of year.

But no, I am NERVE-WRACKED. It is not the midterms that I have been procrastinating Not the rent, phone bills, and responsibilities I’ve been putting off Not the dropping temperature or the cold going around It is not the creepy aura of October…

I am TERRIFIED – I cannot decide what to wear for Halloween.

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BY MASHIAT ALTAF

HELEN MY NEIGHBOUR, YOLANDA, and her husband, James, have lived next to me for about six years. Up until this year, I had never really spoken to them as much.

We would throw each other passing smiles on our driveways sometimes, or make boresome small-talk about school—typical neighbourly duties. On my way to classes, I would always walk by their home, and an older woman would wave to me sometimes, sweetly, from the second-floor window. I had assumed it was Yolanda’s mother or something. She looked ancient from what I could see—which was not much. The foggy windows did not provide any HD quality. But, her clothes would be coloured differently every day, and her hair would always be tied back, sleek and tidy. Her smile was always the attribute that came most clear to me. I would smile back.

Once, on my way back from a day out with friends, I decided to walk along a bicycle trail towards home. This was near the end of summer, and the breeze was a

bit chilly. I had my hood pulled over my head, music bopping in my ears, while I skipped, slightly, by the colour changing trees that were casting eerie shadows. I neared a bench, watching the figure of an old woman sitting there, looking up at the trees. As I approached her, the immediate recognition struck me. It was the old lady.

I said hello, officially introducing myself.

She told me her name was Helen, and she invited me to sit, so I did, and we talked together for a while about how our lives were going and what we were up to. She also offered me trail mix, which I really appreciated. Helen told me she walked along this trail every evening to watch the sunset by the bench. Thinking this was a rather lonely way to spend her evenings, I promised I would try to come to join her sometimes. We walked home afterward, and I led her to Yolanda’s doorstep before going my own way. I was determined that I had made another friend that day, and could not wait to bump into her again.

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“No, no. I met her a few times at the park.

I walked her to your front door. She had keys.”

Yolanda did not answer.

“You know?” I gestured to my hair, sleeking it back. “Her name’s Helen.”

A few months went by. I kept waving to Helen up at the window, and from time to time, I would see her by the bench next to the trail. One fall morning, as I was rushing out of the house—quite late for school already—Yolanda stopped me to say “hello”, as she filled her car’s trunk up with a few tote bags. I beamed at her, jogging in her direction. After looking up at the window, not seeing Helen, I paused.

“Your Mom’s not waving today, eh?”

I asked, half-heartedly, prepared to slide away after a potential laugh. But, Yolanda didn’t laugh. She looked confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Your Mom. She’s always waving at me through the window.” I chuckled.

A look of concern came over Yolanda’s face.

“An older woman who lives in your house?

Is she not your mom? She told me she was.”

“No one lives here except James and me.”

Yolanda was looking at me as if I was playing some sort of game. I shook my head rapidly.

Suddenly, her eyes grew wide open. Mine did too, automatically. I had never seen anybody drop their bags that fast, not even in the movies. She looked up to the window, as ominous as it was, then back at me. She made a quick move to turn back to the house, before fidgeting, turning around, and waving me off with a pained smile. She hurried inside afterward, not even looking back to close the door. I was shocked. I did not really know what to make of it. Was this a joke?

I went to school, not questioning things too much, thinking I would go knock on Yolanda’s door after class to clear things up. They never answered the door, by the way. We actually have not seen anyone from that house since that day, and it has been two weeks. I do not take the trail anymore, either. I do not know for sure, but I think I am scared of maybe running into Helen. Is it irrational? You tell me.

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SURREAL.

ENTERTAINMENT

BY MARTIKA MCLEAN

Nah man... & it is surreal... how nip-tucky everybody is about communicating & how everyone would rather sit tight in their room locked up ’til kingdom come & how, really though, in your mind you be wishing to meet up with your loved ones & have a genuinely good time but you are scared though. why you scared, bro they love you but somewhere deep deep down you are having second, third, fourth, thoughts on whether or not anyone in this world truly loves you & instead of going out with chill vibes, you come down with a sickness that keeps you up ’til the dead of night oh Lordy, help us now what are we coming to yeah, we are innovative & creativity coming up with more ways to seclude ourselves from the outside world... from one another if that is where innovativeness is heading, I am out I am out I do not want any

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part of this non-committal crap what are people’s issues with commitment screw your prejudgemental attitude you really wanna know what people are thinking go out & ask them life was not meant to be this secluded & unhappy not everyone is meant to be limp with depression & anxiety but this generation is different we are innovative we are so innovative once again, if this is your definition of a better world I am out if this is the future I have to look forward to, I am out everyone is smart everyone has got something going for them but in the middle of the night... why are you still thinking, “why am I so alone.”

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HELLO

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I Need Some Support!

BY BROOKE DALTON

HELLO OCTOBER, HELLO celebrations of spooky things and hello extreme student stress. I started to worry that I was going to have a heart-attack this past month just from all the school related stress going on in my life. Luckily that did not happen. However, in moments of extreme stress it is not uncommon to reach out for some help. I mean, you should, it is much healthier. Taking that kind of agency is hard, but a huge step forward. Asking for help is not easy, but please do it! Where am I going with this? Oh right. What happens if you have nowhere to go for help? What if the help you need is from someone that has been taken from you?

Now I know I am beating around the bush here, but if you are reading this you have read the title so you know I am talking about ghosts here. Not a great segway, but hey, you are still reading.

Before I continue I have the obligation (my own personal one) to tell you, I believe in ghosts. BIG TIME. I find them fascinating, I love hearing the stories, and I just eat them up. Though my experiences with ghosts have been pretty pitiful, including simply

LIFESTYLE

seeing a shadow in an attic in a haunted restaurant I used to work in, and my hair being pulled in an old house. Nothing really concrete, right? But still, I believe.

A lot of people report seeing loved ones after they have passed on. It is actually remarkably common. Is it truly someone coming to say goodbye or are people brains grief stuck and trying to find solace in recreating that person one last time?

Of course I have no evidence or proof of either one. But I have a story. My grandma grew up on a farm, we call her Nanny. My Nanny grew up with generations of her family farming around her. When Nanny was older and her grandmother passed away, her grandmother’s farm was sold.

The people who bought the farm had build onto the property and build a big new house, but kept Nanny’s grandmother’s house still standing and used it for storage.

So the new owners of the property were having a big farm sale, and my Nanny, out of curiosity, thought she would go. As the sale was underway Nanny asked the owners if she could go see the old house, they obliged and let her go on her own.

As Nanny opened the door of her late grandmother’s house she was hit with memories of her childhood, of course, who would not? And as she walked further into the kitchen Nanny says she “saw them”.

“Saw who?” I asked her.

“Everyone.”

She was referring to her grandmother and her uncles and her aunts who had all passed away. They were all in the kitchen, greeting her. I asked her if she was scared

and she said she was uneasy, but she knew everyone so there was no reason to be scared. However, Nanny is still a skeptic.

She has told this story several times to me, and my cousins, the story has stayed consistent, but Nanny does not believe in ghosts. So how is she so sure she saw everyone? She does not believe in ghosts but she has a ghost story. Maybe she really needed to see them? Maybe she was upset, or lost, maybe she was happy and they wanted to share. Maybe she just missed them. Whatever the reason, they came to her, and I believe it.

I think a lot of people see their loved ones when they need to. I am sure a percentage of those sightings are just the mind helping us work through our own grief, and other times, I believe our loved ones come back to us when we need it. But there is no proof, no scientific evidence of ghosts. So what makes people believe? Well, maybe they need to.

I remember when my Papa passed away I would have given anything to talk to him again; we were so close. I miss him, and sometimes I feel like he is with me, when I talk to him, I know he can hear me. This of course is my belief. But I think sometimes our loved ones never really leave us. Maybe they cannot be with us, but I hope if you are missing someone, if you need to talk to someone who is gone, you do talk to them, and you do feel them listening. Because I believe they are there, especially when you need them. So when you need support from that person who is gone, call them.

Maybe they will be a ghost, or a feeling, but they will be with you.

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WHEN HALLOWEEN COMES around everybody takes out their decorations and places clowns and spider webs in their front yards, with the intent to appeal to little kids’ fears. While some people look at these things as silly, others are provoked all thanks to their phobias. Yes, we all get scared here and there, but phobias are defined as sometimes being “irrational” and I believe that is very debatable Arachnophobia is the second most common phobia in the world and I am one of the unfortunate members of this party and have been since I woke up one sunny morning to see a huge spider in front of my face. Observing its tiny body compared to its long, thin legs (I am getting chills just writing about it), all I could do was call out for my mom.

“Five more minutes” came from her direction and, being six, I slowly and regrettably drifted back to sleep. When I

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woke up, I jumped because I feared it had crawled on me while I was asleep, but there was no sign of the creature. Instead of making me feel better, this terrified me because I kept thinking it was lurking somewhere in the shadows, waiting to attack.

A year later I thought that I came across the very same bug (I only recently realized that would have been practically impossible), and I am happy to say that the thing ended up in the vacuum after this second encounter.

Regardless of my victory, since then, spiders have made me jump, cry, and run far far away from them, stirring up panic deep in my stomach. No, I do not scream at toy spiders, nor do I believe they are going to kill me. But those little monsters taunt me. Looking at pictures of them sends chills down my spine and I know it does not work like that, but sometimes my

BY KALINA POPOVA

imagination takes hold of me and it is like I can feel their eight tiny eyes stalk me as I move and their eight long legs moving faster than mine ever could, creating sticky webs which they can trap their victims in‌ And yet, weirdly enough, I think that tarantulas are such cool animals and have dreamt of having one as a pet for a while now. I think it is due to the fact that their bodies are proportional to their limbs, opposed to their weird looking cousin aranae (that’s just a fancy word for spiders).

There are dozens more terrifying stories I can tell concerning creatures, like the time one that just decided to hang out on my head, or another time when it ascended from the ceiling hanging from its thin web and ended up right in front of my face‌ but those are better left in the past. Happy trick or treating!

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HALLOWEEN

HORRORS

BY LAURA BOURBONNAIS

LIFESTYLE

A CHILL IS NEAR So is my fear, Oh Halloween, I hate you dear.

I must confess, I am not blessed, With fearlessness, Merely distressed.

When monsters come, I become numb, People make fun, But I just run.

All things haunted, Have me daunted, Not enchanted, All is wicked.

I close my eyes, I compromise, Be still my heart, Oh, I despise.

This holiday, Oh, I must say, I will not sway, I’ll stay away.

The candy yes, I must express, Is a success, Nevertheless.

The costumes too, Are not taboo, Always fun to, Be someone new.

I guess it’s true, I’ll think it through, I am into, Time with my crew.

This Halloween, I will not scream, I’ll smile and wave, Forget the grave.

It’s just one night, Who and what fright, ‘Tis a delight, To not take flight.

My friends are here, I love them dear, I’ve no more fear, When they are near.

Happy Halloween!

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WHAT’S NEXT?

LIFESTYLE

BY RACHEL HENFREY

A FEAR THAT has been running through my head this year is what will I do with my life after finishing my undergrad?

I am in my third year currently, and have noticed that my university years have been going faster than ever before and that I need to start thinking about the future.

The problem is that I have many ideas from wanting to be a drama teacher, still being a playwright, be an author, be a flight attendant, and even be a photographer on the side. I also love to travel, so fitting those plans in is still a work in progress.

Sometimes I see how successful some of my peers have been after university, and I think “ooh, I could do that�, but the main thing that I have noticed is that I am not them, and I need to forge my own path. It is good to find inspiration from others and get advice from older peers, but the truth of the matter is that you are the one who is living your life and making your decisions.

As daunting as it seems that is the reality that we all have to face whether we are twenty or sixty years old.

My biggest advice for dealing with this fear is making realistic goals. Realistic goals are not just dreams, but are goals that can be attainable and do not feel so far away.

For example, being an administrative assistant for a theatre company that you hope to one day write for as a playwright in residence. The administrative position helps you get your foot in the door and understand the values of the theatre company, but then also helps you connect with people who are higher up in the company. It is a stepping stone towards something bigger, but not the big break right away, which is OK. We are sometimes caught as university students in the thought that right after our undergraduate degree we have to have everything figured out, but the truth is that is not the case.

Sometimes your undergraduate degree is just an opportunity to study something in school that you really enjoy, but may not focus on after your studies, and that is totally fine. University is an opportunity to expand your mind to new concepts and ideas, and to think critically in situations.

It also teaches you how to be independent and be your own person, but that person does not have to be figured out in your four of five years at York. You will change and evolve and you have to go on the journey and see what happens. As long as you enjoy that journey you will get to your happy place no matter what.

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Missing Fall

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LIFESTYLE

BY MAYA VUKOV

THE WIND STARTS TO BLOW COLD. The air is full of the smell of things to come. Leaves on trees catch fire and burn brightly and warmly for a while, until their ashes float to the ground on the breeze. Fall may not have the yellow warmth of summer, but it has an orange fiery warmth, a warmth that is shielding you from the cold winter soon to come. In fall, the earth paints herself in vibrant colours, celebrating the changing season. But here in the concrete jungle, less fire burns. Fewer flames to keep us warm during the long chilly nights. You can still smell the air, but you cannot smell the earth. The lawns dusted in glowing embers are less to be found. Everything is grey and silent.

Not silent like the earth, but rather with a most unearthly stillness. Seasons come and go around the towers but the stillness, the stillness is always there. Never leaves. Never breathes.

Nature. Mother. Why hast thou forsaken me?

The cornfields blow somewhere far in the great beyond, the husks withering in the breeze.

They whisper my name. They are confused.

Do you not remember? Have you forgotten so soon? Have you forgotten your mother so soon as this? Come back to me child. Come back home to me. Nature. Mother. Burn brightly now. Brightly so that I may see you through the copper light. Light my way. I am coming.

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10 THINGS THAT ARE SCARY TO THINK ABOUT

WHEN I THINK ABOUT THEM

BY KELLY ESTOMO

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1.

I PUT EVERYTHING in quotes because I do not want to make them mine

2. Most things are mistakes we learn to be okay with 3. We do bad things because we’re missing something lean in to the discomfort of it all 4. All acts are selfish at its core 5. We cherry-pick what is important for the world based on our own needs and personal morals 6. The only panic attacks God feels from heaven are earthquakes lean in to the discomfort of it all 7. Sometimes, breathing feels like a countdown 8. like being born again 9. like an instrumental 10. like consistency.

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AN INFORMAL ANALYSIS ON HAUNTED ATTRACTIONS AND HOW TO GO IN ALREADY DEAD ON THE INSIDE

BY VANESSA SANDOVAL

INTRODUCTION I HAVE ALWAYS been terrified by “haunted houses”, which, when I was ten, were generally transformed neighbourhood suburban garages on Halloween night. That year, my best friend had convinced me to go into the one just across the street from our house, the most infamous in my neighbourhood, to prove we were “old enough” for more than just trick-or-treating. The house was owned by a middle-class white family with three teen sons who alternated doing skateboard tricks in the middle of the street on a homemade grind rail. This was better than three years ago

when they used to play softball and broke one of our outdoor lamps. They told my father to go back to China when he came cursing after them, which is not even an accurate racial slur—my father is Mexican. So the egg is on their face I guess.

1. The Décor Sets The Atmosphere, But It Takes A Lot Of Effort That Should Be Appreciated We had to go through the side door and push through these black industrial vinyl strips hanging from the doorframe that were wet for some reason.

Then we entered the garage that had been sectioned off by dividers covered in black cloth, shredded rucksacks, and fake spider webs.

The room was full of fog, blinding red light, and recorded screams and hysterical “spooky” laughter.

Dolls sat on chairs, spasming as we crept into the room, shrieking and shaking and just spontaneously losing limbs. This was a purehearted ten-year-old’s personal hell.

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2. Loud, Sudden Noises Are 85% Of The Scare, Unless You Can Be Louder

4. No Matter How Much You Scream, You Are Not In Actual Danger

I only survived by hanging onto the back of my friend’s costume and looking at the ground and singing all my fears as loudly as possible, such as, “That’s fine, I did not need to see anyway!”

As I walked through what feels like the most hotboxed room to ever be hotboxed. The lights strobed and I nearly tripped over solid ground. We trudged through the first section, where a gargoyle man sat in a bathtub just watching us. My best friend shouted, “You are doing great!” as we walked passed him. He screeched. I tripped.

Before we had gone into the garage, we heard tons of screaming mostly coming from hapless teen girls and their boyfriends who felt particularly empowered by performing their own jump-scares. I was lucky my friend wasn’t taking advantage of how the adrenaline in my body was the equivalent to a mentos in a closed coke bottle.

3. Jump-Scares Only Work If You Have Good Peripheral View, or Good Reaction-Time I had ripped a hole in my tights when I fell. I got up and looked up at the ceiling of the garage. It looked like the top of mine, and a strange black box with a tube was duct-taped to the top of the dividers. My friend pulled me along, reassuring me we’d fix my witch costume later. She barely bat an eye when a shot of air came from the black tube. I think she may even have shrugged off a shiver. We kept going.

5. Your Response As A Consumer/ Audience Matters Just As Much as The Creator’s We finally ended up in the house.

A middle-aged mom dressed in a comfortable orange sweater was sitting by a table covered in a huge black table cloth. In the centre was a large orange bowl with a severed head decoration staring blankly at us. The mom—who was exasperatingly peachy and normal to be greeting terrified children after they have survived a garage of cheap horrors—smiled and congratulated us and told us she was very proud we made it through alive. She offered the bowl of candy, so I rummaged the bowl for something worth my while. Suddenly, while my hand was still in the bowl, the severed head revealed itself to be alive. It dropped its jaw and roared. My friend screamed. I pushed the table so hard, the table moved

a few inches, and whoever was hiding under the table yelped.

The severed head disappeared under the tablecloth, and one of the sons crawled out with a mask in hand. His neck had several red lines across it from the table throughout the night. “Are you kidding me?” He screamed as he jumped up and retreated into the kitchen, his mother following after him. “That is it, I am done!”

IN CONCLUSION All “haunted” attractions kind of suck, regardless if you want to be terrorized or not.

But it is art, to scare someone appropriately without coming off as an insensitive asswipe. It is also interesting to think that the audience allows the environment to scare them, that there is a trust given, and a certain amount of surrendered vulnerability in being safely spooked. Of course, to a child, everything is scary when you are at an age where you do not even get to choose your own Halloween costume. Nothing is trusted, nothing is appreciated.

Then again, when you constantly analyze things and give yourself existential crises on the regular, no haunted attraction is ever quite as scary as your own mind.

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