I dread October. Let’s face it, Halloween is like a verruca; painful and ugly. Skeletons hanging from doorframes, dusty old cobwebs and Freddy Krueger’s hand aren’t exactly ‘fun’ unless you’re in the serial killing mood.
Halloween is an excuse for all the people out there that are concealing a psychopath alter-ego Dexter-style. They’re allowed to chase people along the road with a hook as a hand but remember, it’s all in the name of pure hilarity. I’m laughing off my seat. For some reason, it hasn’t been my lifelong dream to be killed by a pubescent boy in a Scream mask at eight o’clock on a Tuesday evening.
Walking around on Halloween night is like watching every horror film you’ve ever seen come to life. It’s 28 days later without the 28 days. It’s Saw without the doll pedalling past on its bicycle. It’s Hostel without the topless honey traps. Suddenly, the Purge is legal and you don’t even have David Arquette to save you.
I can see that the ‘fancy dress’ side of it may be appealing to some. Although, it is slightly concerning that people would prefer to invite Michael Myers and the whole family from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre for a ‘nibble’. It’s at their own expense if the latter guests take that a little too literally and end up biting their head off.
The idea of a Halloween ‘party’ almost makes me want the hillbillies in Wrong Turn to choke me until I vomit. I can picture the scene all too vividly. A Jägermeister –fuelled evening where my sober friends would be the two wicked witches of the west in the corner. We would sit sipping ‘the blood of a werewolf’ which in the terms of all knowledgeable drinkers out there means… cranberry juice. The three of us would feel quietly safe until a bed sheet turns up claiming to be a ghost.
The night would end with someone fornicating with Frankenstein, a punch up between Hannibal Lector and a drunken Chucky and me, most probably, being taken hostage by a man in the ‘elite hunting club’ that has paid to kill me with his nail clippers.
I can do ‘fun’ but not when my life is in danger. I can’t dance the night away with someone who asks me ‘what my favourite scary movie is’. And I definitely don’t want to be around when someone announces ‘let the game begin’. Maybe I’m the scrooge of Halloween but I’d rather have my eyeballs intact than have them put on a grill for dinner.