Fight or Flight

My memory is much better than my husband's.  So when I say that the story I am about to share is accurate, precise, and undoubtedly 100% truthful to the actual events that took place (without even the slightest exaggeration), you have to believe me.

You will believe me, right?

Pinky promise?

And don't ask Jeff about it.  He probably won't even remember that it happened and if he does, please don't believe his counter offer of details.  

It was the same October that the scandalous pseudo-prego nun and priest stunt was pulled. Jeff and I were dating and went with some friends to the Haunted Forest in American Fork.  We wanted to pay good money to be scared......really scared......like, almost piddle on yourself scared.

Which brings up a good question:  Why did we do that to ourselves?  We're taught from childhood to be careful and cautious.  We buckled up our seat belts and looked both ways when crossing the street.  We didn't talk to strangers and had our Halloween candy X-rayed to make sure that the old geezer down the street didn't slip anything sharp into our Snickers bars.  But we sought out opportunities to be put into confined spaces with Jason-masked faces carrying loud and ferocious chainsaws, and we got a thrill out of it.  We couldn't get enough. My friends and I went every year to the scariest and creepiest and most intense haunted houses and screamed until we were hoarse.  We watched scary movies knowing that they would give us nightmares.  Where is the logic in that?  

I guess that fear, being a very real and raw emotion, is only truly enjoyed when it is in a controlled environment.  When your subconscious knows that you aren't really going to experience any true bodily harm or damage.  We get a rush from the adrenaline. We like to tap into that part of our psyche that doesn't usually surface.  Thanks heavens!  My heart couldn't take it nowadays.   

Back to the story......where was I?......went to the Haunted Forest with friends.......hoping to be piddle scared.......oh, yes....... So, the Haunted Forest is, obviously, outdoors.  Being outdoors in wide open spaces gives a much higher register on the Richter scale of scariness.  Perfect.  That's what we were hoping for.

Tightly holding hands in the cool night air, we made our way through gory fields of corpses and tombstones.  There were your typical zombies and creatures jumping out at us while strobe lights flickered in the background.  A few howls of pain from half eaten carcasses that caused us females in the group to snuggle in a little closer to our dates.  

Being scared does have some advantages.

Here is where the acuity of my memory is so vitally important.  I remember making our way through a large corn field and coming into a clearing.  There was a kindly old gentleman, we'll call him Farmer Joe, who invited us over to sit by a crackling campfire.  He said he wanted to tell us a story.  We sat on the logs surrounding the glowing fire and sighed at the chance to warm up a bit. He proceeded.  I can't give you any real details from the tale he told but that doesn't have much pertinence right now. What is important to know is that no more than 3 minutes into Farmer Joe's captivating trap, some masked crazy man with a massive blowtorch came rushing out of the cornfields headed straight for us. 

Let me pause briefly here to remind you that we females were with our dates. Our boyfriends, no less.  Most of us ended up marrying these "men" who, minutes earlier, had enjoyed close proximity to our startled nerves.

Carrying on, the crazy nut job with the blowtorch came running towards us.  I have to hand it to the set up.  We did not see it coming.  We should have, but we didn't.  We had trusted Farmer Joe, in fact, I think he reminded me a little of my Grandpa.  Those twinkling blue eyes (see....the details....Jeff could never give you such depth) were so calming and endearing.  Never would I have thought that that old turd was lulling us into a ruse so that Mr. Psycho Blowtorch Dude could ambush us and get a hefty gain on our tracks.

What happened next is, I admit, a big blur of chaos and confusion.  I remember receiving an elbow to the chest and having the wind knocked out of me as the person next to me was using my being as a spring board to catapult himself to safety.  I looked up to realize that it was Jeff. There was a dust cloud forming as frantic feet were leaping over logs and various obstacles.  I looked down to see what those various obstacles were and realized that some of them were my girlfriends.  I looked up dazed, trying to catch my breath amid the stampede thickened air, and saw a scene that was so astounding and unbelievable that I thought surely I must be wrong. ALL of the guys in the group were gone.  Running for dear life.  Not one of them had stopped to assist us or rescue with outreached hand.  It was survival of the fittest out there in the Haunted Forest of American Fork and the guys were winning.  

As my buttocks were being singed from the lapping flames of Senior Raving Lunatic's weapon of death,  Jeff and his fellow yellow bellies were far ahead of us and there was not a chance of them looking back.  I couldn't stop to converse with my girlfriends about whether or not they ever saw this type of chivalrous behavior coming from their significant other, because one missed step and our highly flammable 90's hairdos were toast.

Eventually, the boys did stop running, we caught up to them, Sir Burn-A-Lot left us alone, and we all had a really good laugh.  The impression of Jeff's footprint on my forehead eventually did heal and go away.  I also forgive him. He has never exhibited behaviors like that again.

But, that was also the last haunted thing we went to.