If there is something I will never understand, it’s what part of the human psyche causes people to crave fear. Saturday evening, I drove to Greensboro for the annual media night at the Woods of Terror. I had one job to do: Take enough photos to fill a gallery on The Pendulum’s website.
It was still light out when I pulled onto the grounds. A large field had been roped off and converted into a parking lot. I got out of the car and, from there, the evening took a terrible turn.
I waded through a thick fake fog that seemed to have no point of origin. Making my way over to the media table at the edge of the woods, it became very clear that coming alone was a terrible mistake. I took my press pass and joined the other media representatives. They were snacking on chicken wings and chatting like this situation wasn’t utterly horrific.
I sat down with two other media representatives who looked to be about my age. We made small talk about the publications we had worked for and our summer internships. The evening was running smoothly.
At least that’s what I thought.
We got in line for snacks, and I began to feel a little unsettled. Something brushed against my shoulder. The next thing I knew, I was face to face with the Grim Reaper.
I know what you’re thinking: “Grow up. It’s a middle-aged man with a sheet over his face.”
I managed not to scream, but my heart was racing, and I was sweating like I had just run a marathon.
“Play it cool,” I thought to myself. I pretended to laugh and started taking photos of the Reaper.
“Work it, work it,” I told him in my best attempt to maintain composure.
He lifted his arms and his scythe over his head. I thought he was just posing for the camera. But then he produced the most ungodly sound my ears had ever experienced. If someone were to hear it outside the context of the Woods of Terror, they would ask, “Why is a dolphin mating with a wood chipper?”
I recoiled as though he’d slugged me in the face. Grim reached into his sleeve and pulled out a rubber bat. He handed it to me like a child who had just made his mother a Christmas tree ornament out of macaroni noodles.
“What a kind gesture,” I thought.
I figured it was a peace offering. Maybe we would be friends for the evening.
Then he put his creepy hand on my shoulder and leaned in to my ear.
“I’ll be seeing you later,” he rasped.
I could feel my organs turning to mush. The only thing I felt like doing less than experiencing the Woods of Terror was chatting with this guy. I immediately discarded the bat in the nearest trash can because it was undoubtedly a symbol of my impending death.
The people in line around us looked on with delight. Finally, Grim left me alone. We sat back down. I watched him make his way through the throngs of people. They all seemed to enjoy the harassment.
He circled back to our table and made a beeline for me. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I killed three girls today.”
Who says that? Really, who thinks it’s okay to approach a complete stranger and confess homicidal tendencies?
“I want you to come back to my place later on,” he continued.
“Oh … um … okay,” I stammered. This guy was seriously kidding himself if he thought I wanted to ever see him again.
I thought I had finally gotten rid of him when he turned around and loped off, but he stopped and pointed directly at me.
“I’m what’s under your bed,” he said.
I remember thinking, “Well, that’s great because the first thing I want to be worried about during midterms week is this guy lurking under the bed.”
Looking back, I know I should have channeled my inner Regina George and yelled, “You can’t sit with us!” but who can think on the fly in a situation like that?
By this point, the line to get into the attraction extended beyond the edge of the forest. It was getting dark. What I had once thought smelled like cake and barbecue spare ribs now smelled like sweat and urine.
The coordinator of the event announced that the parade would begin shortly. This I was relatively excited about. Who doesn’t love a good parade?
The actors came into view. The first man I saw had a giant yellow snake wrapped around his neck. Then the freaks started rolling in. When they had all emerged from the depths of the forest, the voice said, “Choose your victim.”
Naturally four different actors pointed at me. They could smell my fear.
The music began.
“Wait, is that the National Anthem?” I said to the guy next to me. It was. Someone out of my frame of vision began singing the lyrics in a grating, off-key voice. I can say without a doubt that there is nothing more terrifying than a horror-themed Star-Spangled Banner. I’ve never felt less patriotic.
The music stopped. There was complete silence. Then the actors sprang into life, hissing and screaming. They lunged across the barricade that separated us. The reporters realized that we were largely outnumbered as they circled the premises. I covered my face with my camera and ran to the back of the crowd. What probably went on for about 30 seconds felt like an hour. I was shaking like a leaf when they all retreated into the woods.
There was absolutely no way I was going into the forest after that display. I packed up my camera gear and thanked the people in charge. Then, in a moment of weakness, I all but forced my new friends to walk me to my car because Hannibal Lecter was hanging around the entrance.
I made it to my car but breathed no sigh of relief until I was back at home. I would be lying if I denied looking under my bed to make sure Grim wasn’t on the prowl.
At first, I felt like a failure because I wasn’t able to take any photos due to extreme cowardice. But I didn’t actually fail, because I am a survivor. I lived to tell the tale.