Field of Screams (Part II)

Little did we know as we were tiptoeing through the mud and pouring rain that we were venturing into the epicenter of some sort of necromantic deathstar. Now, F.o.S. has three attractions: the “Den of Darkness,” the “Haunted Hayride,” and a haunted insane asylum that I forgot the name of. Seeing as the hayride would get us absolutely drenched, we decided to skip it and started our adventure in the haunted insane asylum. Now, even though it was pouring, there was still a good amount of people at F.o.S. on this evening. And there’s something about the kind of people that make it out to F.o.S., very similar to the kind of people that you are likely to run into at a county fair or freak show type attraction. These places seem to attract all sorts of deviants and misfits in today’s society. So we really had no way of telling who was actually a paid actor, employed by F.o.S. to scare people, or who was just some dark-souled human being that just enjoyed creeping people out.

The Den of Darkness and the haunted insane asylum were very similar. We were let into the attraction by an F.o.S. employee (hopefully) in about groups of eight. And just by chance, I was the first person in both groups, followed by Katie gripping my arm, followed by Karissa gripping her arm, followed by other random peeps. The attractions were surprisingly long and pretty well done. Each “room” had a different theme: creepy girl in the attic with an empty nail gun, creepy clown, creepy insane person in a straight jacket, creepy doctor/surgeon, creepy chainsaw psycho, creepy guy with a big hammer psycho, and so on. There were parts in the Den of Darkness that were just that: darkness. Pitch black. And being the leader, I had to feel my way around and try to figure out where the heck it is that we’re suppose to go. Most of the time I would reach out and touch something cold and hard, like the wall or something. A couple times I reached out and touched something warm and soft, most likely an actor or some poor soul who never made it out. I myself was never groped or violated, I am thankful for this.

Another event that is worth noting happened in the asylum. There was one part where we had to push our way through two, giant, black, foamy, air-filled things. Again, being the leader, I had no clue what I was doing or where I was suppose to go. So we pressed on through the giant, black butt cheeks. It was miserable. They smelled and were grimy and slippery from all the wet people passing through them. At one point Karissa yelled out “Oh no! Swine Flu!” which was the scariest thing I heard all night considering the hundreds of people who have passed through the butt cheeks before us. So as we pressed through, we tried to separate the cheeks so that it wouldn’t touch our face so that we wouldn’t contract swine flu.

The haunted housed were really fun though. Most of the time I just laughed and tried to converse with the actors, who would occasionally talk back. Katie was always targeted by the actors, probably because she was trying to hide behind me and Karissa the whole time so they knew that she was the squeamish one.

Upon finishing both attractions, we made our way back out to the car through the mud and the rain. Getting into the car, we realized that what we had joked about earlier had indeed become reality. My car was stuck in the mud. I tried for several unsuccessful minutes to free my car from its muddy prison. The only thing it succeeded in was digging my car tires deeper into the mud and kicking up some mud on back of the car in front of us. So, in the pouring rain, my lovely loafers covered in mud, I went around to the front of my car and tried to push my car out of its stuck-ness while Katie wo-manned the wheel.

Surprisingly, we were making process. And as we finally were getting out of the rut I hear a person behind me yell a number of expletives about being covered in mud. I instantly thought that this person had walked in front of the car and gotten some mud on him and was complaining about that. But he was actually the owner of the vehicle in front of us (which was surprising because he was about my age the car looked like it should belong to his grandfather). He was accompanied by several friends who also swore and grumbled about the car being “covered” in mud.

Now, let’s unpack the situation a little bit. We are in the middle of a field that has been turned into a volatile muddy hell. There is mud everywhere. The people and the cars are all covered with it. It is raining very hard. These people walk out to their car to find a person struggling and slipping in the mud and pouring rain, trying to free a car from being stuck in the mud. Instead of asking the struggling individual if he needs any help, or offering to move their car first so that we could try to pull forward, they decide to look at the lifeless, soulless, inanimate hunk of metal that has some mud on it and take pity on IT, and hurl expletives at HIM.

So, not really knowing how to respond, and being out of breath, I responded, “I’m sorry man” and proceeded pushing the car. Finally, the car got out of the rut and we were able to back up. But the car parked behind us parked to close so we had to try to do a 45-point turn to get out of the stinking hell of a parking lot. As I was maneuvering this 45-point turn, I saw the people looking at the mud, and looking and point at us. Feeling kind of bad, but also wanting them to stop complaining, I got out of the car, took of my Westmont hoodie, and offered it to them to clean up the mud on the bumper of their car. The response that I received I never would have expected. One of the women that was in the group didn’t even look at me but said, “No don’t take it, it’ll probably scratch it.” What? Oh that’s right, I purposely got mud on your car and then went back into my car and stuffed my hoodie with sticks, rocks, razor blades, and glass and then offered it to you in the hopes that you would take me up on your offer and I could stealthily damage your vehicle. You caught me. I responded out of disbelief that I had to explain and defend my offer to them. I simply said, “It’s not going to scratch your car, its cotton.” At this point, none of the people had made eye contact with me still, and the owner of the vehicle (or the grandson of the owner of the vehicle) annoyingly said “Don’t worry about it,” so I apologized one last time and finished the final 23 points in my 45-point turn and exited the lot.

It makes me sad to think about this experience. Not just because I was the victim in it. But because it’s a microcosm of the world we live in. Where things matter more than people. Where the human sense to help others in need is gone. Where we look out for ourselves and our stuff and that’s about it. And when we’re caught in our own ridiculousness we just dig deeper in: “Don’t take it, it’ll only scratch the car.” I made a joke to Karissa and Katie after this event transpired but it was rooted in seriousness. I wanted to remark to those people that of all the scary things that I have encountered tonight, that you are the scariest, because you’re real. It’s sad, but it’s true. Lord have mercy on us.

Despite the stressfulness and craziness of the night, it was really fun and enjoyable. It was fun because I got to experience these things with Katie and Karissa and laugh, or scream, or stress, or be disgusted with them. It will be a night that I will remember for awhile.