By Mark David Blum, Esq.

I received a special invitation to Fright Night at the Fairgrounds last night so that I might experience the joys and delights of scaring people to death on Halloween. No longer am I blessed with children young enough to trick or treat leaving me nothing for this sacred night but either to party or stay home and watch reruns.

My savior called and said, “hey Mark, wanna come out to Fright Night?” Instantly my most evil smile burst upon my face. A free shot at terrorizing children: Hell yeah!

Halloween to me has implications at many levels. On one, it is a day for me to take my kid out and gather up all the candy in the neighborhood so we can all engorge ourselves to the delight of our dentist. On another level, Halloween is where grown ups get to play dress up and party and play like the arrested adolescents that we are. Also, Halloween is a holy day where we rejoice and celebrate the harvest and include our ancestors (the dead) in our festivities. Here in America, Halloween also connotes death, violence, horror, and fear. In other words, IT’S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR.

“Costumes” for most are a way of dressing up sexy and trying to impress. For me, a costume … the costume that I have worn for nearly 10 years … is not a mechanism to hide and subvert, but it is more of a mechanism to come out and be free. My costume does not hide me, it brings me out and brings the Halloween experience up close and personal. It is, by far, the best costume ever and has been so successful in its goal that I have worn it every year since I first came upon it.

The short answer is that the costume is Death. Dressed in black leather from head to toe, with a hood and no face, seeing me is like looking into the darkness of your own soul. I cannot do the costume justice here but suffice it to say that it works --- very well. Because it is black, I can hide in the shadows. Because it has no face, you can walk right up and stare into my face and not see anything but blackness. Behind the hood, I am smiling, but to a child and to a lot of adults, it is a horrifying site. I can see out, but you cannot see in … especially in the black darkness of All Hallows Eve.

Fright Night at the Fairgrounds is a lot of fun if you are under 16 years old. The Haunted House, whereabouts I lurked the entire evening, is among the best I have ever seen. I cannot speak for the under 21 dance party or that blow up dinosaur thingie as neither drew any interest from me. I might also have more to say about the haunted hayride, but the rain and cold just did not enable me to get out there and bring more details.

But, in Black I was and inside the Haunted House I lurked. Saying little if nothing, all I had to do was just move to elicit a scream or flood a girl’s panties with fresh urine. More than one macho guy passed by me leaving the scent of crap filled pants trailing behind them. It was just too much fun and far too easy.

How many folks do you know that volunteer for ways to scare and torment people? Twenty five years ago, I used to wander around the neighborhood in torn and tattered blood dripping clothes dragging a long handle ax with the blade scraping the sidewalk. Children would run screaming. Today, I would be arrested.

There were times I would hide inside my home all bloodied and gross and stare out the peep hole on my front door. Just as a victim was about to knock, I would yank open the door and go screaming after them with a huge ugly knife. Oh the sweet music of little kid screams all the way down the block. Of course, ten minutes later they would return with 20 of their best friends and we would do it all over again.

One of my most favorite costumed adventures and one which netted me a prize was thanks to Onondaga County. A client had been arrested and his clothes taken for evidence. He was sent home in a jail uniform. I bought it off of him and set about to work. Using make up and other tricks, I riddled the jail uniform and myself full of bullet holes and oozing blood, attached broken handcuffs and leg irons, and went out to party. The entire evening I was always looking over my shoulder that some cop did not think I really was an escapee. Someday, perhaps I will let you get me drunk and I will tell you the story of the time I went to a Halloween party as the naked man … or Billy Idol.

So there I was at Fright Night; present of my own free will and solely for the pure pleasure of wandering around scaring people. My contact was in charge of labor and he told me I had to sign up and actually be on payroll before they would allow me to do that. Something about lawyers and liability and well whatever. I reiterated repeatedly that I do not want to be paid and I was there for fun. They insisted and I gave up my name. I told them to give my paycheck to charity as I had no interest in it.

My poor friend; 1/3 of his people did not show up for work. Others were just walking off the job. I felt bad for the guy as he has absolutely no management skills. So I stepped up and volunteered to actually work for him and stand a post inside the Haunted House. Four hours later, my back was aching, my feet were aching, I was bored tired and cold. It was raining outside and nobody was coming inside anymore. The buzz was gone and by eleven o’clock, there was very little joy in Mudville atop the Allied Waste Beds.

Nevertheless, I always search out the fun in whatever the situation. Some of the jewels culled from the night included a conversation I tried to start with someone I was sharing a ‘boo spot’ with. In a moment of quiet, I asked what he does when he was not working there. His response, verbatim, was “Smoke Pot”. “OK”, said I.

Then there was the family of three: Mom and Dad, each a 500 pounder accompanied by the tiniest cutest little blonde haired girl you ever saw. As I stood over her, peering down with the empty face of death, this terror stricken little child, hiding three quarters behind her dad, with tears welling up in her adorable blue eyes, and with trembling fear, fought for the courage to ask me a question. “Does it get any scarier inside?”

“You bet”, was my instant response.

“Thanks a lot”, whined Dad as they walked off into the darkness and screams.

It was also a great joy to see the so-called macho boyfriends come in with their screaming dates. With twenty or so people hiding at various points throughout the maze along with all the scary exhibits and tricks, the girls and women always clung to their men and the men always seemed totally cool. After a while, it became obvious how the guys were staying so cool. I noticed that without exception, they always walked with the female first. Half holding onto her date and half leading him, she would encounter the spook, scream and he would stand there stoic and be her strong savior.

I had enough of that crap. Finding myself a very dark turn, I would wait until the couple passed and then join then in their jaunt. Many many were the times that as I scuffed my shoes and was finally noticed, the male too would jump or yell or react in a totally uncool manner. Why are we men so afraid of being seen as vulnerable to our women? (You should know also that as I meandered about, paying customers were not the only ones I scared. Even the employees hidden behind their own masks would jump and scream when they saw me).

Yes, I took my share of punches, kicks, and rude comments. One woman was not sure if I was real or a mannequin and decided to check me out. “Thank you” was all I said; startling her as she suddenly discovered that there was more than just plastic in my pants and she ran off.

Alas, if only I had a dollar for every scream, for every jump, for every “holy shit”, “holy crap”, “shit”, “jesus fucking christ”, and “fuuuuck” I heard last night.

Halloween is still three days away.

Will I see you then? Will you cry?