Brace yourselves. This is about to get unreal.

In this past month I have gone toe-to-toe with feral fawns and crazed chipmunks that appear as if from nowhere, without so much as blinking.  Seriously. For like, the rest of the day.

I’m sure you would agree that I have proven myself worthy of any and all threats that the physical world has to offer.

They say a man stops living when he stops growing. I needed a metaphysical challenge.

I drove to the imaginatively named town of Rock, WV where I was to find (and, I’m going to need to preemptively “shit you not” here) Lake Shawnee, an abandoned amusement park that is known to be haunted. (vid related)

But, wait! Before you say, “THAT is some real-life Scooby Doo shit right there!” It gets worse. Again, I shit you not…it was constructed on an Indian burial ground!

I spent Friday evening there. (Pics related)

Naturally, I was not the only complete moron to think it would be “neat” to desecrate something so cartoonishly wonderful.  Apparently, after two beers, everyone under the age of 35 that is within driving distance of Rock literally cannot be stopped by even the storied wild horses when it comes to entering the grounds.

Enter the good citizens.  Knowing that, left to their own devices, vandals would run out of ideas and destroy something that, perhaps, was more than we knuckleheads realized, they stepped in.

When I rolled into town, I found the gates barred. A smidgen of research revealed that something of a “preservation society” had been formed. This would allow curious folks to tour the grounds and listen to stories from historians about what all transpired on this land. They call it The Dark Carnival (pic related)

And it is only up and running on Fridays and Saturdays in October. Even a blind squirrel finds a coconut (or whatever) once in a while. I just bumbled right into it.

I have been sworn to secrecy about what is contained on one lady’s iPad (like a goofball, I did not get her name. I was too busy trying to re-attach my jaw hinge), not because it is meant to be secret, but because they don’t want spoilers published.

I spoke with Pat Smith, one of the nicest human beings on the planet, who is also the local historian and indirect decendent of Mitchell Clay – the primogenitor of this tale. (pic related)

She works the concession stand and wears a T-shirt that reads, “I almost drowned in Lake Shawnee in 1948…ask me about it”

So I did. She was 6 years old. Swimming along, like it was no big deal when, something from below, we will call it “Jason” grabbed her leg and tried to pull her under. She fought valiantly for her life and (since I forgot to poke her to make sure of her substance) I assume she won.

Once the sun set, the storytelling stations fired up. Again, go listen for yourself.

I wandered over to the darkened areas of the long-abandoned swing ride. There was a fellow who was aggressively trying to make contact with a little girl named Ashley. He was yelling, “Hey little girl! Hey little girl! Hey little girl! Ashley! Ashley! Ashley!” It broke my heart. But, I didn’t blame Ashley one bit for keeping a low profile. He came on way too strong.

In another area, the organizers have constructed a Haunted House. You know, for the kids…and people who enjoy shitting their pants on the weekend.

I haven’t been to a Halloween haunted house in 37 years so, I don’t know what goes on in most. I can tell you this one ranged from the startling to the downright unnerving.

I drove a couple of hundred miles out of my way to attend this function and, if pressed for complaint, the only thing I could come up with would be the staff.  Chris, Rick, Pat and those whose names I didn’t get were just too damned warm and friendly for what I was hoping would be a terrifying experience.

The thing to remember is, this isn’t a field of fun and games. In the unbroken string of moments, at some point in the past a young girl was hacked to pieces; her brother scalped, kidnapped and later burned at the stake.

I walked through the dark with my head down as I reflected on this while heading to the EM-50 Phantom Rambler when my reverie was broken by the polite voice of a youngster.

“Hey Mister…” he said.

I turned. Standing by the admission ticket booth were three young boys. All were dressed in hoodies and thick stocking caps to protect against the chilly night.

Beyond them, an adult female was signing a credit card slip – having just purchased their tickets.

“Was it scary?” One of them asked hopefully.

“The Haunted House?” I inquired, stalling for time.

“Yeah. The haunted house. Was it scary?” He said.

I paused and watched over their shoulder as the chaperoning parent received the tickets.

“If you haven’t bought tickets yet, don’t. It’s not worth it” I said thoughtfully.

They visibly deflated simultaneously.

“So, it’s not scary?” One asked.

Slowly I said, “No. It is plenty scary. But, the little thrill you get tonight isn’t worth the risk. Something like this could mess you up for the rest of your lives. You guys are young. You see, there is something grown-ups don’t tell you. It’s for your own good.”

They all inflated with pride as their representative said, “We are all either 10 or 11.”

I replied, “Oh. Ok. So, you’re not kids. Well, I guess someone has to tell you. You see, every few years some deranged lunatic sneaks into one of these haunted houses. Blends right in. Even the actors don’t know. Cuzza the mask. They think that blood is just make up. This way he can get real close and choose his victims. Everybody thinks it’s all fun and games.”

There was a good 15 second pause while  all three stood there open-mouthed and stunned. Then, the one on the right leaned backwards and pushed his fists in the air like he was bench pressing an invisible barbell. The one in the middle said, “That kinda makes sense.”

And, the one on the left accused me, “Hey! Are you one of the actors? That answer was way too good!”

“Fellas. You stopped me. I was on my way to my car. I went through alone. The Crazies can smell their own kind, you know. That’s why they left me alone. But know this, just because you make it out of there safe – don’t think it’s over. Those deranged psychos have your scent and will follow you for days. Man, do yourself a favor. Don’t go.”

As I turned to walk on, the adults present were trying hard to stifle their laughter. The boys were blind with excitement and anticipation.

I remember being that age. You need the fear scared out of you at Halloween so you can start being good to get ready for Christmas.

It’s always the season of the witch when I am with…Michelle Long.