Life With A Werewolf

Thrill of Halloween

I’m not sure how much glee I get from any holidays, anymore. Christmas used to always be my favorite. I still enjoy it, the lights, the music (yes, I’m the one that likes it. Sue me!). All except that one Mariah Carrey song. That piece of corporate homogenized made schlock I guarantee is playing on repeat in hell.

But I haven’t gotten a lot of enjoyment out of Halloween for quite some time. Things like trick or treaters is kind of a treat. It’s nice to see what sort of costumes kids get these days, especially when you can get the rare child or two that have homemade costumes instead of the “Spirit of Halloween” plastic foil things that parents over spent on. The candy is okay, but I’m an adult with a (albeit somewhat meager) source of income. I can get my own candy anytime I want. Do I really need a holiday as an excuse to eat candy?

Spooky things have just never, really scared me. Skeletons. Woo. Oh no, vampires! Watch out. Werewolves! Yikes. Zombies! Ich. None of it has ever really got my blood racing. The fault lies, at least in my eyes, in the age I was raised in. By the time I was nine years old I was watching Freddy Kreuger on television make hamburger out of teenagers thanks in large part to video rentals. When you’re raised around slashers like A Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the 13th, and the Halloween series, as well as grosstacular movies like Hellraiser plastic skeletons and rubber vampires really don’t have that much to offer you.

Perhaps that’s one of the great things about the recent developments in my life. Finding out the truth of zombies, finding out that my friend who kept calling himself a werewolf was an actual werewolf, learning about vampires. All of the traditional horror things have gotten a new jolt of life in them.

I’m not one for parties, especially Halloween ones. However, this year feels a bit different. I do have an invitation to one. I have no clue as to where it came from, but maybe I’ll go. I don’t know. Perhaps I should let Crash investigate it first?

The invitation was sent through traditional mail. The paper feels strange, and has a hint of dirt on it, as if it was found on the ground then mailed out. But the address was made out correct, and my name was spelled properly on it. There wasn’t any extra postage, and I’m still alive after having touched it a day or two ago, so I don’t think it’s Anthrax.

Zack, shawn and Kris all think I’d be crazy to go. So, like any self-respecting jaded veteran that just makes me want to go more. Their strange warnings of “you better shower in bleach when you get back” make me scratch my head a little bit. That came from Kris of course. Shawn just shakes his head and says “trust me dude, don’t.” Whatever that means. I swear, he must have been a surfer or something in a past life.

If I do go, I’m not wearing a costume. Yeah, I know, spirit of the season and all that, but I can’t bring myself to wear an old army jacket and call myself a “bum” or spend two hundred bucks or more on something that looks like it was made in a factory filled with five year olds for ten dollars. Besides I don’t have a lot of cash, and I don’t have a lot of old clothing other than a few remaining military duds. For obvious reasons, I’m not wearing that. No self-respecting veteran will start wearing their old uniforms around town, after all. We really don’t want clout like that. We’d rather just have the discount and be on our way – if we even want to bother with that.

 But still. Parties are fun, sometimes. So, I might go anyway. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted. I always do.