Illustration by Drew Shannon
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In the old-timey world where I grew up, haunted houses knew their place. They put down roots and stayed in one spot, like amusement parks. People had a choice back then. You could pay admission to climb into a little car, tour the scary mansion and maybe lose your lunch along the way. Or bypass the haunted house for the Ferris wheel or Tilt-a-Whirl. If you wanted to experience terror, it was up to you to decide.
The haunted houses of yesterday have mutated into an invasive and terrifying species all over my neighbourhood. They’ve left the fun fairs and theme parks. Whether you want to or not, you can sample their horrors down the street or around the corner. These haunted houses – overtaking a neighbourhood near you, I expect – disregard personal space and choice and take a ghoulish swipe at my mental health and well-being.
Admission is free and wide open as you walk or drive by. Everyone is a participant, whether you want to be or not. Be prepared: there’s no disclaimer or warning to avoid in-your face terror where you live, visit or work.
Here’s what I’m seeing popping up in my neighbourhood this October. Blood-drenched zombies with glowing bones push their way out of freshly dug graves. A 12-foot skeleton towers over the street while a severed hand pokes out of the ground nearby. A tombstone warns us to Be Very Afraid. And quite frankly, I’m terrified.
I came face-to-face with one of my biggest fears on a hike in the B.C. Rockies
On a visit to my sister’s neighbourhood, I swerved my car to avoid a leering, bigger-than-life-size witch strung up in a tree. What really horrified me were the two tiny plastic bloody feet swinging beside the witch’s tortured face. I was lucky to grow up in a relatively peaceful country. For those with lived and personal experience of trauma, violence or war, these grisly tableaus must be too close to home.
During my childhood Halloweens we shamelessly borrowed other cultures at will for our homemade costumes and we paraded through school to collective admiration.
Today, for the most part, trick or treaters avoid appropriation of cultures that aren’t ours to borrow. So why is it okay to appropriate and exploit global grief through disturbing images of deep tragedy and suffering?
When I worked in an acute care hospital, we celebrated every holiday with seasonal decorations on the patient units. But we knew where to draw the line. We drew the line at grinning skeletons and tombstones at Halloween and instead opted for smiling pumpkins, friendly ghosts and strings of twinkling lights.
Raking my giant maple’s leaves is more meditative than onerous
All too recently, I held my dad’s skeletal hand as he drew his last breaths after a lethal virus. I do my best, as I’m sure other readers do, to support friends who are caring for dying partners and family members. We may know someone who is terrified about loved ones in war zones. It’s a tough world and it’s been a rough year so far. Do we need more to remind us of our collective suffering and grief?
Perhaps it’s time for Halloween to change its outdated images of terror and horror. Time for a haunted house makeover as we banish them back to the fun fairs.
I love to see a chubby blow-up pumpkin with a trio of friendly cartoon ghosts on my evening walks. But simulated graveyards and skeletal remains aren’t the right message for our conflicted world. Maybe, as good neighbours and friends, it’s time to rethink how we show off for Halloween next year.
I don’t want to see tombstones that warn me to be even more afraid. What we really need right now is more empathy, understanding and kindness for others, and more hope to take us to better days.
Rosemary MacGilchrist lives in Markham, Ont.