by Wil Vent
I’ve never been much for voluntary terror. Isn’t it enough that I worry daily about my impending homelessness. I have no education and basically no transferable skills once this magazine inevitably becomes defunct. Universal Basic Income is literally my only hope. Yang 2020!?
That said, I do know a ton of normal human people who enjoy the thrill of a well crafted fright and who, year after year continue to find those thrills at the Fright Night Haunts located above Mesquite St. Pizza in Downtown Corpus Christi. There is no question that is where you want to be if you are looking to be skeered this halloween season. I could never do what those experts do every autumn, but let’s say that I gave it a try.
I suppose my haunt would go like this…
First of all, in my haunted house you never leave the couch, in fact you can’t, because when you sat down you didn’t realize that it was covered in ultra sticky bodily fluids left behind from when your best friend made sweet sweet love to your two moms, who swore they weren’t even interested in men.
Even worse, you sat on the remote which activated your 60-inch plasma which is playing a recording of that very love-making session. Yes love-making. Regular sex would have been bad enough but this is your best friend since middle school, John Eric fully ungulfed with passion for your 62 year-old mother and her new life partner Valerie.
You close your eyes but then your ex wife comes in to tell you that your kids are being babysat by her new sex-offender boyfriend while she goes to Ropers for $1 Tequilla night, and the address where she is at will appear one digit at a time on the screen throughout the homade parent porn. She berates you a few minutes for good measure, making sure to point out that your best friend’s piece puts yours to shame, and then she is on her way.
As she exits your doctor enters to tell you that you are losing your left foot to diabetes, and he proceeds to amputate. Upon finishing, he notices that rather than removing your left foot, he incorrectly removed the foot on his left. He explains that this is a more common mistake than one might think. He chuckles for a moment and then says he needs insurance approval before he can remove the correct foot since this will now double the cost. “Whatcha watchin?’” he asks, as he sits next to you while you call Blue Cross Blue Shield. Ninety minutes later you finally get through to a human who informs you that you picked the wrong option on the menu. Another hour later a robot voice tells you that you are no longer on your ex wife’s insurance plan. The Doctor poofs out of existence in a cloud of smoke and in his place is a rusty hacksaw.
You are in no shape to do a self amputation. You have no choice but to call John Eric for help. Still stuck to the sofa, you tell Siri to place the call on speaker. Of course, your mom answers his phone. She tries to play it off but she hears the TV in the background and knows you know and now your relationship will never be the same. She tells you John is busy for the next few days and thinks she hangs up on you but actually leaves the line open so you are forced to hear, in real time, cackles and groans now coming from your phone as well as the TV.
You hear a knock at the door. It’s the one night stand from nine months ago. She came to tell you her crazy ex replaced her birth control pills with tic tacs and now you are a dad again. She needs you to be available to raise the baby as she follows her dream of being a stand up comic. She runs some new material by you. It is not good.