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(Photo Credit: http://bethtrissel.wordpress.com/2012/10/26/a-haunted-garden-halloween-hop-beth-trissel/

I’m a coward and I know it. I find Halloween the eeriest “holiday” of them all. I never did nor will I ever watch the following: horror films, splashers, splatters, crime thrillers, spy thrillers, spoofs, zombie films, exorcist films or any of the horrible subgenres they have spawned. Also, I reserve myself the right to add to the list all Arnold Schwarzenegger’s attempts at comedy. In fact, I’m charging him with premeditated first-degree bad acting. Seriously, this man shouldn’t not be allowed in front of a camera or live audience.

 One, two, Freddy’s coming for you …

Regardless of my personal feelings about certain public figures, I must continue with my repertoire of haunting material. In my opinion one the most malefic cinematic characters is Freddy Krueger. As I have somewhat courageously admitted, I never saw his monstrosity in action, but I didn’t need to because all children know about the “son of one hundred maniacs” (a charming epithet, don’t you agree? ). The idea that he can enter one’s dream and kill them is unsettling and brilliant at the same time. What I see at work here is Freud’s theory about the return of the Repressed. When we dream we are at our most vulnerable and it is at this point that our unconsciousness plays out (in modified form) the scenes we force ourselves to subdue/repress during our waking hours. There you have it – a nightmare on a street of your own choosing. It’s decided then, I’m never ever going to bed again.

 Three, four, better lock your door …

If Freddy weren’t enough, what say you to children’s toys and porcelain dolls that suddenly become animated. Charles Lee Ray may indeed sound like the name of a corn farmer from Memphis, but when I tell you that is just short for Chucky, you ain’t gonna chuckle no more. Iden that right? That Chucky is a devil seed. At least Krueger had the decency of having a completely disfigured physique. You knew he spelled trouble from the start. On the other hand, that little voodoo monster seems like a perfectly innocuous toy. I tell you, Ah ain’t seen such a thing in all my born days. He was ingenious and so persuasive he could have talked a cat out of a tree. He was the one who introduced me to pediophobia, fear of dolls, in the first place (because another weird phobia is just what I needed). Therefore, I advise all little Norma Jeans and Bobby Lous to lavish their affections on them dawgs instead. It’s just a li’l somenthin’ I recommend, it don’t differ to me, anyway.

 Five, six, grab your crucifix …

If we switch from cinema to literature, the first name that springs to mind is that of a Transylvanian nobleman who had peculiar sleeping arrangements and an addiction to energy beverages of reddish hue. You have guessed correctly, the notoriously nefarious bachelor sporting necrophilic tendencies is indeed none other than Count Dracula. Seriously ladies, this man sells himself.

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(Photo credit: http://mubi.com/films/dracula)

Even though I was reading the novel in full daylight and in the safety and comfort of my room, I have never felt more nerve-wrecked or came closer to wetting the bed (in particular, during those first seventy pages). Due to first-person narration and the careful arrangement of diary entries by the author, the narrative could bear to sustain suspense till the very end. Despite the evident element of horror, there were some amusing bits as well. For example, all the female vampires are described as Victorian versions of lingerie models (ironically enough, their contemporary versions also share a “secret” with Victoria) while the descriptions of attacks reveal Bram Stoker’s obvious sexual frustrations (apparently he and the missus didn’t get to second base for over 20 years). All in all, with its mixture of horror, underground sex and blood it makes for a perfect Halloween read.

                 Seven, eight, gotta stay up late …

The last on tonight’s agenda are the Weird sisters from Macbeth (Harry Potter fans calm down. I know there is a band of the same name featuring in the 4th instalment of the series. This is not it.) I usually try to keep myself from commenting on anyone’s personal appearance (give me a break, I’m trying to say that with a straight face), but those are some seriously ugly looking old hags. “Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn, and cauldron bubble.” In case you haven’t worked it out for yourselves, these are not the people you want to mess with. They are the Fates of English mythology. They generate ambiguous prophecies which can change the direction of your life, usually for the worse. Just look what they did to Macbeth and his lady. Oh dear, this is the 2nd time I invoked the name of the Scottish play. My cursed tongue. Now, if you excuse me, I have to leave the room, spin around three times like a cat chasing its tail, spit, curse (how very bad of me) and beg to be let in again. Fingers crossed I don’t get attacked by a zombie while performing this insane ritual.

 Nine, ten, never sleep again.

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