On this particular day in October at the young age of 3 or 4, I was out playing joyfully with my brother. We had been beckoned in by our parents, and my brother, the ever dutiful one, had already trounced back inside. As the more mischievous and stubborn one, I was taking one last run in and around the cement tubes, just to be difficult. If I had known then what fate was to befall me, I would have eagerly run inside to the safety of my parents.
Looping around the tunnel one last time, I stopped dead in my tracks as I saw Death itself flying across the sand directly towards me. As I was the lone victim left unguarded, I knew without a doubt I was Death's target. Wielding a huge unidentified weapon (most likely a machete, possibly with blood flying off it), I had but seconds to escape. Thinking I could lose It in the cement maze of tunnels, I ducked inside and skittered about, tiny legs pumping as fast as they could. Bloodcurdling screams shot from my gaped jaw, but no one heard. Death found its way into the tunnels with me, and I was out of options. My only hope was to outrun It across the (what seemed liked) miles of sand to my home, and duck inside before It could slay me.
Let me pause and note a few things for those readers who are too old to remember being this small and innocent. 1) I was not yet so indoctrinated that Halloween costumes were a readily identifiable fixture in my life, and 2) Fear makes everything seem larger than it is.
So there I was, a huge Death monster chasing me while yielding a life-ending weapon. If I stayed any longer in the maze of playground equipment, my chances of outlasting It were slim. So off I went, blazing as fast as I possibly could towards my mom and our house. I vividly recall a thought creeping through my fear, the thought that a tiny blond child was magically staying out of reach of a practiced killing machine. Had that thought been allowed to develop, I might have eventually concluded I was not being chased by an agent of Death since It was not very good at catching victims, but there was no time for thinking! Though I was curious about my luck thus far, I did not pause to question it, nor did it detract from the horror of my situation. At that moment, fight-or-flight was in full gear and I kept running.
I don't actually remember the moment I burst into the house and out of It's reach, but I remember the moments after. I was screaming in pure terror, haltingly trying to control the sobbing long enough to make my mom understand I had just barely escaped an untimely and tragic end. To be fair, I do not remember exactly what my mother said to me as I tried to make her understand, but my small mind did register the fact that there was no terror, no sorrow, no vengeance, no nothing in my mother's voice. She calmed me down as if I had scraped my knee! Did she not realize she had almost lost me forever? Perhaps that was my punishment for not coming in when told, but still! One would think a mother would still mourn the loss of her baby girl, regardless of the circumstances. And I maintain that she did not try to explain rationally what happened; I am almost certain the word "costume" never came out of her mouth. In my mind, it was very much just a "There, there" and a little pat, perhaps an extended hug and maybe a kiss, but that's it! My tiny mind reeled at the lack of concern, but what could I do? The creature had vanished somehow, and I had no way to insist how narrowly I had escaped with my life.
Who knows how long I stayed in that terrified state and what happened in the days after, how long it took me to venture across the sand and far from the safety of my house. I also wonder how long it was before I understood I did not narrowly escape death that day, that it was simply another child dressed in a scary costume, just chasing me for sport. Though I know that now, I promise you, dear readers, that there was not even one atom in my body that imagined any of that scenario was not real or would not end in my ultimate death were I not able to stay out of It's reach.
To this day, I very much dislike scary Halloween costumes or anything with weapons, masks, or blood. I loathe haunted houses or "Fright Fests" at amusement parks, and will not watch horror movies. I can only imagine that stems from this most traumatic event, but apart from that, I am surprisingly unscathed. And that, dear readers, is the story of my very first memory of Halloween.
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