The Boys and Girls Club, deceptively quiet and peaceful from the outside, sits on the corner of Memorial and Madison and is a safe haven for kids to go after school to play, hang out and get help with their homework.
During the past few weeks at the club there has been an undercurrent of excitement as the month of October drew near. For with the coming of October comes the club's annual trip to the Children's Museum Haunted House. All around the club, kids spoke in hushed whispers of the imminenet death that surely awaited them. Eager to become a part of all this excited, anxious energy, I questioned some children on their past haunted house experiences. One young girl said, "Girl! This ain't no haunted house! It's a haunted basement!" I quickly begged her forgiveness for my careless assumption, and she began to inform me of the vast difference between these two worlds of terror.
The day of the field trip dawned bright and clear and the kids were insatiable with horrified joy. The volunteers that day could not help but egg on the children's excitement. One leader said, "Now kids, if one of you gets eaten by goblins, don't worry. We'll come back and get you next year." This idea was met with shrieks of hysterical laughter as the kids unconsciously moved closer together for comfort.
Instant bonds of trust were formed between the kids in my group and myself as they clung to me for safety and reassurance. Though they did not know my name, I was now their fearless protector, a physical barrier between them and the evils that lurked in the basement. As we descended the ever-deepening blackness of the winding staircase, it became harder and harder to succeed in physical motion because of the barricade of bodies surrounding me. After what seemed like an eternity, the stairs ended, and we entered into the abyss. We were then confronted with a long, narrow hallway. At the end of this mousetrap, a clown was walking on its hands while eerie carnival music seeped from the walls. May it be noted here that clowns never have been and never will be, funny. From their nightmarish-colored hair, to their unnaturally pale faces, to their oversized, monstrously ugly garments that could conceal hidden weapons, clowns are the face of evil. The largest boy in my group took one look at this freakish thing walking upside-down and made a run for it. When the smaller ones saw that the "big kid" was making an escape, they followed suit and went hurtling after him, with me following close behind.
After the chaos of pursuing the escapees and rounding them up once again, I was shocked that they had not had enough. After calming down for a few minutes, they were ready to attempt the horrors of the "Haunted Basement" once again. Their faces lit with the fire of the unknown, they squared their shoulders and begged for more. Though we made many attempts, my group never made it past the devilish clown. In the end, it didn't really matter that we never saw the entire basement. The kids were content to have faced death, right there in the basement, and won. They were now warriors of their own destiny and could face anything.
The intensity with which these kids live and the excitement their wild imaginings bring to life is incredible. Because of them, in this month where spirits and ghosts run wild, I once again find myself believing in the possibility of the unknown.
Write to Carla at caalderman@bsu.edu
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