The enemy can’t touch you.

I’m not sure why I thought it was a good idea, spending a freezing Saturday night in October at a Haunted House when I’m the girl who’s always been afraid of pretty much everything. I’m totally a listen to Christmas music in September, beg for a Caramel Brulée Latte from Starbucks in October, and a let’s skip right past Thanksgiving and get on to Christmas type of girl.

Apart from candy, which I can get any time of the year (thank-you-very-much), I find no pleasure in Halloween traditions. For me, there is no joy in being scared, I despise horror films, I like avoiding danger, and I don’t need any inspiration when it comes to fear. Disney’s Halloweentown is as scary as I like things to get, and even that can be pushing it.

 So, it makes absolutely no sense why last Halloween, I raised the idea to my family and fiancé that we should go to a haunted trail. I’m not sure if I thought I would rise to the occasion or if I just figured that being a grownup meant I would find some type of joy in the experience. For the record, neither ended up being true.

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