an aura of foreboding

Though I felt pretty traumatized by my first experience of riding the Haunted Mansion, there was definitely some curiosity there as well. Not long after that trip when I was six years old, we returned again to the house of mouse – this time for their 25th anniversary celebration. I was about nine. The castle was a giant, pink birthday cake. We were visiting the parks with my extended family. What wasn’t to like?

I mean, the birthday cake castle was a bit much.

My aunt and uncle were big into the thrill rides that were new at the time: the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror and Alien Encounter. I was curious about them but deemed too young to ride them. And, given the thing with the wedding cake topper, the adults probably made the correct call.

The most momentous thing for me on this trip was that I got to ride the Haunted Mansion again. My parents teased me relentlessly while we waited in line to ride it. Was it going to be every bit as scary as the last time I’d ridden it? Would it be better to sit in the Doombuggy between my parents instead of next to my sister? Newfound excitement filled me as we made our way to the front of the line, right up to the door…

This time, when I made my way all the way to the DEAD CENTER of the room, I realized that the ride was not only scary. It was also funny! I’d been too young (and short) to pay attention to the Stretching Room the first time I visited it. This time, I stared in awe at each portrait, appreciating the humorous – or posthumorous – stories as they unfurled before me.

Savoring the spooky silliness continued, and I came out of the ride wanting to instantly ride it again. 

When I returned home this time, I wanted to share my experience with my friends. I lived in Virginia Beach at the time, and my friends had large, grassy backyards with the kind of trees that are perfect for climbing. They also had a red wagon.

One afternoon, I got the brilliant idea to stick my friend’s little sister in said wagon and pull her along for the new “Haunted Mansion” ride that I’d just made up. Using only my imagination – and the scariest voices my small self could make – I did my best to mimic Paul Frees as I led my friend’s sister through her own backyard, describing her large, white, wooden back porch in ways that made her doubt that she’d ever been on it before.

Basically, I scared the pants off of her, and I was told by her mother to stop scaring her.

The scared had become the scary.

origins

I’ve had many blogs – and, cringe, vlogs – in my life, but hopefully this one will stick because this one, unlike all of the others, will have a theme. A kind of generalized-enough-so-I-can-keep-writing theme. But before I get into that, I think it’s best if I introduce myself.

That’s okay, right? This isn’t a recipe blog. I’m not here to trick you or waste your time. What I’m here to write about for you will be aided better if you know a little about me.

My name’s Sara. I like to write, watch movies, play games, and go on walks through nature (seriously.) I have two cats and a husband. A friend once told me that I was an ALL-CAPS person living in a lowercase world. It was a sweet compliment at the time, but now that I’m in my mid-thirties, I don’t really feel like I’m that special. I mostly want to get through each day being and helping others be as happy as possible. 

I was born in Montana but I have not been back since I was three years old. I live in Maryland now, but I grew up in many states because my dad was in the military. Well, I grew up in three states. I didn’t have to be uprooted as often as my sister, probably mostly because I’m quite a bit younger than her.

And that’s the perfect segue.

When I was six years old, my parents took me and my sister to Walt Disney World in Florida. As you can imagine, I was very excited and I loved being there. Two major memories stand out to me – one of them not very important, but the other one life-changing: I rode on Snow White’s Scary Adventures and hated every minute of it, and my parents made my sister ride with me on The Haunted Mansion.

As I said, I’m in my mid-thirties, so I can’t properly convey with clarity how I felt when I rode The Haunted Mansion for the first time, but I know for a fact that I screamed and cried the whole time. My sister, on the other hand, laughed at me the whole time. I wish there was a photo of little me freaking out when the Hitchhiking Ghost replaced me in the reflection at the end. Imagine it, though. It’s funny. I’ll help you out: I had long blonde hair and bangs.

Little Me vowed that I hated that ride and I never, ever wanted to go on it again. It was too scary and it wasn’t funny. No!

Not long after returning from Disney, I noticed my parents’ lace wedding cake topper sitting in their room. I guess the glowing bride at the end of the ride really got to me, because Little Me took one look at the bride on the wedding cake topper and ran from the doorway. I made it a ritual for a bit. Rush past their bedroom doorway. Don’t let the tiny bride see me. I remember even avoiding going past their room, having to be carried instead lest my child soul be – eaten? – by the decoration.

And that, dear readers, is how I first became obsessed with The Haunted Mansion.