Scaring people

I don't know what it is, but there is something inside of me which truly enjoys seeing people get scared. I have spent hours on YouTube just looking for videos of people playing Slender (look it up) or people putting fake spiders on sleeping people. I laugh in anticipation, just knowing what is going to happen. A few weeks ago the kids showed me these Brazilian videos where they get unsuspecting people on an elevator, which breaks down and while the lights are out a ghost girl appears. The lights flicker, the people scream, sometimes trying to get behind their friends and I laugh until I am crying.

This love isn't limited to video watching. Even more than watching strangers get scared, I love scaring my own family (and friends if they are available). When I hear the girls coming down the stairs, I spring out from behind the corner at the bottom, I walk silently behind the person washing dishes only to let out a blood curdling scream at the back of their head. In the summer I like to play a game with the youngest called rock or spider, where I drop one of the two into her open had. When she is jumping up and down, hand flailing with the "get off, get off" motion because of the piece of bark which hit her in the palm, I laugh too hard to speak.

As a note, I don't scare my wife that often. She hits harder than the kids and it's hard to defend yourself when you are crying with laughter. Nothing stops laughter like a retaliatory throat punch.

This love is not new. In elementary school I had a good friend named Geoff. We had had a great day at his house. Dinner, computer games, playing with cars outside and shooting pool in the basement. On top of all that, I got to spent the night. I rolled out my sleeping bag on the opposite side of the room, but I thought about the ever fun scare in the dark. We talked a little, but I kept it to a minimum, knowing I couldn't move and talk at the same time. It the silence that fell between us, I had to control my laughter, already knowing what was going to happen, but not wanting to be labeled a nut bag.

Then I was on the move. I slid out from the side of my green sleeping bag, through the zipper I had intentionally left undone. I moved slow, trying to prevent even the smooth material of the bag from crinkling. When I made any noise I wound stop and count to one hundred before I moved. If he heard me, it would be over. Three times I stopped and counted before I was even free of the bag, but I knew it was worth it. I could hear his rhythmic, oblivious breathing. I crossed the room very slowly. Every sound I stopped. I slid on my elbows and toes inch by inch until I was beside the metal frame of his bed.

For good measure I lay on the floor beside Geoff for another count making sure he didn't know I was there. Then I sprung into action. I hopped to my feet, I made a half hearted yell (trying to not wake his parents), leaned over my friend and shook the narrow bed and then him. He breathed a little heavier, but otherwise had no idea I was there. He rolled over, pulling the blanket up over him. No scare, no laughter, no nothing. I walked back to my sleeping bag, not blithering to be quiet, and went to bed.