Monster Mash

I have an over-active imagination. I always have. As a kid, watching a frightening scene in a movie (and the bar for what I counted as frightening was astonishingly low) could leave me with nightmares for weeks. My parents found it easier to skip through a lot of films, or end them early, than to be woken up for the better part of a month by my tremulous voice calling ‘Mummy!’ every night.

Sadly, this tendency hasn’t gone. It’s sort of cute when you’re three. When you’re thirty, though, it becomes a lot less charming. I saw a still - just an image, mind you - of Gary Oldman as Dracula in Coppola’s 1992 film, and now my brain is absolutely convinced that Gary Oldman-Dracula lives in my shower, waiting to pounce when I get up for a drink of water. Horrible, vivid images plague me - at times, my mind offers up a long-fingered hand, with nails overgrown and cracked, that presses against my bedroom window and leaves smears of blood on the glass. This is sometimes replaced by a heavy body with sinewy arms dragging itself up my hallway, legs immobile, eye sockets empty. A face leers out at me from my bathroom mirror, eyes wild and wide, with too many teeth and face stretched into a too-wide grimace - but I only see it in the corner of my eye, in the half-light of evening. And now, Gary Oldman in a ludicrous wig and velvet robe joins these apparitions, licking blood from a razor, strangling hands poised to snatch at me from behind my shower curtain. I know, I know that these things are not real, cannot harm me - in the light of day. But at night, when the air is still and dark, it is quite a different matter.

So you can imagine that Hallowe’en presents some problems. Hallowe'en is a complex time of year for me. I love sweets, but hate to be scared. As a child, trick-or-treating was never really in my wheelhouse, so my parents and grand-parents adjusted the traditional system to accommodate a shy, fearful pre-schooler. Instead of going from door to door, hollering childish threats at people I'd never met, we went straight to Gramma and Grampa's house. I wore my customary mouse costume, the one that was, to my memory, made of shag carpet, and could go over my clothes instead of a parka and snow-pants, which are often as necessary for a Winnipeg Hallowe'en as the requisite plastic pumpkin bucket.

I did not scream “Trick or treat!” at my grandparents' front door. I didn't know about 'trick-or-treat' as an option for Hallowe'ening. Instead, after labouring up their front steps in my stuffy costume, I rang the doorbell and called “Hallowe'en apples!” in a sing-song voice. I have no idea from where this chant originated. I didn't have any apples. Whatever the logic (or lack thereof), that is what I shouted, and without fail, my grandmother would open the door and exclaim over my costume before ushering me inside for home-made treats and other forms of extravagant spoiling. This was the extent of my Hallowe'en experience: in fact, until I reached school, Hallowe'en meant dressing up and visiting Gramma and Grampa's, two of my favourite things.

But then I began grade school, and Hallowe'en took on fuller meaning. Suddenly there needed to be an indoor costume for school, and an outdoor one for trick-or-treating. I still went to my grandparents' house dressed as a mouse, but during the day, I had to have something different for the costume parade and the other festive activities on offer. My mother was kind enough to provide me with a sparkly tulle skirt and leotard, which worked very well for a ballerina, or, when furnished with a plastic crown and wand, a fairy. (When I got older, more adventurous costumes like Queen Cleopatra or a bunch of grapes seemed like good ideas). The costume parade consisted of twenty-odd first-graders marching around our classroom in a circle. I hated promenading up and down for people to gawk at me, so the costume parade made me squirm. I recall heaving a sigh of relief when we were finally allowed to sit back down in our little desks and glue facial features onto paper pumpkins, or make ghosts out of tissue paper. The worst part of the day was no doubt Madame Gordon's French lesson. We trouped down to her classroom in our now-wilted costumes and sat in the creaky wooden desks before her. There was typically a crossword puzzle and a word search for us to hunt down 'sorciere' and 'citrouille' and 'phantome', which I was perfectly happy to complete. But then, with what I maintain was gleeful cruelty, Madame would plonk her ancient tape-player on her desk and make us sing along to a terrifying song: 'C'est l'Hallowe'en.' In retrospect, the ditty itself was harmless: I have listened to it since then, and it's basically a few descriptive verses, with a bouncy, repetitive, chanting chorus of “C'est l'Hallowe'en, c'est l'Hallowe'en”. But the recording was laced with eerie sound-effects that matched the lyrics. Particularly, the scratchy violin that illustrated the coiling nature of “un serpent bleu” sent a frisson of nerves jangling down my spine.

Hallowe'en continued in this vein for some time before it changed again. High school brought on parties, where I was expected to wear costumes and bring snacks. I was happy with this situation. I will admit, however, that I didn't quite get the memo about sexy costumes. Now that I was old enough to make my own costuming decisions, I had a good time coming up with what I thought were fun and interesting choices. I went as Marcel Marceau's Bip the clown one year, and as the Dead Sea another. I made a red felt cape, antennae, and wore pearls for a lady-bug costume of which I was particularly proud. Later costumes included Spinelli from the television cartoon Recess, and the Paper-bag Princess from Robert Munsch's book by the same name. Clearly my tastes leaned towards what might be called juvenile.

It was around this time that I began to learn more about Hallowe'en itself. All Saints' and All Souls' Day from the liturgical calendar of the Catholic Church were meant to be spent remembering the dearly departed and praying to the litany of saints. Indeed, the name Hallowe'en derives from All Hallow's Eve, where 'hallows' is a synonym for holy or sanctified. This tradition carries on in the Mexican Dios de los Muertos, or days of the dead, when lost loved ones are honoured with feasting and grave-side visits and offerings. In Europe, particularly in England, the fear of death came to override the memorial elements of the festival, and it was believed that alongside the spirits of the dead, demons and devils would walk the earth and wreak havoc. This notion was embroidered and developed to the point where many people believed (and some do to this day) that the gates of Hell open on the 31st of October, and that all the horrid things who take up residence there visit the physical world to spread evil and cause trouble. Tasty treats set out for deceased family members soon became peace offerings to assuage the brutal natures of these hellish visitors. In time, it became customary for people, typically young men, to dress as demons or angry ghosts, in part to blend in with the roaming ghoulies, and partly to enjoy the free food on offer. If nice nibbles were not available to placate the 'demons', these rogues, perhaps spurred on by their devilish counterparts, performed mischievous acts, meant to frighten or inconvenience, but not to harm, their stingy victims. This practice was called guising or mumming, and is the origin of our modern-day trick-or-treating. In a way, these traditions use humour and fun to mock death and the unknown, and give us tools to come to grips with things that normally confuse, frighten, and disturb us. I am particularly fond of the logic that dictates that if something or someone should scare you, you should laugh at it, and then feed it goodies. Maybe I ought to try that with Gary Oldman-Dracula.

Other scary traditions have become entangled with this holiday, so that now we are not in the least surprised to see werewolves, vampires, and monsters alongside demons and ghosts. These frightening creatures come to us from a variety of sources, including Gothic literature, folk tales, horror films, and national customs. Originally a holiday for all ages, the more recent focus on children at Hallowe'en means that downright cute and cuddly costumes and celebrations are commonplace. Such as, for example, a mouse costume, or visits to grandparents. One way or the other, I've come to like Hallowe'en, despite my distaste for scary stuff. It's a time of year when normalcy is suspended: indulging in buckets of candy (literally) is encouraged, the frightening and ferocious is embraced and fed tasty treats, and disguising yourself, as a monster or a mouse, is an essential part of the fun.

Jennifer