1. DAY 9: October14
I’ve alwayssecretly knownthatmymooddelegatesthe weatherandnotthe otherwayaround. If I
wake up miserable,Idon’tevenneedtoglance outmywindow toknow it’sa shitday. “Alicia, you’za
crazy bitch!” That’s you,inyour headrightnow. Apparently inyourmindyousoundlike WandaSykes.
Regardless,youcanchoose to believe me,youcancall bullshit, youcaneata dick;it iswhat it is.
The reasonI’m revealingmymostsecretof superpowerstothe world rightnow is because whenIwoke
up today,I felt…different. Ididn’tknowwhetheritwasa bad thingor a goodthing,butI immediately
knewthatsomething hadchangedinside me while Iwasasleep, anditwassomethingthatfeltboth
foreignandfamiliartome at the same time. At first,Icouldn’tputmy fingeron whatit was. I checked
to see if I wasmissinga toothor maybe my pants,butall teethand articlesof clothingwere exactly
where I had leftthem. All of a sudden,alightningboltsentstraightfrom the heavensbyJamesBrown
himself hitme square inthe forehead, knockingthe realizationintomyheadlike agloriousandfunky
beaconof knowledge. AndalthoughIhave those thick- ass,light-repellingcurtainsIknew thatif Ipulled
themback at that moment,the skywouldbe saying“Fuckyeah,it’snice outhere!Checkoutmy
motha’fuckinblueness,ya’ll! Shit’sBLUE!”The bestandmostbeautiful thinghadjusthappenedtome,
and I hadn’tevengottenoutof bedyet.
My swag had come back. Like the belovedfamilydogthatrunsaway, my swaghad come back home. I
had knowndeepdownthathe wouldreturneventually,but Ididn’tknow how longitwouldtake (FYI,
nine days.),andIwas miserable withouthim. He hadlimpedinsometime duringthe nightandwasa
little scrawnierandabitbruised, butthere’snomistakingone’sone swag,andmine wasback, witha
newappreciation forme he hadn’thadwhenhe left. I wasgoingto patch himup and feedhimsome
steaksandhe wasgoingto be betterthanever. Todaywas goingto be a kickassday.
As predicted, itwaslike the weather-equivalentof DollyParton’sbreasts whenIsteppedoutside. I
lookedupat the sun andthe sunlookedbackat me and he wasall,“Yeahhhhgirl,youknew I’dbe out
today. Swag on,bitch!” Andso I did.
The firstthingI didwas take my swagout for a run, whichIhadn’tdone in almosta year. I will saythis
aboutmy running:I’mknowthat I’ma goodrunnerinthe sense thatI’mfastand I have a goodamount
of stamina,especiallyforasmoker. But I’malso well aware of the factthat I do not,in anyway, shape,
or form, looklike those womeninthe Nike commercials dowhenIrun. Now obviouslyIhave never
seen myself actuallyrunning,butIhave heardthe term“stick inthe ass” too manytimesinmy life forit
to be sheercoincidence ordeceitful jealousy. Asaresult, when Ido choose to run ina place where
otherpeople could potentiallysee me,whichiseverywhere,Iamalwaysonthe alert. If I see a person
approachinginthe distance,Iwill slowtoa brisk walkso theycan’ttell thatI’m the runningequivalent
of Elaine’sdancing.
NOT TODAY. Todaymy swagand I were goingHARDand we didn’tgive a fuckwhosaw us. We were all
like “Yeah, you seethat stick? Yeah,we PUTit there. WHAT. SAY SOMETHING,”andthe personwould
be all,“What?What are you talking about? Who’swe?” and thenwe’dbe like,“Shutup.” Itwas
awesome.

2. So because todaywasso ninja-fresh,I’mgoingtospare youany revelationsordeepthoughtsImayor
may nothave had in the pastfortnight. I feel asif I’ve beenbleedingfordaysnow to youpeople,and
it’snot like I’mthe captainof the emocrew all the time or anything. That’dbe like,the shittiestcrew
ever. Especially if it wasa dance crew. Granted,it’sbeena roughweek,butif a day iskickass,I’mgoing
to say itwas kickass. Todaywas kickass. Soinstead,I’mgoingtolightenthingsupwitha bitof good
Halloweenfunmixedwithimmense,life-threateningterror.
Let me tell youa funnylittle storyIcall The First Time Alicia Went to a Haunted HouseSober. Whichisa
dishonesttitleforthe story because I’mprettysure I wenttoplenty whenIwasa little kid andI
probablywasn’tlike, “Yo,what’sgood,passthebottle,” backthen. So if youreallywantto, you can call
it The First SoberTrip to a Haunted Housein Recent Memory story,butto me,that justdoesn’tsound as
epic.
Regardlessof the title,Icansummarize the plotininfinitelyfewerwords. Well,finite,butwayfewer.
Two. Fucking terrifying.
The firstmistake Imade happened whenI waschoosingwhich hauntedvenue outof the slew of
hauntedvenuesIwantedtoenjoy thisevening. AfterwhatIbelieved atthe time was careful
deliberation (fool),Idecided onthe one withanattraction that had wonthe “Freakiest of 2011” award.
Thinkaboutwhat I justtoldyou. It didnot winthe “Scariestof 2011” award. Noteventhe “Most
Technically Impressiveand MovieAccurate” award,althoughif that awardexistedandIsaw iton that
list,I’mconfidentIwouldhave chosenthatinstead. Inhindsight, “Freakiestof 2011” award,Alicia,
really? Yourfirstsoberhauntedexperience since what,12,and you’re goingtopick somethingthat
actuallywonan award forbeingdisturbing?
The secondmistake thatis nowpainfully obviouswasinchoosingwho my right-handman wouldbe,my
Sundance Kid. Once again,in hindsight,Ishouldhave chosena blackperson. AndI’mnot sayingthatin
a negative orevenremotelyracistway. That’sjustmyconclusionafterthe eventsthattookplace this
evening. Idon’tknowif white people ingeneraljustdon’thave the same fight-or-flightreflexes;all I
knowiswhenshithitthe fan tonight,natural selectiontookitscourse andI was onthe side of survival.
Andas we sprinted outto safetyand I had to come to termswiththe fact that I had justsacrificedmy
ownmotherto an evil barn, myfirstintelligible thought thatwasI should’vebroughtLavar.
But I’mkindof tellingthisstorybackwardsbecause thatwasatthe veryend of a long,traumatizing
night,solet’sjustback up a bit. Andwhile I’mtellingyouthisstory,rememberthatthisisexactlyhowit
happenedinmymind. Andwhile mymindcangetcarried awaysometimes,maybeinnocently
exaggerate adetail ortwo,NEITHER OF THOSE THINGS HAPPEN IN THIS STORY, THIS IS ALL FACT.
PEOPLE DIED TONIGHT. Notnecessarilyinahauntedbarnin New Jersey,butI’msure thatsomeone,
somewhere couldhave diedtonight. Fuckyou,I’mtellingyouthisstoryhow Irememberithappening
and if youreallyfeel likequestioningmystory’svalidityyoucanemail me andI will tell youexactly
where thisplace isandthenyou can go there andfindout foryourself how freakyitisandI hate youfor
questioningme andI stopusingpunctuationwhenI’mangry.
ANYWAYS.

3. So I’ve alreadymade twofatal mistakesstraightoutthe gate,andI hadn’tevengottentothe place yet.
Oh yeah,andI alsohad chuggeda 16 oz. RedBull on the drive over,soI guessyoucouldsay I was wee
more skittishthanusual. Putit thisway,the womanat the ticketcounterwasmakingme nervous,and
she was justwearingasweatshirt. Butshe wassmilingreally strangelyatmymotherandI the entire
time andwe weren’teven in herline,andalso herface waswaaaay too close tothe glass partitionthan
logisticallynecessary. Ihadbeenmind-fuckedbefore Ihadevenenteredthe establishment.
So thisplace had fourseparate attractions andjudgingbythislady,I nolongerhad anydesire togo to
the one that wonthe “Freakiestof 2011” awardanymore. I decided Ishould voice myconcernsandwas
beginningtoformthe sentence, “Mom, mylegskindof hurtfrom all of the intense runningIdidtoday,
maybe we shouldjustdothe wagon one tonight.”Atthe same time I decidedtovoice whatwouldprove
to be legitimate concerns,my motherdecided thatshewasnow the BionicWoman andwas somehow
able to say, “We’ll take twofor the one that won the freakyaward!”and make an entire payment
transactioninthe time it tookme to say, “mom, my legs.” I prayedthather newfoundspeedwould
translate once we were in. It didn’t.
While the otherthree attractionshadfairly-decentlysizedlinestothem, atleasta good60 or 70 people,
I was horrifiedtodiscoverthat ourswas a meagerbattalionof seven. Isilentlyprayed thatthiswas
because everyonehadalready gone onoursbecause ourswas the best,itwasthe freakiestof 2011
afterall, but myblack instincts,myblaccincts,were sayingme girl, you’refucked. While we stoodin our
pitifully shortline,Idecidedthatnowwas the onlychance I’d have to coach my mom, my Sundance Kid,
for whatwas aboutto happento us,whichwasfeelinglessandlesslike ‘spooky fun’ andmore andmore
like ‘certain death.’ Thiswasmore or lessthe peptalkI gave to myright-handman:
“Alright, nowI don’t want to come offmean, but I need to make one thingclear to youand I need you
to know it andaccept it. I’m Neve Campbell andyou’re…prettymuch everyone else in that movie.
WhatI mean is that ifshit goes downin there, and it may, youbetter keep withthe pace or you’re on
your own. I’m sorry that it hasto be likethis, but I’myounger and I alreadycalledNeve Campbell,so
you couldstill be Courtney Coxwho I’m almostpositivesurvivesin the movie andmaybe even a
sequel,I’m not sure, but the point iswhen I run you need to RUN.
She staredat me fora fewmomentsand Ithoughtwe were reallyconnectingandhadsomehow had
come to a veryBuddha-like understandingwithoureyes andIwasimpressedwithhow deepthat
mother-daughtergraingrows. Thenshe spoke. “Wait, didyousay a movie? There’samovie here? Isit
inthe barn?Where didyou see that? Is it onthat sign?Where are myglasses?” Inmy defense,she had
markedherself agonerfromthe get-go. So long,Drew Barrymore. You will be missed.
It’sa well-documentedfact(documentedbyme,rightnow) that eversince Ibecame the young,nubile
hottie thatI am today, I’ve beenwhatyou mightcall a ‘target’forthe people whowork(oract, as they
like tocall it) at these typesof places. Normally, I’dbe drunkandeverythingwouldbe funnytome and
I’dmaybe pee ina corn maze andwe wouldall laughaboutitand that wouldbe it. Nothingepicor
terrifyingorevenmemorable,justabigbunchof laughingandpeeingandthenlaughingsome more. I

4. don’tknowhowdrunkI wouldhave had to have beentofindthisbarnfunnyinthe slightest,butif Ihad
to guess,itwouldbe shit-housed beyond allreason.
I don’tknowwhothe fuck came up withthishaunted“barn” blueprintbutwhoeverdidhasareally
fucked-upwayof thinking,because itwasn’tscaryinthe funway that hauntedhousesare supposedto
be scary, it wasscary in the “oh-my-god-I-might-die-because-this-thing-is-never-ends-and-I-can’t-get-
out-scary.”Andthe reasonIput the wordbarn in quotationsisbecause abarnimplies onebuildingwith
some hay andmaybe a horse or a chickenorwhateverthe fuckyouwant to putin the barn, itdoesn’t
matter,the POINTisthat a barn is ONE BUILDING. I don’tevenknow how manybuildingsIwalked
through,butit was certainlymore thanone. Itwouldfuckwithyouby makingyouthink oh sweet,I’m
outsidenow,thatwasfun,nowit’s over,and thenSURPRISE strobe-lightroom, orSURPRISEroom that
seemsyou’re walkingthroughagiantvaginawhile people punchatyouthroughthe labia. I’mnoteven
exaggerating,yourfinal challenge inthe fuckingtourof SketchfestUSA isan ACTUALVAGINA. I’m
actuallylaughingrightnowbecause Ijustrememberedthatone of the people inmygrouphad actually
criedout “Quick!Go throughthe giant vagina!”incomplete sincerity,andIwasin sucha state of panic
at the time Ididn’tevengetthe chance to laugh;I justheededhisword.
Everythingaboutthisplace wasa differentpartof freaky. There wasa fucking 15-minute periodof time
where itwasjust mymotherand I trapped incomplete darkness,trying tofindthe openinginaseriesof
narrow hallways likewe’reinone of those funhouse mirrors,onlyinthisone youcan’tsee an inchin
frontof yourface,and there were people screamingandridiculingus,andwe keptaccidentallygrabbing
each other’stitsbecause we couldn’tsee whatthe fuckwe were doing. Andnotinthe hot,then-we-
started-making-outway,youfuckingperv.
There wasanotherinstance thatstands outto me as unnecessarilydisturbinginwhich Iwasliterally
beingsandwiched,Nightatthe Roxbury-style,byamaskedmadmanwitha chainsaw and a reallyweird
fuckingclownthatwas actuallyshorterthanme,so itmust’ve beenamidgetclown. Shitgotweird.
A shortwhile afterIhad been traumatizedbythe worstsandwich-dance of mylife,Ibroke free of the
linkourarms had createdinunityand startedlightlyjogging. Iwouldn’tsayIwas leavingherthere to
die,because all the while Iwasyellingwordsof encouragementtomymother,whomayor may not
have beengettingmolestedbyaman wearingapotato sackover hishead(she saidshe wasn’tsure had
whathappened;I’mprettysure thatshe blackedoutfor a good periodof time inthere outof self-
preservation.)
So I’mliterallyshouting,“I’msorry!Iwarned you thistime would come!Follow the sound of my voice!
Fightor flight, bitch,FIGHT OR FLIGHT!” overmy shoulderat mypoor, doomedmotherinbetween my
ownscreamsthat are becomingmore andmore real-soundingbecause all of these weird,not-really-in-
costume-peoplekeeppoppingoutof nowhere andyellingreallymean,borderline-degradingthings
directly intomyear(I’mnot evenbeingdramatichere,IsweartoGod, one guy said, “Jesuswon’tsave
you nowlittle girl, do you wantto be my new doll?” FUCKINGDISTURBING-ASSSHIT.). So at thispoint,
I’mfuckingsprintingtofindthe portal we fell intothathadtakenus to Creepland(76milessouthof
Funnkytown), because I still knewthisshithad toendat somepoint, Ijustwantedto getit the fuck over

5. withas soonas possible, whenall of asuddenI literally run intothe groupof fourin frontof us,whoare
justmoseyingalong,takingtheirsweet-asstime like nothingterrifyingordisturbingishappeningaround
them. At thispointI concludedthateitherthe actors really puta serioustargetonthe backs of my
motherand I (probablybecause mymomrefusedtocall them actors),orIhad justcollided intofour
fuckingwarveterans,hardenedbywar,burdenedwithsuffering. Ididn’tgive afuckwhichof the two
optionswastrue because nowI had strengthof numbersand bonus!Theywere movingatsucha slug-
like pace thateventually,evenmymothercaughtupwithus. Everybodywins,happyending,exceptfor
the war veteranswhoare still hardenedandburdened.
So now,I’mcongratulatingmyself,commendingmyNeve Campbell-like instincts by doingexactlywhat
you’re supposed todoina scary movie:youfinda group;you stickwithsaidgroup. I had managedto
bury myself within the group,so nowwhensomething jumpedoutIeithersaw itcomingor saw it
happentosomeone behindme. Iwas money. Ievenmanagedtosize upeveryone else inourgroup
and tookcomfortin the fact that I wasthe youngest,mostattractive female. Iam so gravy rightnow it’s
ridiculous,I thoughtsmugly tomyself. If anyoneisNeveCampbellhere, it’s me.
Thensomethinghappened thatchangedthe game entirely andIrespondedinaway that instantly
changedme from “leading lady”to “dumb slut thatdies beforethe opening credits.”
The game changer:A second chainsawguy. What I did:ran.
I ran and I ran and thenI stoppedtolookbehindme andsomethingtomyleftscreamedatme and then
I ran some more. I ran until the group behindme wasa distantmemory, theywere deadtome. Iwas
on myown now, andI was NOTgoingto be the Drew Barrymore of the group andif theyhadto die so
that I couldlive,thensobe it. The biggestissue Ihadwiththisbarn, aside fromthe psychological
damage it inflictsandthe factthat it’snot evenreallyabarnso theyshouldn’tcall itone,isthatit is
intolerableinitsmagnitude. If I hadwalkedthroughthe entire thing ata normal pace itwouldhave
takenme a good 45 minutes toan hour to go throughthe whole thing. Thisshitwas long.
AfterI sprintedthroughthe lastof the hodge podge of buildingsthey’velooselycalledabarnand
successfullymanage tosequestermyself fromanyone else thatwasn’tgettingpaidtobe there,Icame
to anotherclearing. Nowatthispoint,my instinctswere atbat-level,andIknew notto trust anything
until Iwas standingbythe snack bar, touchingitto be certainit wasn’ta hologram. My batstinctswere
right.
Apparentlyalongwithforgettingtotell usthatthe word“barn” actually meansstrippingyouof all your
humandecencyas youmetaphoricallyshove yourownmother’sface inthe mudinthe fightforyour
ownsurvival, there was alsoa full-oncornmaze theyhadforgottentomentiontous. I’m sure if they
did,a lotof people (like me) wouldbe like,“Idon’tknow,thatsoundsa little tooepicfora Sundaynight.
Plusmylegskindof hurt, so I thinkI’mgoingto go withthe wagon.” Or maybe theyjustforgotto
mentionittous, whichiswhythe onlypeople inourline were toughened,grief-strickenwarveterans.
All of these thoughtsfloodedmybrainas I ran through the entire corn maze by myself,infull-on,raw
dog, fight-or-flightmode,shriekingmybattle cryof survival the entire time. Ithinkat some point even

6. the actors were probably like,“Alright,let’slightenuponthisgirl;she’srunningthroughthe fucking
corn maze by herself,screaminglikeamaniacand possibly crying. Ithinkshe thinkssomebody actually
may kill herat thispoint. Ithinkshe’sgood.” Or maybe I was justbookingitsofast,no one evenhad
time to jumpoutat me. Theywere probablyjustsittingbehindthe cornstalks,hangingout,talking shit,
and I come out of nowhere,like abatout of hell,ascreamingflashof a small humanbeingormaybe a
large deer,andone’slike,“Holyshitdidyousee that? What the fuck wasthat? Was that a person?”
Andthe other’slike “Nah,itwasprobably Jenny. She’sareallygood actor.”
What I still couldn’tunderstandwas, why wasnoone else there, runninglikeme? Hadnone of them
gottento the corn maze yet,and if theyhad,why hadn’tthey come to the same realizationasI did
whenI firstlaideyesuponitsuglymass,thatthisis where theypickyouoff afterthey’ve wornyou
down? Okay,maybe my mommightnot have the bestinstinctsinthe world,butsurelythe war
veterans would’ve caughtonbynow. How much RedBull is too muchRed Bull?
Then,out of nowhere,Iheara panicked yellingthatforonce, wasnot comingfromme.It was male,and
it wascomingfrom aheadof me. Althoughitwashardto make out what he wassayingbecause he was
insuch a state of terror that hisvoice wasat a jarringlyhighpitch,Iwasable to use my sonarto
decipherhisdog-whistle-voice. “JAYJAAAAYYY!SLOWDOOOOOWWWN!RONNIEJUSTFELL!” Itwas
followedwithwhatIdetectedtobe a female butequallypanicked voice thatshoutedback,“LEAVE
HIM! LEEEEEAAAAAAVEHIM! FUCK THAT BOY!” Finally, Ihadstumbledacross some people whohad
some genuine common sense. Emboldenedbythe knowledge thatIwasnot the onlypersonwho
recognizedthisplace forwhatitwas: a life-threateningsituation,Ispeduptojoinmy new comrades.
These were the people whosurvivedthe horrormovie, thiswasthe groupI neededtobe in. Those
DrewBarrymore’sback there? Psshh. Iwas withmykind. I had foundmyCourtneyCox and myDavid
Arquette andthatwas all I needed.
WhoeverJayJaywas initiallyassumedme athreatand I sufferedapainful,thoughnotfatal,punchto
my lefttitonce I reached mysupportingcast. I wantedto hate her forit,but instead,commendedher
for itin myhead. Courtney Cox would’vedonetheexactsamething,Ithoughtto myself. Together,the
three of us ran, our voicescreatingabeautiful harmony(Nope,outrightlying;we soundedawful
together. We wouldneedtoworkon that forthe latermovies.), untilwe reachedagiantvagina(and
my DavidArquette saidwhatcouldpotentiallybe hisnew catchphrase inthe sequel),andonce we were
throughwe knewwe were safe, butnone of us slowed downuntil we reached the glow of the snackbar.
AfterI deemedthe areaasthe actual place of snackingandnot anotherdirtytrick we wordlesslywent
our separate ways; My supportingcast,to the actual snackbar, and me,to the bonfire,whichwould
give me full viewof the hauntedbarn’sexitwhilestill maintainingasafe distance. That,I decided,is
whatNeve Campbell woulddo. It’swhatthose poorBarrymore’sinthere wouldhave wanted.
Eventually,someonewhomIassume must’ve beenRonnieemergedfromthe giantexit’sflapping-
vaginadoors,half-limping,half-crawling. He wascoveredindirt and maybe a little blood,butatleasthe
was alive. Iwalkeduptohimand embracedhim. No,I didn’tdothat because that’dbe fuckingweird,
but I gave himmy supportthroughmyeyes. I’malmostpositive he noticed.

7. Minutespassed. Ibeganto grow nervousformyown mother’swelfare. After asolidhour, or maybe it
was a solidtenminutes, five figuresemerged the giantvagina. Theyall lookedveryshaken,
understandablyso. Theyhadjustwalkedthroughagiantvagina.My motherwas at the tail-endof the
group,clutchingherbag as she had once clutched myown linkedarm,andI immediatelyfeltguiltyfor
leavingherthere todie withthe warveterans.
I attemptedtogreetherlike thatwasn’tthe single-mosttraumatizingexperienceof bothof our lives
witha valiant“…Well,thatwas…something,right? Sorryforah…runningoff onyou…like…those
Vietnamvetsseemedalrightthough…say,thatlastthing? Thatthingwe just walkedthrough?I’ve been
meanngto askyou,did ittotallylooklike avaginato you? There was thisguy,inmy group,David
Arquette…nottheDavidArquette,of course,hehe…my DavidArquette..iswhatI…meant
to…say…he…vagina…hey,checkthatoutoverthere! Isthat a girl witha hulahoop…made of fire?”
It was and I alreadyknewthatitwas because Ihad had ample time since the time I hadrun outof the
giantvaginato see it. I had even gottena picture of heralready. But I didn’treally need mymotherto
knowjusthowlongI had beenwaitingoutthere forher. The longerIhad beenwaiting, the fasterIran,
ipsofacto the shittierIwasfor ditchingher,Ifigured.
She lookedatme like she hadjustnoticedIwasstandingthere (Idoubtshe even noticed she was
walkingthroughagiant vagina) andsaid,“No. Let’sgo home. That wasn’tthat fun. You definitely
didn’tlooklike youwere havingfun.”
I couldn’tplausiblydenywhatshe hadjustsaidandI had alreadyseenthe girl withthe fire hulahoop,so
I justnoddedandwe left,changedpeople. Notreally,butmaybe. Imay have exaggeratedpartsof this
story,but that ishowI rememberitandI can’t be faultedforhavinganoveractive imagination,andI
take that back, that was exactly how ithappened.
I saw Ronnie comingoutof a port-o-pottyaswe nearedthe exit,andsaidgoodbye tohim. He lookedat
me strangelyandI realizedwe hadnevermet. Oh,butwe had Ronnie. Oh,butwe had.