Ahh...Felonious Memories...

Posted by E

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

I have been assaulted by an immeasurable wave of nostalgia, of late. I can't quite explain it, as I'm not generally the type that spends hours pining over the days of yonder or stares dreamily into the ether recalling some long forgotten tale of a bygone era. But recently, and rather inexplicably, that's been the case.

It all started (as so many moments in my life do) with google. I pretty much owe my sanity to google by now. I can't count the hours I've spent, slack jawed and misty-eyed, poring over the results of some query, often finding myself digging through link after link, taking in as much knowledge as I can. I feel rather like Johnny 5 at times. Input...

The other night I was looking up historical information on Thurl Ravenscroft, a man who had quite possibly the deepest voice in humanity's history as well as the most badass names of all time. (One of the few I'd absolutely LOVE to hear reading some of my screed.) You may know him best for two simple words: They're Grrrrrrreat! Thurl managed a hefty sum of gigs throughout his life. And it was from reading up on Mr. Ravenscroft that I came across mention of a record I used to own, "The Story and Song of the Haunted Mansion".

As is so commonly my fate, I found myself swept up with an overwhelming desire to hear that record again, and to browse through the eleven pages of paintings included in the LP's gatefold.

I spent an entire evening taking in everything I could about the record. There were, in fact, multiple records put out by Disney around the same time. That one, a record from the "See, Hear, Read" line of albums, and a sound effects album entitled "Thrilling, Chilling Sounds of the Haunted House".

I was able to track down an mp3 of the record, and the great Markoni assisted in scoring me the artwork. (It helps to know people.) It was great fun hearing the album again, especially since as an adult I was able to say, "Wow! That's Ron Howard playing the main role!" The problem, though, is that now I had sated one burning desire within my being, but ignited another. (Queue the segue music.)

As a teen back in good ole Stumblebum, my friend Craig once produced a tape his mother had picked up at the local Meijer's store, a horrifying little Halloween spook tape with two titles. Normally such things would only intrigue me a tiny bit. Ooh, sound effects. Neat.

But this tape was special. The producers of this gem had managed to make it through every phase of production without noticing a major mistake. As such, Craig held in is hands a tape named, "A Night in a Haunted Hause / A Night in a Graveyard".

Normally a spelling error of this magnitude would illicit repulsion from me. (Good luck EVER getting me to go to a store or business that has words like Kool, Klassy, De-Lite or any other bastardization of the English branded on its facade.) But in this case, the name only sought to beckon me closer, tantalizing my mind with promises of terror and future nightmares.

Of course the tape was played with all speed that afternoon and we found ourselves captivated; entranced by a tape that both succeeded and failed at such a spectacular level that we couldn't help but absorb it. We listened and re-listened. We informed the rest of our group and they listened. All of us bought copies of said tape. It was played at home. It was played in the car. Soon we had worked up participatory lines to hurl back at the narrator.

It was no longer just an audio tape, it was a participatory experience. It was not uncommon to get looks at traffic lights as our vehicles shook with the sounds of snake pits (actually just water being sprayed into a bucket), bat infested belfries (really just somebody screeching dry erase markers) or mad scientists conducting experiments (which sounded completely sexual).

In short, this tape represents my teenage years.

I managed to track down a new copy of it and pass it to the group so that we could all once again bathe in the glorious howls of terror that so tormented our youth.

Hearing this after all of these years brought back a memory from Stumblebum that had long been forgotten by me, and I figured that this was as good a venue as any (until I write a book about friggin' Stumblebum) to inform others about how Night in a Haunted Hause caused my friends and I to commit our first felony.

As we so frequently do around here, let's head back to Stumblebum, circa 1992.

Craig, Terry and I were out and about, causing our own special brand of mischief. Which for the most part meant we had been to see a movie or had wandered around a store somewhere. (Really, we weren't THAT insidious.) As we returned to our native town from neighboring Dullardton, it was requested by myself to swing by the house of a young man named Kevin, who was holding on to a couple of 3 1/2" discs for me. This was truly an unexpected drop-in on our part. We had never actually been to Kevin's house before so the Penismobile made it's way slowly through the borough until we found Kevin's place of residence.

When it was decided that we would kidnap Kevin, I don't recall. I'm not even certain whose idea it was. But the idea was birthed nonetheless, and we resolved ourselves to the fact that we intended to swipe Kevin from his home unannounced.

What the hell were we going to do with him once we had him? Pfft. Who cares? Do you think anybody at the age of 17 really plans that far in the future?

We rolled up to Kevin's (making sure to park in the road for quick escape) and made our way to the front door.

Putting on our best Eddie Haskell faces, we knocked on the door and rather politely asked Mrs. Kevinsmom if Kevin was available and if we could possibly see him. She led us inside and before long we were face to face with Kevin. He was certainly stunned by our unexpected arrival, but was cordial enough. After a few moments of pleasantries he went to fetch the disks. While he was away grabbing them, his mother reminded him that dinner would be ready in a few minutes.

Even better for us! That meant that not only would we abduct him from his home (right under his mother's nose), but he would surely have to microwave his dinner in order to eat a hot meal! MWA HA HA HA!!!!

I thanked Kevin for the discs and then we launched into our sinister plan.

"Hey Kev, we've got something in the car. You should come check it out."

"Umm. What is it? I have to eat in a minute."

"It's really cool. You should come check it out."

"I don't know, guys..."

"Come ON. Jeez. It'll only take a second."

His hesitation was not a surprise to us. Kevin was a periphary friend, someone we associated with lightly at school but rarely had anything to do with from a social standpoint. Our reputation for oddness and general chicanery had no doubt found its way to him, and he likely associated us (unfairly) with Satanic rituals or some other such garbage.

After a bit of noodling on our part we managed to talk Kevin into coming to see what was in our car. We strode towards the Penismobile, Terry in tow behind Kevin. We arrived at the car and I opened one of the rear doors for Kevin.

"Check it out," I said as Terry came running behind Kevin and with a mighty heave slammed him into the back seat.

"WHAT THE HELL?!?" Kevin started screaming in a continuous loop as we all quickly ran to the car, hopped in and squealed the tires as we left his residence.

"WHAT THE HELL?!?" he yelled again, as noticed that the doors were locked and there was no escape.

None of us breathed a word to Kevin, we just stared forward and drove on as if nothing were amiss.

Then Kevin began to notice the soundtrack of the vehicle. It was the mad scientist torturing a victim with electrical shocks. Moans and screams filled the car, echoing with the deranged laughter of the scientist.

"WHAT THE HELL?!?" Kevin cried once again, the onset of terror becoming palpable in his voice.

He struggled and fought to unlock a door, to make some effort at escape. Craig wisely made sure that we never slowed down enough for Kevin to safely leave the vehicle. Terry quashed any attempts by Kevin to fight back.

"WHAT THE HELL?!?" he repeated as the sound of hissing snakes filled the vehicle.

Craig took us on a brief (to us, but horrifically drawn out for Kevin) tour of the surrounding area, working us back in a neat circle until we arrived at Kevin's house. The car stopped and Kevin frantically unlocked his door and ran back to the safety of his home.

We bid a hasty adieu and made our way back home, throats hoarse from the laughter that ensued.

As always, our tale ended with no real damage, aside from the few moments of real terror that "Night in a Haunted Hause" helped us inflict on our unwary guest.

Oddly enough, Kevin never once mentioned this incident to us.