The Canadian Record (Canadian, Tex.), Vol. 113, No. 44, Ed. 1 Thursday, October 30, 2003 Page: 2 of 28
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2
THURSDAY 30 OCTOBER 2003
THE CANADIAN RECORD
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RECORD
INCORPORATED FEBRUARY 1998
BEN EZZELL
Editor & Publisher 1948-1993
CJS
NANCY EZZELL Publisher
LAURIE EZZELL BROWN Editor
editor§canadianrecord.com
TONYA FINSTERWALD
Advertising Manger
advertising@canadianrecord.com
CATHY RICKETTS
News & Features
news@canadianrecord.com
JENNY KLEIN, News
news@canadianrecord.com
MARY SMITHEE, Office Manager
circulation@canadianrecord.com
DESIGN & PRODUCTION:
Laurie Ezzell, Tonya Finsterwald,
Kim McKinney
PHOTOGRAPH":
Laurie Ezzell Brown, Cathy Ricketts,
Seth Davidson
USPS 087-960
P.O. Box 898,
Canadian (Hemphill) Texas 79014
Fax#: (806)323-5738
E-mail address: editcr@icanadlanrecord.com
Periodicals postage paid at the Post Office in
Canadian, Texas. Published weekly
in Canadian, Texas, by Nancy M. Ezzell.
POSTMASTER: Send address changes to
The Canadian Record, Box 898,
Canadian, TX 79014
SUBSCRIPTION RATES:
$25/Year in Hemphill County
$30/Year in adjoining counties
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The thrill of the scare
In 1990—or somewhere thereabouts—I attended the fall festival
carnival at the bus barn, just like any other 10 year old in Canadian. I
passed over the cake walks, the fishing for surprises, the Halloween
games and headed straight for the spook house. Oh the tremble in my
knees, the anxiety in my chest, the fear boiling in my blood. But oh well,
what could a 10-year-old girl do? I trekked on with a couple of my
friends down to the entrance of the spook house, also known as the high
school. I recall some man standing in front of me with his small children.
We all went in together, the man and his kids, me and my friends, and
followed the dark path. Many screams were released and it was hard at
times to keep my eyes open. In this time of great fear and sudden
panic—despite the constant internal reminder that it is not real, not
real, not real—the desire to be scared was over-shadowed by the sud-
den urge to urinate and, above all else, the need for someone to hide be-
hind. Therefore, the man in front of me who was brave enough to
venture in first became the guide. I grabbed on to the back of his shirt,
clinging for dear life as though I would not escape without him. I made it
out safe and sound, of course* laughing and pretending at the end that I
wasn't seared at all—not one time—not one little bit.
So I found myself with my five-year-old son Saturday night at the
Halloween carnival at the YMCA. Where do we head first? To buy tick-
ets, of course—but right after that, to the spook house we went. Fear-
less as I am now at 23,1 took charge of my son and the group of girls
beside us in line.
"I don't want to go first," one said.
"Me neither," another said.
"Well I heard they put raw meat in your face if you go last," chimed in
another. "So you better not take him last," she said to me, pointing at
Eli.
Of course not, I rationalized. After all, Eli is the youngest of this
group and if we go in first, we'll be the first out as well.
"We're going first," I declared to the group.
I took my child's hand and felt it already getting clammy
We followed the nice lady in scrubs through the doors, which imme-
diately slammed shut behind us.
"Few people know," she said, "that the YMCA used to be an old hos-
pital, in which resided no other than....DR. JEKYLL."
And what do you think happened? Out jumped Dr. Jekyll in all of his
crazed glory from the corner, accompanied by screams and a loss of cir-
culation in my right hand.
Follow me, the nurse said. So I did, or tried to, rather. But for some
reason, when I stepped forward, my sweater stretched backward. I
glanced behind me, and there they were: four sets of hands clinging to
my back. What else could I do but laugh and pull them along?
To the next room we went, my sweater freed of hands holding me
back. Whatever the lady had been saying at this point was drowned out
by the screams of the girls and once again I found myself in their
clutches, and remained so until the exit was in sight.
Finally, the bright light of the gym engulfed us and we were all safe
once again. We each took our piece of candy from the bucket and the
girls chimed one and all: "That wasn't that scary...I wasn't scared—not
one time—not one little bit—not at all."
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Brown, Laurie Ezzell. The Canadian Record (Canadian, Tex.), Vol. 113, No. 44, Ed. 1 Thursday, October 30, 2003, newspaper, October 30, 2003; Canadian, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth220602/m1/2/: accessed May 3, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Hemphill County Library.