I’d be the first killed off in a scary movie. For starters, I’m blond, and we hardly make it past the opening credits. Then, factor in my behavior in haunted houses, and I’m definitely a goner. Paralyzed by fear, I have a track record of falling down and ripping my jeans while fleeing from the predictable, albeit terrifying, grand finale that is the chainsaw chase. Still, year after year, I return to haunted houses, eager to offer up my torn denim as a sacrifice to the cryptic underworld and allowing the attraction to be the muse of my nightmares for all of October.