A Chill in the Air?

At the beginning of the autumn season I have a recurrent internal conflict that I deal with as I see the Halloween displays appear in most of the merchants and businesses I frequent. On the one hand, I love the coziness of fall with its rich colors and fragrances of spice, cinnamon, apple, and pumpkin. Having lived in the Midwest and on the East Coast as a child, I still associate these aromas with the musty smell of crunchy fallen leaves, and the crisp chill of pre-winter nights. Unfortunately here in Southern California, although the fall retail displays begin in earnest in mid-September, we have this strange disconnect from the majority of the country’s fall experience due to the heat waves and Santa Ana wind conditions that descend upon us in October.

Sure, fall likes to tease us a little by dangling the hope that we will have cooler weather sooner, rather than later. For example, we had a taste of chilliness at the beginning of the month, only to have it yanked away and replaced with triple digit temperatures. Of course, because it is autumn even here in Orange County, that means that the clothing retailers have all sorts of seasonally appropriate, (albeit weather inappropriate) clothing for sale, which makes me sad because I love sweaters, shawls, hats, gloves, scarves and boots.

And I love decorating my house with pumpkins, and candles, and fake leaves…except when my pumpkin, carefully selected for just the right kind of gnarled stem at Trader Joes’ two weeks ago, has turned into some sort of spongiform sitting in a pool of pumpkin water, and I can’t light my candles, or cook all those wonderful soups, stews, and roasts I’m seeing on magazine covers because it’s too hot outside, and our electric bill is high enough already without adding the cost of air conditioning.

As much as I love creating a warm (not difficult in the past few weeks), autumnal environment in my house, I struggle with going down the Halloween aisles at Michaels’, or Target. A few weeks ago, I had a slightly surreal encounter with a fellow shopper when I was at Michael’s. As I maneuvered my cart through an aisle beset with spider webs, rats, ghosts, witches, monsters, and sundry other fiendish accessories, I narrowly escaped collision with an oncoming cart piloted by a distracted mother who had chosen to occupy her toddler daughter with a replica of a bloody severed limb. Aghast, I was reminded of the darker side of Halloween, and by extension, fall, that has caused and still does cause me great discomfort, hence: “the other hand” of this discussion.

Throughout my life, I have found myself moving along a spectrum of fear, intrigue, repulsion, and now introspection when it comes to Halloween and the notion of spookiness in general.

As a child, I would watch Saturday afternoon Creature Feature horror movies with my mom and some of my neighborhood friends. I remember being terrified at the thought of something in my closet, or under my bed, to the extent that when I was sent up to bed, I would creep up the stairs to my room, and literally dash across the landing, launching myself onto my bed before whatever was waiting to get me could have the opportunity to do so. Of course, I would willingly put myself through the same scenario each week of intrigue with, and terror of, the unknown.

As a middle school and high school student, I screamed my way through many a Campus Life haunted house attraction at Halloween, along with several visits to Knott’s Scary Farm. I am certain I am one cause of deafness in some of those workers, along with some broken finger bones from when I stomped on hands that were grabbing my ankles. I naively dabbled in the occult through a Ouija board with my best friend, walking a tense line between my faith and my curiosity, until I had an encounter that caused enough discomfort to cause me to abandon that pursuit. And having given the final summer of my high school years to reading every Stephen King novel I could get my hands on and then some, I came to the final realization that the chills and thrills the horror genre afforded were not worth the distress and anxiety I felt upon retiring to my bed at night.

As an adult, I resolved to avoid all things spooky, to the extent that when my children were born I even changed all references to witches in stories to be “wicked persons”. Halloween at our house was Harvest, with all spooky elements removed, and only the cozy and happy remaining. Trick or Treating for my children was mostly innocuous, as were the costumes I made for them: stereotypical heroes, princesses, and historical types, and the occasional TV character. We carefully protected our kids from Halloween’s more disturbing images by restricting where they trick or treated (relatives and immediate neighbors who didn’t have really spooky displays), and opting for our church’s Fall Festival over Halloween parties. We even gave out tracts some years, and did a mini-Harvest festival in our front yard as a wholesome alternative experience for those who trick-or-treated to our house.

I read about the dark side of Halloween with its pagan origins, and watched a Chuck Smith exposé video, vowing to have nothing to do with occultism. Meanwhile, I also read Christian suspense stories crafted by Frank Peretti, certain that through their exposé of spiritual warfare I was equipping myself, rather than indulging my old curiosity of the unknown. I wisely avoided slasher/horror films, and discovered that I even had trouble with viewing many suspense type films, although they were not supernatural in content, due to the fear and stress they provoked within me.

As my children got older however, Hitchcock movies, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Edgar Allan Poe’s short stories, and other assorted tales from the thriller genre found an audience in the young adults in my family, much to my initial discomfort. Thankfully though, my kids have at least not been very interested in the slasher type of films that bludgeon you on the head with gore and violence. Instead, they are more into the psychological thriller type of story – the seemingly innocuous tale that begins with the hint of something not quite right, as in Hitchcock’s masterpiece of suspense, The Birds, Washington Irving’s timeless Legend of Sleepy Hollow, or Poe’s The Raven. As I have struggled with my conflicting intrigue with and distaste for those spooky, thrilling tales, I have been forced into further introspection.

Why is it that we are drawn to imagery and experiences that send chills down our spines? What is it about Alfred Hitchcock, Tim Burton, or Stephen King that lures us in despite our reservations? And, how can a simple silhouette of a tree, a cat, or a raven create that “all is not well” sort of feeling when added to a simple fall table decoration?

After all, trees, cats, and ravens are all God’s creations. And a silhouette is a common art form that doesn’t usually promote uneasiness. So why would a silhouette of a tree, cat, or raven produce such sentiments? And would they at any other time of the year? Or is it merely the association with images conjured through literature and film, or Halloween that creates a spooky atmosphere.

There is something somehow appealing about the idea of sitting in a candlelit room decorated with fall leaves, pumpkins, (and ravens) and enjoying sweet and spicy baked apples with family and friends while listening to one of them read The Legend of Sleepy Hollow aloud. Now, I don’t plan on crossing the Halloween aisle to the severed limbs section anytime soon, but I find that the slight tinge of eeriness lent by my raven silhouettes adds a little dimension to my fall decorations. They seem to say “What’s the matter? We’re just birds. Nothing wrong here…or is there?”

It seems that almost a universal resonation is felt with the unnatural and the spooky, experienced by some through severed limbs and slasher films, and others through simple bird silhouettes. And the question I have struggled with remains. Why are we drawn to such things? Is there something wrong with creating an eerie atmosphere in literature, film, or in a living room? Is reading Washington Irving or Poe as a family an innocuous activity on a warm (or hopefully cool) autumn evening, or is it a glorification of darkness? What is your opinion?

This year, I’ll keep my ravens. I find them somewhat classy, and they will be replaced by pilgrims in a week or so anyway. Next year, I’ll re-evaluate and go from there.