Faith

Perhaps the human taste for suspense is a veiled nod to the reality that life doesn't come with any guarantees; no one really knows what is going to happen to them.

Jaymie Stuart
Wolfe

When I was growing up, Halloween wasn't nearly as popular as it is now. Costumes weren't as elaborate, adults didn't participate, and nobody sold ready-made decorations -- probably because very few homes would have put them up. Still, I think it was a lot more fun.
Some of the best memories I have growing up involve helping my very creative grandparents turn their suburban split-level into a haunted house. For a few Halloweens, we pulled out all the stops and invited trick-or-treaters to enjoy a brief spooky pageant designed to scare them. High ceilings, black lights, and antique furniture made a great setting. One year, I came down the stairs dressed like a ghost. Another, I hid in the coat closet to pull the strings that made stuffed rubber gloves "walk" across the floor. Kids loved it, but I think we loved watching them even more.
There is something we like about a good, clean scare. The graphically violent and disturbed psycho villains that dominate today's horror books and movies are way too much. But tried and true spiders and skeletons, bats and black cats, ghosts and vampires, zombies and witches, monsters and aliens still intrigue us. They scare us in the ways we like to be scared -- in the ways we used to be scared when I was a kid.

Of course, most of us prefer our fear in small and manageable doses. We like the rush of adrenaline that comes when life suddenly presents us with consequential choices. And we welcome the higher stakes that make heroism a realistic option. But I also think our fright-delight shows that we long to engage the world in a more meaningful way. Perhaps the human taste for suspense is a veiled nod to the reality that life doesn't come with any guarantees; no one really knows what is going to happen to them.
Recently, I had the opportunity to watch "Monster Summer," a refreshingly frightening family movie that took me back to my childhood Halloweens. Like a lot of family movies from the 1980s and 90s, Catholic director David Henrie's "Monster Summer" is genuinely wholesome. The story involves a series of mysterious events on Martha's Vineyard, and a teen boy -- Noah (played by Mason Thames) -- who is committed to figuring out what's happening. There are friends to save and lessons to be learned along the way -- mostly from Mr. Carruthers, a bristly mentor with regrets (played by Mel Gibson). For Noah, though, there is also the deeper personal quest to remain connected to his father, an investigative reporter who died while on assignment a few years before. A red herring and a few twists combine to pave the way for a satisfying ending, one in which the good guys come out on top, the "monster" is vanquished, and most of those who had been hurt are fully restored. I was on the edge of my seat -- for all the right reasons and in all the right ways -- from the opening sequence.
The stories we tell and listen to don't just reflect our lives; they influence and shape us. But entertainment doesn't have to be explicitly religious to be wholesome or good. We all have our own war stories and ghost stories. These call us beyond the limits we have comfortably set for ourselves. They open up what is ordinary and probable to all that is possible. They give us the opportunity to see life in a new way. Suddenly, we aren't just an extra relegated to the background; we're the protagonist in our own dramatic arc. The truth is that most of us don't really want to live our whole lives as spectators behind bullet-proof glass. We'd rather accept a few risks if that means having the chance to exercise the kind of courage that's a necessary precursor to changing things for the better. Things that prepare us to do that have value.
Living on Gallows Hill in Salem with small children for 12 years definitely put a damper on Halloween for me. But movies like "Monster Summer" give me a reason to recalibrate that stance in a more balanced way. Stories that give us a good scare reveal our fears and challenge us to face them. That's why they hold our attention, why we find them exhilarating, and why kids love them.

- Jaymie Stuart Wolfe is a Catholic convert, wife, and mother of eight. Inspired by the spirituality of St. Francis de Sales, she is an author, speaker, and musician, and provides freelance editorial services to numerous publishers and authors as the principal of One More Basket. Find Jaymie on Facebook or follow her on Twitter @YouFeedThem.

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