I’ve just been rolling on the floor, tears pouring down my cheeks.
No, dear reader, I wasn’t in pain, nor had I just read the transcript of the EU meeting in Lisbon, but I was in serious, mirth enduced, humour-mortis. Humour-mortis, that strange condition where horror becomes comedy, and you just can’t believe by how far you missed the scary mark.
The cause of my lack-of-grim laughter was my “Rat Drop”. This devious device is meant to plummet six rabid rodents onto the unsuspecting heads of the young candy thieves that dare to make the approach down the “Haunted Bridge”. I am sure on the night, when lit by a blood red strobe, and dripping and slimy with blood (or water but they won’t see the difference in the dark), the effect will be suitable chilling or at least mildly scream inducing on the first run through the bridge.
The first child caught in their bite will scream, but tonight the effect is laughter. Laying on my back on the living room carpet, looking straight up at twelve fuzzy, plush buttocks on six Ikea, kid friendly, rats it just isn’t scary… actually truth be told it is just surreal. It got worse when Laura started flicking the fishing line, making the rats swing and plunge in a puppet like manner. It looked like a horde of small, furry, drunken, BASE jumpers!
Laugh, I couldn’t stop myself!