As Promised : : The Slaughterhouse


Well, I made up my mind about Halloween!  For days I’ve agonized over what to do so I asked myself a simple question. 

“If I could do anything in the world for Halloween what would I do?”

The answer is simple:  I’d hang out with Megan.

Some of you may know Meg but most of you probably do not, so let me give you a little history of why she would be my ultimate party friend for any given holiday.  The saga of our friendship began somewhere around age 13.  I had pixie-short (OK, boy-short) platinum blonde hair, wore ripped up blue jeans and black t-shirts with funny sayings like, “I dress this way to bother you.”  Megan stood out in the crowd, literally.  She’s 6 ft. 1 or 6 ft. 4 when she’s wearing heels and she has an attitude to match.   I’m not sure how we became friends, but it was probably founded on the common ground of cute boys and after-school parties.

Most childhood friendships don’t last beyond graduation, but Megan has been putting up with my B.S. for the past fourteen years.  I’ve gotten her into more trouble that I should’ve ever been forgiven for.  When we were 21 she moved to Nashville to live with me and someday, we’re going to write a book together and make MILLIONS when we sell the rights to the movie.  I would like to go ahead and suggest that the part of Elicia be played by Drew Berrymore and the part of Megan would go to Mary-Louise Parker. 


In that sacred year that we spent together I can’t even scratch the surface of divulging to you all the good times that we shared.  However, I will share one.  I promised the story from the Slaughterhouse.  So here it is.

The night most likely began with a drink or two in the Boom-Boom room (aka our fire engine red garage, complete with bar and pool table).  It was a typical Friday night before Halloween, so I’m sure there was a death match game of eight ball between the two of us.  Typically it would be my job to run the whole table and then scratch on the eight ball solidifying an effortless win for Megan.  This night I’m sure was no different.  At some point in the evening we came up with the bright idea to go to the Slaughterhouse, one of the most talked-about haunted houses in Nashville.

We arrived at our destination and after purchasing tickets we were herded into a large graffiti painted waiting room with two dozen other thrill-seeking idiots.  When we reached the front of the line, the journey began with a 3 feet tall tunnel that we had to waddle our way through.  This alone was quite a sight with my incredibly tall friend leading the way, who was most likely wearing high heels and a skirt.  On the other side of the tunnel was a winding walkway with all of the haunted house staples: the mad doctor hacking up a patient, someone hanging by a noose and a Jason look alike running amongst the crowd.  Even I wasn’t scared.

We continued on to a closed door.  On the other side we found ourselves in a large room with many other doors.  Other people were coming in and out of them trying to find an exit.  We were lost in a maze.  At some point the lights went out and I turned into a five year old version of myself that should’ve never been allowed to watch The Wizard of Oz.  I hid behind my friend holding tight to the back of her shirt as she led me through a different door.  It was eerily quiet.  Megan was inching forward and suddenly she stopped.  I heard something to the effect of “What the…” She describes the moment of feeling hot breath on her face.  No small statement for someone that generally towers over everyone.  Then she felt something cool and metal prickle against her face.  At that moment a strobe light kicked on and PinHead was nose to nose with Megan.

She screamed.  I screamed and PinHead took an elbow to the stomach.  She spun around, grasped me by the waist and hauled both of our butts down a narrow plywood hallway.  The lights went out again, but Megan was still racing toward what she believed to be a door and PinHead was only steps behind us. 


Megan plowed right into the corner of a wall and came crashing down on top of me!  I thought she was surely dead and the wall had most likely become an exit.  We both clambered to our feet and somehow found our way out of there only to be chased from the building by a psycho with a chainsaw!

Megan was dripping with blood in a straight line from her forehead to her bellybutton.  Her hands and knees were scraped and I had a bruise on my arm the size of her palm.  I also seem to remember one or both of us having some torn articles of clothing. 

We spent the rest of the night on Broadway at a brewery trying aimlessly to calm our shaking nerves.  Megan was continuously asking me while hiding her battle wounds behind her glass, “Is it that bad?”   Yeah, it was.  She might even carry a scar to prove it. 

So, I’m off for another Halloween adventure with Megan.  Don’t worry, there will be pictures!

Happy Halloween!


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