The Scary Monastery

Over the last month or so I've reconnected with some high school chums via the FB. It was during one of my friend request accepted moments that I remembered quite possibly one of the scariest moments of my high school life.

There was a crew I ran around with senior year: Lisa, Julie, Mark, Mike, Eric, Mike and some others. A few weekends earlier some of the guys had found an abandoned convent and wanted to take us to it. So, one fateful Friday night we all decided to hop in the car and head out for a little exploring of said convent.

I should preface that the guys decided to rename it the Scary Monastery. I don't know why except that it rhymed. Because the convent er, I mean Scary Monastery was on private property we couldn't get close access with our car. We had to park a few streets away and walk along a tree lined street that, looking back, we should not have been walking down in the dark. As we cut through the woods to the property No Trespassing signs began to appear, which of course, we ignored. Once we made it to the gravel drive the Monastery appeared back in the dark of night like an ominous creature we should not be disturbing.

You know how in great classic horror movies like Amityville Horror and Burnt Offerings the homes seem to have a life of their own? Well, this convent, er I mean monastery seemed to be breathing death. As we approached closer and closer things began to not feel right, well at least to my chicken ass.

I should note that that same year I watched Nightmare on Elm Street for the first time and had to sleep in my parents bed for two nights. Yes, I was 17 sleeping in my parents room. I know that's not normal but really, neither am I.

The gravel drive began to curve around to the right when I noticed a statue of St Francis. There was a lone street light above that shone down on the filthy, bug covered statue and it scared the crap out of me. That was the first sign that I should not be walking any further. But we continued forward with a false sense of security. At this point I think Lisa and I only felt safe because we had guys with us but any fan of horror knows that really doesn't matter. In fact, it could make matters worse.

Continuing on, we made our way around back where, if I'm not mistaken, there was an old yellow school bus and another building that was burnt black from a fire. Again, not a good sign. The guys led us around to the back where we entered the building. Once inside I tried to act tough and cool, unlike the scared-peeing in my pants-my sphincter is tightening with every step-scared little girl I was on the inside.

Up a few stairs and to the right was the entrance to the chapel. We tip-toed in and to my disappointment there was the scariest thing ever: a giant crucifix with Jesus hanging crocked right above the alter. Which became known as the alter of sacrifice because of the giant mound of sand piled on it. I was convinced some sort of satanic ritual had been performed here. Promptly, I turned around and started down the hallway. Of course, the first door to my left was a bedroom with a metal bed frame, like the ones you'd seen in a dorm room, a few scattered newspapers and the feeling that someone left in a rush. I did not like this feeling. But Lisa and I moved forward toward the end of the hallway when, I think, one of the boys asked us to follow him into another room. The boiler room.
Remember when I mentioned Nightmare on Elm Street and how I had to sleep in my parents bedroom after seeing it? Well, this boiler room reminded me exactly of the one in the movie. I was not happy.
But Lisa and I didn't want to come across as scaredy cats so we moved forward. I know she was just as scared as me because of the look she gave me: this can't be good.

After going down a few stairs we heard a loud screech that sounded like something sharp on metal. Again, not good. We stopped in our tracks before the same sound occurred only this time it was louder and closer. Not good. Next thing I know Freddy Kruger is standing before us with a hand full of blades to match his striped sweater.  No way is this good. Lisa and I screamed and ran for our lives. Not having our wits about us we ran up instead of out and ended up on the roof.

Minutes later the rest of the crew arrived with Freddy. Turns out our dear friend Mike fashioned his own homemade Freddy Kruger glove with real metal blades. The adrenaline coursing through our veins was enough to resuscitate a dead man.

Now you might think that after that sort of experience I would never step foot near the Scary Monastery again but not me. I went back a handful of times either to scare others or to make-out with a boyfriend. And if you've ever watched a horror movie before you know both are classic ways to end up dead.