Every year I’m haunted by the ghost of my past Halloweens.
Halloween has a very enchanting and terrifying effect on me. While I burst with energy as I join in on the excitement of deciding whether to go slutty or drown my clothes in a bloody mess, I often get choked up when it comes to what my All Hallows Eve plans will consist of. Unfortunately, I can’t knock on people’s door and demand candy anymore, so my next best option is to dress up, go out and get Halloween-wasted. It seems easy – as a fresh-out-of-college student, drinking is the go-to past time, but I have to admit that I am often haunted, not by the lame ghosts covered in white sheets with eye holes, but by my past drunken nights. With a little holy water and heavy wishing, I’ve been able to get rid of most of my roaming spirits from past Halloweens, but four years later, there is one that still revisits me.
It was my freshman year in college, around the time when Syracuse University was named the #1 party school in the country, so you can imagine that my first year’s experience were nothing more than a shit show of drunken nights, early mornings, and some studying thrown into the mix. I had already a slew of bad nights, but even then, nothing could prepare me for Halloween night.
In college, Halloween isn’t one night; it’s the entire weekend. It’s an excuse to wear underwear as a costume and get belligerent three nights in a row, and that’s what my friends and I did. I realize I’m coming off as if I have a bigger issue I need to address, but let’s be real, I was fucking living freshman year and made some great memories, hence this story. Anyway, for this three-day special, I believe I was a soldier, glow in the dark skeleton, and something that I can’t quite put my finger on right now. As a skeleton, I took the house parties by storm, glowing my bones in every corner of the pitch-dark room. I’ll skip over the “something else” costume because clearly that night will just have to stay forgotten. But it’s the night that I was a soldier that still haunts me.
I was seeing triple of everything.
My friends and I decided to start the night with a pregame at a junior’s house party. All six of us (this was clearly before we discovered the revolution of keeping a small circle) walked into the house party unprepared for the night’s events. Immediately we started drinking and dancing to the music. Sometime during our time there, I decided it would be a good idea to mix alcohols. I have to admit I had already had bad experiences with mixing alcohol, but I hate the taste of straight shots, so I needed a chaser. Juice wasn’t an option so my only choice of masking the bitter taste was to chase my shot with a special punch. I knew the punch had alcohol in it, but I wasn’t aware it had Devil Springs in it, which for those who haven’t had it, is like the Devil’s urine mixed with poison. So let’s just say after five shots and a couple glasses of punch, I was seeing triple of everything.
I was drunk, but functional. I was functional enough to be flirting with some random guy -which I learned was really unpleasant the following day – on the couch in the corner. But seeing that my friend group had been spread out across the room, we decided to leave and go to another friend’s house to regroup. It gets a little fuzzy after this.
As we were walking. My other drunk companion, who is now my roommate in New York (bonded for life), is running through the street screaming about how drunk she is. My other friends were drunkenly laughing and cheering her on, and me and my other friend were following the pack discussing something. The subject matter is beyond me, but it clearly must have been something emotionally stimulating because all I remember is balling my eyes out as we stumble up to the door of our new party place.
I could’ve thrown up on the floor, but I showed restraint and made it to the sink.
Upon my entry, I was still crying as the room full of people were looking at me like a crazy, serial killer had just walked in on them. I sat down on the couch before storming out the back door of the house. In a matter of minutes, I had gone from sad to mad. Little did I know when I stormed out that I had actually wandered into a backyard full of bushes. It was dark and in attempt to dodge a pit full of them, I bolted into another person’s house by accident. Who would’ve thought that everyone had their back door open on Halloween.
I drunkenly mumbled a sorry and made my way back to the appropriate house next door, but not before I slammed my whole face full speed into the glass door. My good for nothing friends had closed the door when I ran out. As I peeled my face from the door, I walked into a room full of laughing people. Still rubbing my nose, I told them all to go to hell and made my way upstairs. When I reach the top of the stairs I peaked into the bathroom to check on my friends and notice one girl throwing up in the toilet. I never believed it when people said that seeing other throw up makes them throw up, but I was made into a believer that night. As soon as I got a whiff of her throw up, I had to throw up too. But where? The toilet was taken. So I regurgitated my food in the sink.
I thought that was a very classy move considering the circumstances. I could’ve thrown up on the floor, but I showed restraint and made it to the sink. The owner of the house didn’t see it that way. When he caught wind of what was going upstairs, he promptly poked his head in and said, “y’all gotta clean that up.” I knew this was a pretty nasty scene and even though some friends were holding our hair back, I knew they wouldn’t be down to clean up my mess. Unfortunately, my throw up wasn’t washing down the sing drain because there were literally chunks of my dinner in the mix. So I took the liberty of scooping it up with my hands and shoveling it into the toilet, missing my fallen friend by an inch. I can’t quite remember all of the comments but I do remember a brief period of silence, my friends looking at me in awe and disgust. Needless to say, after that moment, it was time for me to go home. My friend on the toilet came too and right before I blacked out, I remember me laying on a row of seats and her throwing up into a empty Frito-Lay bag on the bus ride home.
I woke up the next morning remembering only portions of the night, having the rest filled in by friends. My drunken night that ended in me crying hysterically, running into the glass door, and scooping my own throw into the toilet doesn’t stick with me everyday, but every Halloween I briefly relive the memory as a reminder to never go down that path again. If you don’t believe in ghosts of hauntings, I wouldn’t count them out so fast. All it takes is one bad, drunken night and you might rethink your definition of the terms.