My father used to play a fun game with me wherein he would hide behind a door and wait for me to come home from school. As soon as I walked over that threshold, out he would pop, leather belt in hand, and begin beating me until I could barely walk.
I guess you could say that’s the main reason why I’ve always avoided going to funhouses. The whole idea of things jumping out from the shadows to scare you—the meat and potatoes of what these places are built on—was just something that I couldn’t get into.