However, the thing that sets the mood every holiday season is the ominous music, as seen in horror movies, whether it be accompanying a young couple being chased by a masked man in a slasher film or someone confronting their own psyche or personal demons in a psychological thriller. One fraternity also has a pumpkin smashing event on the Case Quad, which is always a smashing time. On campus, this time of year means that parties will be in full swing, with several fraternities promising a spooktacular time, whether it be through raves or haunted house events. Although most of us have grown out of trick-or-treating, that doesn’t mean that college students shouldn’t get in on the seasonal fun. Once it had loved me enough to let me eat its nose now it would make me wake up screaming.The time is once again upon us-haunted houses, hayrides, bobbing for apples (do people actually do that outside of movies?) and TPing the house of your annoying neighbor-you’ve gotta love Halloween. In some confused way, that was what the doll had been telling me. I was alone in the universe, like everybody else. We didn't share the same dreams or nightmares. Now I think - and of course I could be wrong - that what upset me was that I'd just realized that my mother and I were separate people. Of course she had no idea why, and of course I couldn't explain. She was absolutely amazed when it had the opposite result, and I burst into tears. I'm sure she was trying to make me feel better, and thought this reasonable statement would help. 'But it was very scary,' I said, meaning that the reappearance of it in my dream had been terrifying. I shook my head, meaning that the doll I'd owned - and barely remembered - had never scared me.
'But what's scary about that? You were never scared of that doll.' When I told my mother about the dream, she was puzzled. At the time when I had the dream I hadn't seen it for a year or more - I don't think I consciously remembered it until its sudden looming appearance in a dream had frightened me awake. As I recall it now, it was disturbingly ugly, not really an appropriate toy for a very young child, but it had been mine when I was younger, at least until I'd bitten its nose off, at which point it had been taken away from me. When you squeezed it, bulbous eyes popped out on stalks and the mouth opened in a gaping scream. The image I retained of the dream, the thing which had frightened me so, was an ugly, clown-like doll made of soft red and cream-coloured rubber. I was probably about four years old - I don't think I'd started school yet - when I woke up screaming. I thought of one which might have been my earliest remembered nightmare.
“In the jumbled, fragmented memories I carry from my childhood there are probably nearly as many dreams as images from waking life.
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