It’s the season to binge on fear

There’s nothing to fear, they say.

Oh, are they idiots.

There’s everything to fear. It’s almost Halloween. Everything is extra spooky right now. It almost makes me want to call work, tell them I’m sick and hide out in my house and eat lasagna.

Well, that might not have anything to do with fear. Hiding and eating are something of a hobby of mine at the best of times.

But that’s not the point!

We’re here to talk about fear because it’s Halloween. And things have been a bit tense in my house over the past few days. To be frank, we believe our house may be haunted.

It’s not.

But we believe it may be because for some reason, my wife and I have been binge watching a show on Netflix called “The Haunting of Hill House.”

I don’t know why we’re watching it. My wife hates scary movies. Since I’ve known her, she won’t watch anything involving ghosts, apparitions, the supernatural, the macabre, the occult or sports.

But she wanted to watch “The Haunting of Hill House,” so she asked me if I’d watch “The Haunting of Hill House” and now we’re watching “The Haunting of Hill House.” Whatever.

Or so I thought. Little did I know that watching “The Haunting of Hill House” would be so life-altering.

For example, since we started watching “The Haunting of Hill House,” I am no longer allowed to play old-timers hockey. I’m not allowed to leave the house at all after dark. My wife is a little creeped out.

Also, I am not allowed to not watch “The Haunting of Hill House.” I have no choice. My wife wants to finish it and she’s not watching it alone. And she’s not watching it at night. So, my weekend afternoons are fairly booked.

I’m not allowed to make strange noises in the house after dark. Strange noises include, but aren’t limited to: opening creaky cupboards in search of snacks, walking and breathing.

I’m not allowed to not investigate strange noises in the house. If my wife hears something, or thinks she hears something, I have to check it out.

I can’t make a judgment call from my spot in the bed. I can’t declare a noise was “just the wind” or “only the furnace.” No. I must travel to the scene of the noise and conduct a proper investigation. And while doing so, I better not make any strange noises.

Last night, after dark while my wife was in bed, I ventured to the deep, dark basement to flip my laundry. It took me a while and when I got back, I checked into the bedroom.

I asked if she was OK. She was fine. I asked if she was too scared to get out of bed. She said she got up to get her phone off the dresser but got freaked out and dove back into bed.

She is a grown, adult woman. And she is literally hiding under the covers, determined that a sheet, a blanket and a comforter will protect her from evil spirits from beyond the grave.

Go figure.

OK, I’ll admit I get a little scared sometimes.

Like today, I was taking a little lunchtime stroll at the same time the local high school let out for lunch. Dozens of teenagers came lurching out. They were wearing hoodies and ripped jeans and they were laughing and walking and looking at their phones and, yes, I admit, I was a little scared. I was mostly scared of tripping and falling and being mocked but that’s legit.

I’m scared of my dad bod. I’ve even been binge watching another show called “Queer Eye” in hopes I might learn something about how to dress appropriately for someone in his mid-40s. OK, fine, upper 40s.

At least my fears are legit and I’m not hiding from imaginary ghosts. Not without a lasagna, I’m not.