William Castle - STEP RIGHT UP!...Im Gonna Scare the Pants Off America

Im Gonna Scare The Pants Off America

By William Castle

Smashwords Edition Copyright 2010 byWilliam Castle

Original Copyright 1976 William Castle AllRights Reserved.

Photographs and additional material Copyright2010 William Castle All Rights Reserved.

Special Copyright Notice

The text and photographs of this book is aneBook file intended for one reader only. It may be used by thatreader on computers and devices that she or he owns and uses. Itmay not be transmitted in whole or in part to others except asstated above. If you would like to share this book with anotherperson, please purchase an additional copy for each person. Thankyou for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedicated To My Three Girls

Ellen, Georgie and Terry

And

The thousands of kids whom I

Have scared the daylights out of,

Who now have kids that I hope

I can continue to scare the daylights outof.

Contents

Part IAdventures of the Spider Boy

The Spider Boy

Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?

The Girl Who Said No to Hitler

The Big Time

Get Your Ass in Here!

The Dream Factory

God, the Stars, and the Flea

My Uncle Samuel

It's Bigger Than I Thought

The Man in the Black Derby Hat

The Chance of a Lifetime

Three Kings and an Ace

Two Can Be Buried as Cheaply as One

Mutiny on the Zaca

The Twin Syndrome

The Little Monster

Do Indians Wear Bathing Caps?

Part IIHorrors!

Don'tDrop Dead

TheSkeleton Factory

Scream forYour Life

Cowards'Corner

A Sob, aScreama Bloody Ax!

Girlsof the World

Part IIIRosemary: A Trilogy

Heaven

Purgatory

Hell

Part IVAnd Now, Ladies and Gentlemen

Look,Ma, He's Talking!

NobodyLoves a Cockroach

Part VEpilogue

Part IAdventures of The Spider Boy

ChapterIThe Spider Boy

A CLOCK was projected on the screen, itssingle large hand stationary on zero. As my voice came over thesound track, the hand began to move, ticking off theseconds5101520

"Ladiesand gentlemenwhen the clock reaches sixty seconds, you will beinsured by Lloyds of London for one thou s and dollars against death by fright. Lloyds ofLondon sincerely hopes none of you will collect. But just in case,isn't it comforting to know that your loved ones are protected. Youare now insured against death by fright!"

It hasalways amazed and baffled me that audiences will wait patiently inline and pay money to have the wits scared out of them. I once tooka poll, but the answers were varied and inconsistent: "I just like to be frightened.""I want to scream." "It gives me a thrill." "I want to hang on tomy boyfriend." I think the real answer lies deep within each one ofus, and starts with our childhood fears. Sitting in a darkenedtheatre, watching a horror film, we suspend disbelief, confidentthat we're not screaming for our own lives. The nightmare ishappening to somebody else. Alfred Hitchcock, the master, likened the suspenseand horror picture to a wild ride on a roller coasterexcitement,screams, thrills, without any real danger.

I was first infected with that kind of fearwhen I was about six. My father had taken me to my first play, ahorror piece called The Monster. DeWolf Hopper played the madman.Sitting in the darkened theatre, I clutched my father's hand inabject terror, finally embarrassing the hell out of him by wettingmyself during the second act. In consternation, he pulled me up theaisle toward the men's room, but it was too late.

As kaleidoscopic bits of my childhood slowlycome into focus, I remember I was frightened most of the time, butnever knew why. I was clumsy, awkward, withdrawn and unable to makefriends. When I was nine years old my parents decided to send me tocamp.

"Too much 'mother,' " my father declared. Iresisted, but off I went, bag and baggage, to Camp Pontiac. Myfirst night away from home was spent in tears of self-pity. Then,came rejection by my fellow campers when they found out I was tooclumsy to take part in their daily sports: Unable to play baseballor basketball, even unable to swim, I was good for nothing.

My name was William Schloss, Jr., whichdidn't help matters any. They called me "Schlupps," "Slush,""Schlumps," and the more they kidded me, the more I hatedmyself.

One afternoon, the boy in bunk number twolooked at me with utter disdain. "You're worth nothing, 'Slush,'absolutely nothing." The others loudly agreed. Silent, I sat on theedge of my bunk, feeling miserable. Then slowly I began to put mylegs around my neck. I was double-jointedmy one claim to fame.When my feet touched behind my neck, I looked up in defiance. Theboy in bunk number two gasped in awe. "Look, 'Schlupps' is aspider!"

Camp Pontiac held its annual circus on thebaseball field.

"Ladies and gentlemenstep right up. Witnessthe marvelous feat of 'The Spider.' Unbelievable!Spine-chilling!"

As the boy in the barker's outfit screamed, Iwaited for my cue. Dressed in black, I slowly walked out on thesmall stage, my heart pounding. Putting my legs around my neck, mytoes touching, I felt a hush fall over the crowd, then thunderousapplause. That night became an emotional breakthrough. I was nolonger alone and frightened. I was specialwho else in the entirecamp could do what I did? I was the star performer"The SpiderBoy."

The following year, my mother suddenlydiedpneumonia. I tried to cry at the funeral, but the tearswouldn't come. My mother was still alive; they were burying someoneelse, not my mother. A year later, my father dieda coronary. Atthe funeral, again I couldn't cry. I wanted to, but couldn't. Ifelt nothingit wasn't really happening.

My only sister, Mildred, eleven years older,had just gotten married. I went to live with her and slept on theliving-room couch. Frustrated and filled with resentment, I built adefensive covering, sealing it with a false bravado, allowing noone near me. Constantly, I went out of my way to prove myself tosomeoneanyone.

Starving for recognition and applause, onenight, on a dare, I stripped to the waist and decided to swim theHudson River. A group of gawkers gathered to watch. Bowing to thespectators, I plunged into the icy waters. The other side looked along way off, but I was determined to make it. People on the shorescreamed their excitement and applauded my stupidity.

Suddenly, a cramp gripped my stomach. As Itried to make it back to safety, the pain became more intense. Thepeople on the shore became a blur as I started to go under the icywaters. As I fought for air, portions of my twelve-year life cameback to me in slow motion. My brief span on earth was coming-to aclose. At least I would be remembered for something and my namewould be in the papers. Then total darkness enveloped me.

Blurred faces came into focus as I vomitedriver water onto the grass. A man was giving me artificialrespiration. A passing river patrol boat had come to my rescue.

My next death-defying stunt was performed onthe platform of the 116th Street subway. It was the rush hour andthe station was jammed. Eagerly awaiting my great moment, I noticedthe lights of the oncoming subway in the distance. The timing wasperfect. Dramatically throwing up my hands, I proudly announced tothe waiting passengers that "The Spider" was going to his death,and leaping off the platform, I awaited destruction. That reallyscared the shit out of the customers. The train roarednearernearer. Oh, Jesus, what had I gotten myself into! I closedmy eyes and prayed that the goddamn train would stop in time. Themotorman must have gotten my message.