They’re begging me now.
 
“Please!” They all plead in unison.
 
“I just… I just don’t think this is a good idea.”
 
But they tell me it is and I don’t know if I’m buying it.
“You’re gonna get scared and have nightmares!”
 
I don’t think I’m wrong here.
 
And they swear they won’t. They all look me right in the eye… even my four year old and they tell me, they say they swear it’s not too scary and they absolutely want to watch and I have to let them.
 
I give it some thought, “Fuck it,” I think. I’m just too tired to argue.
“Fine,” I relent.
 
And all together, “YES!”
 
“BUT…” I say. “Any nightmares and THIS, this is it.”
 
Ten minutes in to the HAUNTED and I look over at the three of them. Ominous music plays… my eldest is perched on the edge of the couch, frozen in abject terror; my middle child has got his eyes tightly covered with his hands and my four year old buries her head into my arm. The four of us are crammed into just three of the seven spaces on the sofa.
 
I’m now aware of why the TV rating system isn’t such a bad idea.
 
I’m also wondering why it’s almost always a priest… what about a shaman or rabbi, psychic, or medium? ... It’s nearly always a priest that cleanses the home. I make a mental note to research this at a later date.
 
I wonder if they’re going to get nightmares. My kids. Not the priest. I wonder If they’re still going to WANT to watch this show again or if I should even LET them watch this show again…
 
But for now… we’re a solid mass on the couch, huddled in front of a glowing television in a darkened home, way past bed time.
 
Maybe I’m fucking this up.
 
But…
 
Maybe I’m not.