One of the scariest stories I've ever read is Stephen King's short "The Boogeyman," which my storytelling pal Linda Befeld has been after me to do in concert for years. The subtle way it builds, and the ending that leaves you checking every closet in the house, shows the master of gore at his Hitchcockian best.

Then there are Brian Lumley's "Necroscope" novels, which leave the normal world behind entirely and transport the reader to a world of mindspies, speaking dead and shapeshifting vampires that make Anne Rice's overly romanced bloodsuckers look like choirboys and Girl Scouts.

But, lately, the actions of my fellow humans who, presumably, don't hide in closets and chew off faces or hunger for human blood, have scared me so much I'm thinking about moving from my house into a concrete bunker surrounded by a monster-proof fence.

You're Fired

When I was in fifth grade, I vividly remember my folks taking me to the world-famous Philadelphia Museum of Art. While I was fascinated by the incredible display of medieval arms and armor, I also remember walking through the galleries, seeing paintings and sculpture from all over the world.

Of course, many of the paintings either were centered on or contained nudes. And, of course, most of the sculptures were at least partially unclothed. I was at the age where finding a copy of Playboy or Penthouse made one the king of the world, at least in my apartment complex. I would have had absolutely no idea what to do in the presence of any of those young ladies, but I knew that in some way pictures of nekkid ladies were something to be prized.

However, not one single picture or sculpture at the museum elicited that sort of response. Even at that young age, I understood that these things were not presented for titillation value. There was something different here, and while my pre-adolescent mind couldn't quite wrap around it, I knew I was supposed to get more out of the experience than, "Cool! Naked!"

And even above and beyond that, these were human bodies. They weren't being mutilated, blown up, imprisoned or otherwise treated badly. There was no sex involved. And they weren't in exploding cars, bomb-laden planes or otherwise facing an imminent violent extinction. As a father, I'd have no trouble at all letting my son see the things I saw. In fact, I'd be a hell of a lot more sanguine about it than I would him playing pretty much anything for PlayStation or XBox or watching a few hours of prime time television.

But, apparently, the powers that be in Frisco, Texas (Motto: Welcome to the 19th Century), disagree with my viewpoint. Sydney McGee, an award-winning art teacher with a string of "proficient" and "exceeds expectations" evaluations, was fired after taking her fifth-graders on a principal-approved field trip to the Dallas Museum of Art, where the little folks saw, horror of horrors, a nude sculpture.

Some parents, who no doubt keep their children sealed in plastic wrap when school is not in session to prevent them from being exposed to any undue influences, objected to their cherubs being exposed to such rampant filth. The school district suspended and then ultimately fired Ms. McGee for her porn-peddling activities. How dare she expose these children to such horrors?

The district, of course, claimed the firing had nothing to do with the field trip, that McGee had committed such egregious offenses as wearing flip-flops to class and missing staff meetings, which resulted in her termination.

Of course, these are the same kids who no doubt go home after school and play Grand Theft Auto, Silent Hill or any of the other wholesome and uplifting games currently on offer.

In fact, and this is the part that blows my mind, the same parents who go into butt-clenching paroxysms at the mere mention of nudity will let their kids watch violent movies and play videogames in which the entire object is to kill other human beings.

The message being sent is: Killing and maiming other humans is fine, as long as you don't look at them naked. Gods forbid we should ever see an unclothed human body it might lead to all sorts of horrors ... like the sort in Grand Theft Auto.

Alakazam! You're An Idiot!

And then, of course, there's the perfidy and villiany perpetrated by kids who read. In this case, it's kids who read Harry Potter books, who, as we've all seen, inevitably go out to becoming practicing Satan-worhippers who routinely hack their younger siblings to bits to perform unspeakable rituals. Oh, and they don't floss, either.

Laura Mallory, mother of three, has asked Gwinnett County Public Schools, the largest district in Georgia, to ban Harry, Hermione and my close personal friend Hagrid from the school's libraries, saying they indoctrinate children into the practice of Wicca.

In spite of the fact that the Potter books have inspired millions of kids worldwide to put down the mouse, game controller or TV remote and pick up a book, Ms. Mallory is convinced that they are somehow eeeeevil and must be kept away from impressionable younguns.

I'm going to give Ms. Mallory credit here and think she's a warrior for freedom of religion, who's trying to protect children from indoctrination into any religion. So I'm sure she'll come out next against C.S. Lewis' "Narnia" books, which are loaded with Christian allegory, and of course all the "Little House on the Prairie" books, in which the town's preacher is a central moral character and in which, horror or horrors, the main characters are even seen to pray on occasion.

The fact is that people like Ms. Mallory have an agenda: the establishment of a de facto theocracy in the United States, where Christianity is the only "good" religion and the rest are banned or, at the very least, removed from the sight of children.

I guess they won't teach about the Children's Crusade in history class anymore, either.

On The Lighter Side

OK, so this week has been a bit of a downer. But here's the warm cookie at the end of the bad day.

Tim Lammers, our intrepid entertainment editor, came out with his own list of classic scary movies (props for including "Shaun of the Dead," Tim!), I felt I had to chime in with a few of my own favorites, which come from perhaps a bit seedier part of Scary Town.

The Re-Animator: You've got to love any film with a tag line like "Herbert West has a good head on his shoulders ... and another one in a dish on his desk." The movie that introduced the world to Jeffrey Combs, who is now the go-to guy when you need a particular sort of creepy bad guy, is a masterpiece of gore, scream-worthy terror and macabre humor.

From Beyond: This is another Combs tour de force, with another H.P. Lovecraft tale at its heart. Scientists create a "resonator," which opens a rift between worlds and lets all manner of seriously bad nasties with a taste for human flesh come through.

Friday the 13th: It could safely be said that everything from the awesome "Saw" flicks to more exotic flicks like "Cabin Fever" owe a serious debt to Jason Voorhees. Between his efforts and those of the Leatherface of "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" fame, gore was made an integral part of horror flicks ... and the more the merrier. I'll never forget nearly jumping out of my clothes at the final "appearance" by Jason in the movie. I won't spoil it for those of you who've never seen it. To this day, it's still the only horror movie moment that actually made me scream.

The Omen: You parents out there, confess ... ever check the back of your kid's neck for sixes? This movie took all the "evil kid" flicks like "Village of the Damned" and amped up the creep factor tenfold. Damien was one bad little dude. The remake, however, is unwatchable.

Alien: OK, so this is normally classified as a science fiction movie, but can you honestly tell me that H.R. Giger's face-sucking creation, or its full-grown acid-blooded brethren, didn't scare the pants off you? The first movie in the series is all dark shadows, dripping water (and monster goo) and gurgling screams heard from a distance. There are plenty of gory parts, too, such as the gross violation of etiquette committed when the crewman "gives birth" at the dinner table, but most of what really gets you is stuff that's unseen ... or that you think might be about to happen.

And, of course, one for the kiddies, Jonathan Pryce as Mr. Dark in the film adaptation of Ray Bradbury's "Something Wicked This Way Comes." It's a 1983 release, so some of you younger folks may have never seen it. It will definitely give you a different impression of the man known for such warm, fuzzy science fiction fare as "Dandelion Wine" and classics like "Fahrenheit 451." Ole Ray can be one twisted fellow, and this story, with its dark carnival in which the basest of human desires are fulfilled with deadly, horrific efficiency, is his masterpiece.

"By the pricking of my thumb, something wicked this way comes ..."

Happy Halloween, kids!

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