My parents were careful in monitoring what my brother, sister and I observed on television, yet on Saturday afternoons we watched horror flicks.  They were also broadcast on Friday and Saturday evenings, but we were sent to bed before they aired.  Mom and dad were busy people, and I don’t believe they were aware how intense these films were.  My brother was older, and he liked the genre having reached the age when being afraid was a rush.  I watched with less enthusiasm, at least most of the time, but remember the effects well, having waked mid-nightmare more than once.  By today’s standards what we watched was less gory, but these black and white pictures had a creep factor that could compete even today.  With this history in mind, I continue the tale.

It was summer which meant we could play outdoors later, stay up later, and eat snacks later than if on school night.  I believe it was a Friday evening and I remember my father being relaxed.  He frequently worked Saturday’s, but his demeanor indicated he was taking the full weekend.  Given this confluence of circumstances, we felt we had chance of convincing mom and dad it was essential that we tuned into the upcoming horror feature.  For some reason, our parents let guard down and allowed our plan.

The screening was a popular one—Dracula—though this version was not set in the mountains of Transylvania, rather the backdrop was a sleepy 1950’s American town.  I don’t remember the film’s title, but I now pass along the general flow of familiar story:

A stranger arrives in early evening dressed in suit and tie, wearing fedora and dark sunglasses.  He inquires as to room for let which had been advertised in local paper by churchgoing, respectable family.  The owner of residence finds him somewhat odd and coldly distant but is compelled to accept him as lodger as if gripped by trance.  As is consistent in these storylines, a beautiful young woman plays part—in this case niece of home’s owner.  The new guest keeps strange hours, preferring night to day and refuses offer of meal.  It isn’t long before the relaxed disposition of neighborhood turns tense and eerie.  There are disappearances, and niece, normally congenial, now seems shrouded in shadow.  In time, a townsman puts two and two together and joined by consultant begins hunt for vampire’s coffin.  After a few close calls, the pair arrives at sarcophagus carrying bag with time tested defenses—cross, garlic, and of course, wooden stake.

(At this point, siblings and I are on seat’s edge, clinging to mom and dad, who by the way, had threatened to turn off TV on several occasions as plot unfolded, yet refrained as we effectively begged each time.)

The amateur vampire hunters carefully raise lid to find you know who stretched out, eyes closed.  Wooden spike is awkwardly held against chest, mallet poised for blow.  At this juncture, camera always pans away, and sound of pounding is heard along with victim’s dreadful screams.  One shouldn’t assume always means always, because this time lens stayed keenly focused as sharp point penetrated and blood gushed from wound.  Screams did ensue, but chiefly from each of us.  In the days before the ubiquitous remote, viewer had to stand, walk, and push button or turn knob to affect what was being shown.  This time Dad didn’t walk, I would say he flew to controls and quickly killed power leaving only glowing dot at tube’s center.  We looked at each other wide eyed in disbelief.  Apparently, the censors had taken holiday or fell asleep on job, because this was crazy different than the norm.  With time, heart beats slowed, and we laughed as dad joked to lighten mood.  None-the-less, when later we went to bed, we found peaceful slumber difficult to find.