This time of year, my drives in the dark get spookier and my walks down empty streets scarier. Any little sound can make me jump, and the flicker of a lightbulb can send me into hours of sleepless night.

Around Halloween, I become a sissy — and I blame it on haunted houses.

It started with a community haunted house that I went through in grade school. There I stood in the hallway at the park district, dressed as a fairy or princess or cat — something unscary. I was led through rooms pumped with loud Halloween music tapes, flashing strobe lights and smoke-machine fog as day-glo painted ghosts and goblins jumped out at me. The tears started when Dracula popped out of a coffin near the end.

In college, a fraternity hosted a haunted house. My friends wanted to go and, not wanting to be the party pooper, I went too — but I closed my eyes the entire time and kept a hand on the shoulder of the person in front of me.

This year the plan was to overcome my fear of fear.

I thought if I went through the haunted house with the mindset that it was all frivolous fake silliness, I would be OK. I was wrong.

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In Kansas City the king of haunted houses is called "The Beast" — a 45-minute long walk through a building filled with the highest of high-end Halloween frights. It bills itself as the country's biggest haunted house.

That means there are many of these. That people go through voluntarily. That people enjoy this kind of thing.

Which makes me wonder: If haunted houses and scary movies and ghost stories are so beloved, why can't I stand them?

Rick Rayfield, a psychology professor at Saint Joseph College in West Hartford, Conn., says I'm not alone in my jittery feelings around Halloween. Rayfield did his doctoral dissertation on fear. He says the body has certain physical reactions to fear and some people love to play with them while others hate to experience them at all.

"There's just a thrill," Rayfield says. "There's an excitement to the mastery over your body's responses and there's also the thrill of being out of control, at least temporarily, in a safe environment."

Scientists who study this kind of thing have narrowed down three physical stages of fear, Rayfield says.

1. Startle: Your nervous system causes your muscles to jerk.

2. Adrenaline rush: After the initial startle, adrenaline pumps through your blood stream. Your heart beat and breathing increase.

3. Long-term: Your body releases steroids into the blood stream. In severe cases, post-traumatic stress disorder can develop.

And maybe that's where I come in.

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Amber Bequeaith, whose family runs "The Beast," says last year she hosted an 80-year-old's birthday party and a couple's wedding on the house's "Stairway to Hell."

That made me feel better.

I took a scan at "The Beast's" Web site. Among the offerings was a Werewolf forest, where you must find an exit in complete darkness. "Every 30 minutes, the werewolves scour the forest to escort out any hysterical guests who haven't found the exit yet," it reads.

Great.

But I was undeterred.

I put the haunted house's address into MapQuest. I drove to the site, pulling into the gravel parking lot across the street. I sat in my car and rolled down the window. Sounds coming from the house started to fill my car — drawbridges clattering, howling werewolves and bloodthirsty screams and moans.

Looking up at the building, a very nervous feeling came over me, kind of a tingling in my head and my right hand shook. It was my usual bout of paranoia and uncertainty. I rolled up the window so I didn't have to hear the sounds.

Bequeaith says "The Beast" doesn't give refunds. They're in the business of fright, and if you get your ultimate scare just walking up the front stairs and turning around, you got your money's worth.

I didn't even get that far. I started the car in the parking lot and drove away.

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The Beast: http://www.kcbeast.com

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Caryn Rousseau is asap's Midwest writer. She gives out mini Snickers on Halloween.

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