The Scary Issue!

The problem with name brand haunted “attractions” is that they are well regulated. They try to mimic actual danger with special effects. Months of careful preparation, training and rehearsal go into these productions. You, the consumer, are in the hands of trained professionals, monotonously performing their dance of death, ho hum. The staff want to keep their jobs and wouldn’t dream of taking unnecessary risks for the sake of seeing someone freak out, the admission is already paid. Staff also know full well that if someone had reason to sue, they have signed waivers stating that they have been informed of the consequences of their actions and they can face criminal charges. This drastically limits any real threat to the consumer’s safety. Smoke, plastic, sound and light effects are packaged into a safe experience where you can pretend to be in danger with trademarked and copyrighted imagery like Freddie Kruger and Jason. You pay to play the role of horror movie victim and are in no more danger than the original actors.

Sanitized mega horror attractions cannot compete with the very real insecurity I feel when at a community fundraiser haunted house managed by volunteers and staffed by adolescents. From all appearances, there is no record of who is “working”, there is no real training, there are no lawyers to firmly impress upon staff not to touch customers or do anything that puts anyone in danger. OSHA does not visit. Patrons are at the mercy of eager, hyperactive strangers with no supervision, no limits, no emergency lighting. The attractions are assembled with found materials by needless to say non-engineers, with dual priorities speed of assembly and cool appearance guiding the way. Picture boy scout #1 discussing preparations with boy scout #2 three days before the big debut, “I’ve got some windows behind my garage left over from when my dad put in the vinyl replacements. We could break them and lean them up against the trees on either side of the path and put stuff all over the ground and it would look like a tornado hit and this is all that’s left! Boy scout #2, “Sick! And we’re all the dead people left behind from the tornado! And we’ll make WOOOOSH sounds like it’s going to strike again! Then we’ll break more windows so they hear it really close to them like the tornado is touching town! Oh yeah!”

You are not in safe hands. I used to think that anytime you paid money to go somewhere the staff had to make sure everything was safe and you couldn’t hurt yourself unless there was a real accident and someone official inspected the place. How naive. How cocksure and ignorant I was as I walked down the path with three of my dearest friends at a Blackstone Valley Fundraiser Haunted House for God Knows What. It was only 5 bucks. I was first in line, my friends clung to my back weighing me down and knocking me off balance. We couldn’t see our hands in front of our faces and kept walking into walls, we shrugged that off (oh, the light probably went out and they don’t know ha ha!) Then we started passing stuffed bodies and blacklight paint and predictably people started jumping out at us from behind curtains and corners and boxes. They jumped and screamed inches from our faces. They punched and kicked walls, they threatened us, and unpredictably, they pushed us! They jumped out and pushed us, they snuck up behind and pushed us! The got in our path and wouldn’t let us proceed! Shocked by the spooks lack of physical boundaries, I lost all faith in this attraction’s assumed responsibility toward its patrons. I knew I was on my own to look out for my personal safety. Then a guy came up with a chainsaw! This was a real chainsaw and though I am told it had the chain off so there was no real danger, a gas powered honest to goodness chainsaw was more than I had bargained for when I paid my five bucks. I saw the man, the chainsaw, ascertained that this was a dangerous situation and ran for it.

Like the rabbit that spies a fox, my adrenaline surged and I experienced a flight reaction. I ran flat out down the path, past the ghouls, past the murderers, past the other groups. I was like Jason Bourne in the Bourne Identity, with ultra keen reflexes and amazing strength and agility. I dodged and ducked the ghouls and customers with exact, knife-like movements designed to economize my effort but propel me faster than the normal human capacity for speed. Chainsaw man gave chase! He, too, blew past ghouls and guests but, encumbered by his giant chainsaw he was unable to overtake me. I ran till I was far from all threatening strangers. I was outside the haunted house panting and glancing around for attackers. Had I experienced a fight reaction I suppose I would have kicked chainsaw man’s ass, leaving him dead or close to it, since I was no longer thinking but simply acting according to the insane and wholly inappropriate genetic programming that makes a rational person run quite literally for her life through a suburban community fundraiser featuring such horrifying sights as rubber snakes and high-schoolers done up in masks and fake blood through a maze of bed sheets in various pastel colors.

I found my friends when they exited the haunted house. No one held it against me that I had saved my own skin and left them for dead, they had the time of their life watching my unathletic self suddenly transform into the ultimate speed machine. I, the fifth element. My admission bought me the real thing: a near death experience and bona fide terror with the added bonus of aerobic exercise. When you want a good scare, shop the bargain aisle.