Super-Schizo! a.k.a. Night of the Living Head a.k.a. Who's a Big Sissy? This Girl!

   I know I am behind on blogging again- the juggling act gets harder towards the end of the haunt season. It's really kind of unavoidable considering so much of my life revolves around the haunt this time of year. Everything else sort of takes a back seat in the hearse. I am forever living my life like someone with split personalities (perfect for the haunt I'm sure!). Or maybe a super hero. I like that much better, let's run with it. Average citizen by day (during the week) I write fiction, sing in a choir and work in a bakery- innocuous enough, right? Extraordinary superhero by night (the weekends) I rat out my hair, cover myself in torn clothing and zombie make-up, and become an unbalanced paranoid schizophrenic who screams random things at people. I am Super Schizo! I am the terror that raves in the night! Let's get medicated!!

  

   Currently my two- three- fourteen- worlds are colliding more than ever. My choir is practicing for the Christmas show, so I find myself at least half of the time singing the Hallelujah Chorus and Go Tell it on the Mountain, and the rest of the time considering horrifying effects to terrorize people with. It's awesome to be inside my brain.

  

   Not that everything we've ever devised has worked to horrify… Mystify maybe… Confuse… Baffle… and otherwise amuse.

  

   Like the year we put together a prop that was supposed to sit up on a morgue table a la the Night of the Living Dead. It was a quite a simple mechanism really. The body bent at the waist, and thanks to pneumatics, sat up rapidly. It worked brilliantly the first dozen times. At least until our tour guide led one group through and the body rocketed up off the table on cue, but the head became detached and launched into space. It quickly became the Night of the Living Head and flew across the room and bounced off the wall, scaring the daylights out of our guide (not to mention the group). Too bad it isn't something that can be reproduced time after time. Like a yo-yo head on a retractable leash. Going to have to put a little thought into that one…

  

   Then there was the time our 'monster in a box' got stuck. Again, a relatively simple mechanism involving a motor, a cam, and a steamer trunk. It worked brilliantly until the motor got stuck and then there was some smoke involved… We were forced to halt the tour (causing our guides to pull some fairly brilliant delaying tactics out of their pockets) while we went to attend to the 'almost' fire.

  

   It isn’t always the props that create the bloopers. Sometimes it's the actors. Like the time one of our tour guides got lost in the graveyard and found himself leading the group around in circles for several minutes. Not deliberately. The scare actors had a heck of a time trying to find new places to leap out of. Repeatedly.

   This last weekend my life became jumbled into one big knot. I am a person that has a tendency to compartmentalize my life. Call me a control freak, but I find it easier to cope this way. When the lines become blurred I tend to panic and become confused. My worlds collided in a spectacular fashion when my co-workers, friends and choir buds all visited the haunt on the same night. My secret identity was exposed! The horrors! Except that NO one recognized me… There I was, acting the fool in the dayroom, and not a single one of my friends realized it was me. Cool. Superhero status intact, I live to haunt another day.

   I have to admit, my friends were some of my favorite groups- especially the choir member (who shall remain unnamed) whose catch phrase throughout the haunt was, 'What the (insert expletive here) is that!?' She made me giggle a little.

   As much as I enjoy entertaining and scaring people, I have to own up to one incontrovertible fact- I am a complete coward when it comes to haunted houses. I am an easy scare, the consummate target of any ogre, ghoul, evil clown, witch, specter, banshee, walking corpse, and for that matter, even the lame guy who only sticks his head out and says, 'Boo!' Allow me to elaborate.

   This last summer when we attended the Midwest Haunter's Convention in Ohio, (yeah I know, I already blogged about this, deal with it), part of the convention was a bus tour to a place called the Scare-A-Torium. My daughter led our particular group, with my husband bringing up the rear and me safely sandwiched in between. I felt fairly protected going in, surrounded by the armor of my loving family. I quickly found out I was wrong. It took no time at all for the scare actors to discover the weak link in the chain, especially considering my daughter was plunging on ahead, entranced by the inner workings of the haunt, and my husband was lagging behind, checking out every crack, crevice, nail and board in the place, leaving me to my own less than dubious devices. The actors sensed my (poorly concealed) fear and preyed upon me with unrelenting glee. I was stalked, terrorized, screamed at, and otherwise haunted beyond my capacity to endure.

   Before long I was shambling through the place at a rapid pace, chewing my own knuckles, and trying to make my way through with my eyes closed. Meanwhile, I was desperately attempting to keep up with my daughter who looked as if she were on a sight-seeing tour taking in all the remarkable sights while I saw absolutely NOTHING but my own eyelids. Every time I opened my eyes to find my way, another horror awaited me.

   I honestly thought I was never making it out of there. It seemed to go on forever. My daughter was laughing and pointing to various actors, saying things like, 'Good job! Got me there!' My husband was viewing various props and pneumatics and saying things like, 'Man! I wonder how they did that! Hey, honey, look at that! That's cool! Did you see that?'

   NO! NO I did NOT see that! In fact, I saw NOTHING but the big, creepy dude grunting at me (OBVIOUS misdirection, but I fell for it hook, line, and sinker) and then the other creepy dude who came out of nowhere and scared me nearly into fainting. But the props? Not a thing did I see. I couldn't tell you what color the walls were. In fact, I couldn't tell you if I was inside or out. I only knew I wanted back on the safety of the bus. Yesterday.

   Anyway, somehow I managed to make it through without completely humiliating myself or my family. (Lies, all lies! I humiliated us all in a grandiose fashion- BUT- the humiliation was not yet complete.)

   We hit the exit- oh rapture! Oh, heavenly joy!- I nearly tripped over my own feet shoving my last born, my one and only baby girl, to the side in an effort to save myself. (She's old enough to take care of herself, damn her.) I was breathing a sigh of relief -after a quick glance around for the cliché chainsaw guy- which thankfully they did not have- when I discovered what they did in fact have, was a SECOND haunt.

   COME ON! NO WAY! I barely made it through the first one. The only thing I could say for myself was that my pants were still dry. I had NO idea what had even happened in the first one. I could not tell you a single detail about ANYTHING in there! And now I was supposed to go through another one? Really??

   Okay, my husband and daughter, ever the supportive family, were more than happy to let me out of it- but I being the brave, COWARDLY soul that I am, I pulled up my big girl panties and said, 'Nope, it's cool. I can do it.'

   Brave last words from a BIG sissy.

   The gentlemen that greeted us at the door to the second haunt was dressed like a ringleader- which should have been my FIRST clue. After a few rambling sentences (no clue what he was saying I was busy chanting to myself, 'Keep calm, it's all pretend. Keep calm, it's all pretend…') then offered my daughter the opportunity to go in alone. It was obvious he didn't know her. She was pretty much like, 'Okay!' and off she went. The brat. Had he asked me the same thing I would probably have fainted dead away right there.

   Anyway, so there I stood with my husband, who eagerly volunteered the information of my sheer terror to the man at the door, who then said, 'You've been such a good girl, when you get inside the first room you'll see a wall of cotton candy, go ahead and grab one.' Now I am NOT a gullible girl. Cowardly should NOT be confused with gullible. Just saying. Naturally, I was not about to reach for the candy, which just as I suspected was a trap. The ONE and ONLY trap I didn't fall for…

   I raced through that haunt like my ass was on fire and my hair was catching and caught up to my daughter in no time. I then latched onto the back of her and allowed her to drag me pretty much the rest of the way through the haunt, which, by the way, was a mixture of clowns (OMG!!!) followed by some toxic science experiment gone wrong. By the time we reached the exit I literally could stand NO more. I gleefully followed my daughter through the exit only to find myself back at the BEGINNING. I felt like some kind of Alice in a VERY twisted Wonderland. I was NOT pleased. In fact, I burst into tears.

   My daughter turned to me and said, 'Mom? Are you CRYING?!'

   My very mature response was: 'Shut up!' Sob, sniffle, snob. 'Just find the exit and SHUT UP!' Sniffle, sniffle, sob, snort.

   We eventually made it out and I bought a T-shirt because, honestly, they had more than earned my money!! My superhero status has dwindled to Super Schizo Pee-pee Pants.

   If anyone doubts my terror, the Scare-A-Torium's commercial is even now running on cable TV in Ohio. Yours truly makes a cameo appearance and can be found screaming her brains out around the middle of the commercial…

   True story.

Everyone Dance to the Pumpkin Song

   Yep, more haunt blogging- 'tis the season- it's unavoidable. To begin with; this last weekend went off without a hitch.

   Mostly.

   Sort of.

   Okay, so it wasn't so much a hitch-free weekend as a hitch-ful weekend, but we managed success despite it all. The weather forecast for the weekend was supposed to be a balmy seventy degrees with a clear Saturday and a sixty percent chance of rain on Sunday. And then it changed. We got rain on both days- conveniently just prior to opening both nights- and violent storms on Sunday. These brought on various power outages- thankfully only lasting about half an hour- but it was enough to wreak havoc.

   The barn was leaking, the power was going on and off, the wind blew, and the cemetery flooded. I swear I saw an ark float by. Automated props set and reset themselves. Some became possessed and just ran at a steady frenetic pace. Rain dripped onto various props, tombstones blew over and tumbled like tumbleweeds racing about the graveyard (an awesome effect I will admit, but not necessarily one you can control), and the sign blew off the post on one side. We had a full cast, one over-worked make-up artist, and stress was running at an all time high. We were all running around like chickens with their heads cut off, mopping up the inside of the barn, cordoning off flooded sections of the cemetery, and praying that the power would in fact STAY ON. Just when I was about to give it up for a lost cause, the rain stopped, the messes had been cleaned, the automated props were behaving properly, the second make-up artist had arrived and everyone was ready. Crisis averted.

   Sort of.

   We might have been ready, but our guests were well delayed by the rain- the cowards. It was as if they thought they would melt if even on tiny drop of rain pattered upon their pretty little heads. We all sat in the break room in full regalia for nearly an hour waiting, checking our watches, and then waiting some more. I was just beginning to slip into the pit of despair when finally a steady flow of customers began to arrive and they kept on coming until a few minutes after close.

   Success!

   Now you have to understand, what makes us different from your average haunt is the fact that we are not your typical 'Boo!' scare haunt. We are in fact, as one person called us, a 'haunted experience.' Coming to our haunt is like stepping into a highly interactive play with an abundantly detailed set. We have exceptional actors who perform well beyond expectations- especially considering that they are volunteers. (We are a charity haunt with all proceeds going to any number of charities, therefore our actors are paid in pizza.) To create a haunt of this magnitude is a very expensive and time-consuming (year round) endeavor. Thank God for our sponsors and our volunteers!

   Every year we make changes in order to keep the haunt fresh, especially considering we have a lot of return customers who come year after year, and this year has been no different. These changes keep the experience unpredictable so that even return patrons aren't quite sure what's going to happen next. This formula has been exceptionally successful for us, as we have had a high rate of customer satisfaction (so far this year 100%- knock on wood that it remains that way!). We try to provide an enjoyable experience as well as a good scare. And we have come a long way since the first year.

   Having said this, the first year of our haunt the budget ran out (it's very expensive building all those wooden walls) and we were forced to make the last twenty or so walls out of fire retardant Visqueen- it's a heavy plastic material- think Hefty bag times a hundred. For the most part, this posed no difficulty. Until the woman who created her own escape route. Allow me to explain.

   In the beginning- wrong story- ummm- not long ago we used to have an evil clown living in our dot room (alas he is no more). One particular lady apparently had clown fear. Extreme clown fear. Make that EXTREME CLOWN FEAR.

   Anyway, this woman upon entering the dot room completely lost her mind. She began to run (against the rules, but hey, sometimes you just can't stop 'em), plowed through the first of several Visqueen walls, bounced off the second-which was indeed wood but didn't seem to slow her momentum any- spun around and completely ignoring the obvious hallway in front of her, burst through the next two walls landing just behind me INSIDE the ticket booth. She then screamed at me in terror, raced around the counter and flew down the drive whereupon she hooked a left and headed for sights unseen.

   When the rest of her group finally came out- utilizing authorized routes- they were surprised to find that she wasn't there waiting for them. After a quick explanation from me, they headed for the car assuming they would find her there. Meanwhile, at the front of the house (home house not haunted house), my husband was coming out the door on his way to pick up the pizzas for the haunt cast, and low and behold this woman ran screaming by. She was stopping for nothing. He met the other people at the gate, explained that their friend was heading for Peru and they hopped into the car to chase her. Judging by her reaction, she might have been better off remaining in the asylum for some treatment…

   It was last year when we had the oddest customer ever. This woman startled and screamed at everything. We've had people who were so shaky they literally screamed at inanimate objects- and by this I mean innocuous inanimate objects like candlesticks, spider webs, chairs, etc. Though, I have to admit, the lighting in some of the rooms is so bizarre that often even the chairs look shifty… Anyway, this lady was one of those. This would have been fabulous except she had the oddest scream we had ever heard. You could hear her all the way through the house and it was everything the cast could do to keep in character when she entered their rooms. Every time something startled her she would honk like a loud, angry goose. Literally. Boo! HONK HONK! Yah! HONK HONK! Thump! HONK HONK! You get the picture. She would follow this up with an emphysemac cackle. Now that I think about it, we should have asked her to work here…

   We also experience the ever popular coming completely unprepared. We have had numerous teenage girls, accompanied by their boyfriends naturally, who have come dressed in short-shorts and teeny tiny tank tops, to stand outside in the fifty and sixty degree October weather at NIGHT and then complain it was too cold- how much longer do we have to wait? Really? REALLY? You expect me to control the weather because you were not bright enough to dress for the occasion?

   Look little girls, I know you are trying to be sexy for your guys, but trust me when I say- 'cause I have seen this hundreds of times- your guy doesn't care what you are wearing. He's not even looking at you. In just a few minutes you are going to become little more than a meat-shield to him. Dress warmly, because when your boyfriend tosses you to the first scare (and he WILL) in order to create an escape route for himself, you will want more than Daisy Dukes to hide your peeing shame. And no, I'm not exaggerating. We have had a number of Biohazard spills over the years. Peeing is popular. And we almost had one vomiter- thank God she kept it in!

   We also get nitwits who wear high heels and flip-flops. This is a haunted house folks- complete with a cemetery. You will be walking upstairs, downstairs, and in my lady's chamber. (I know most of you do not get that reference- I am showing my age with that one- but by God I'm keeping it for the chuckle from the forty plus crowd!) You will also quite possibly be slogging through some mud in the cemetery, (should it rain- frowny face) and at the very least, it's uneven terrain. Wear sneakers, boots, or some other appropriate footwear. You will be glad you did.

   This past weekend my favorite group was a group of teenage boys ranging in age of thirteen-ish to seventeen-ish. Generally speaking, it's usually difficult having a group like this- usually they will do everything in their power to remain unaffected as if to prove they are tough and your haunt is less than haunty. By the time we reached the end of the tour, I was wearing at least four of these boys on my back and staggering through the haunt like a giant malformed turtle. I would venture a guess that the Doctor got the formula right… We are indeed haunty!

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the For- Um- Haunted House

   Warning: this is the first of- no doubt- many haunted house related blogs. I apologize ahead of time to all of you who do not approve. Who am I kidding? No, I do not.

   This is the time of year when my entire life revolves around and is sucked into the void of 'THE' haunted house. And I am not one to suffer in silence. I will take as many of you with me as I can…

   My busy life gets shoved aside, whether I want it to or not (heavy emphasis on the not), and I find myself juggling my job, my writing, my blogging, my extra-curricular activities, (choir folks- choir- get your minds out of the gutter!), and my houses. Yes, houses plural. Or is that hice? You know- mouse-mice, house-hice? No matter, I have decided- I hereby invent the word hice. The hice to which I am referring are my home house and the haunted house.

   Yep, that's right, haunted.

   I am not necessarily the biggest Halloween fan in the world- Christmas is more my holiday- give me a tree and some twinkling lights and I am a happy girl. Alas, I happen to be married to a Halloween enthusiast. A man who lives, eats and breathes all things spooky. He reveres Halloween in a way that makes Linus's yearly vigil for the Great Pumpkin look weak. My husband is devoted to each and every aspect of the holiday: from the gory ghosts and the gruesome goblins, to the menacing maniacs in the monster movies and the jaw-dropping jack o' lanterns on doorsteps. He collects spooky skulls and spine-tingling skeletons and does not shy away from those things that go bump in the night. (Which is usually me anyway…)

   And of course, he lives for the haunting of the houses- er- hice. He is passionate in a way that borders on obsession. Actually, his passion doesn't so much border on obsession as it encroaches and invades it. It sneaks up on it, tackles it, holds it down and gives it noogies until it can't breathe- just like your big brother. And there is no crying uncle.

   His obsession requires hours- make that months- of professional intervention, the type which we cannot afford. And so, my husband talks Halloween six hundred and sixty-six days of the year. (Yeah, I know there are not that many days in the year, but trust me, it feels like it sometimes- besides- the number worked.)

For this reason, when that hunk-o-man of mine (who during Halloween strongly resembles the Unabomber and is proud of it) came to me with the idea of building a haunted house, I was not surprised. What did surprise me however, was exactly how much of my own blood, sweat and tears would go into this creation. I have personally painted each and every wall panel in the haunt (of which there are thousands- okay maybe only hundreds- but you sort of lose count after the first ninety). I have put my interior decorating skills (or lack thereof) into the haunted décor of each and every room. I have taken pride in finding some of the ugliest pieces of furniture known to mankind to add "just the right touch" to the final product. I have rejoiced in the repulsive, reveled in the revolting, roistered in the repellent. Yes- it frightens even me. I may need an intervention of my own.

   My partner in crime (or should I say 'grime'?), is a friend who is the Lucy to my Ethel and who has helped me every step of the way. She is the go to girl when it comes to façade painting and is willing to do almost anything I suggest. For example:

   Ethel (me- pay attention): So, Lucy, what do you think about, say, um, painting a block wall façade in the laboratory (yes, pronounce it the Frankensteinian fashion please- la-bore-a-tore-ee- this is a blog about Halloween after all). It will only involve sixteen different colors of paint in eight layers and a final wash. Say, about, oh, I don’t know, thirty-six hours of work, give or take. And the fans will see it for all of about thirty seconds. Sound good?

   Lucy: So, what you're saying is: it's a complete waste of our time, right?

   Ethel: Pretty much.

   Lucy: Cool! Let's do it!

   If you think I exaggerate, ask Lucy- she'll set you straight.

   At last count, we have collectively painted over seven thousand bricks, four thousand plus rocks, hundreds of mathematical and scientific calculations (none of which make any sense to me and all of which hurt my head in the colossal migraine leaking out your ears kind of way), and one lab wall which took three days.

   Awesome.

   And then there's the blood. (Hey, only some of it is real- you can't bleed buckets and survive, so paint has to come into play at least once in awhile.) This time of year our hands are permanently stained a rainbow of colors, the worst of which is the red. It gets into our knuckles, under our nails and even stains our cuticles. It looks as if we have engaged in the cold blooded killings of many formerly live beings previously filled to the brim with platelets and plasma. (As tempting as that may be, especially considering we know where to hide the bodies, we have not.)

   There have also been some incidents of paint splattering that stained clothing and hair- and not all of it has been accidental in nature. Naturally, it's always Lucy who stirs up the trouble. But I keep her around, 'cause, hey, where else can I find someone fool enough to say, "Sure! No problem!" when I say, "Hey, whattaya think about painting another five hundred bricks over here?"

   I am also the proud (I use the term loosely) owner of my very own graveyard. Step out my back door and you'll see it. It ain't small. It's kind of hard to ignore. It contains numerous graves marked with tombstones- some elaborate and some quite plain- and two full-sized crypts. I believe all are unoccupied. (Here's to hoping!) It's a nice quiet place to have your morning coffee…

   Over the years that we have run the haunt we have been asked countless times if it's a real cemetery. We have also been asked how long ago the asylum was closed. You know- the asylum- in the barn. Now I love the fact that people buy into the façade so much that they think it's all real, but at the same time I can't help but to wonder- huh? I'm never really certain how to answer these questions. I'm always tempted to say, "Well, since it's a BARN, I think mad cow disease was more prevalent than mad people…" Or, the ever popular, "The asylum was closed NEVER, 'cause, duh!" But these responses (I was told) were considered rude. So instead I went with, "Um- well- uh- hmmm… You know this isn't real, right?"

   We've also had any number of people ask us (while purchasing tickets), "Is it scary?"

   Let me think about this.

   No.

   No, it is not scary at all. In fact, walking through the haunt is much the same experience as tip-toeing through a field of wild flowers, whilst puffy clouds float over your head and purple, sparkling unicorns prance merrily by. We call it The Edge of Insanity, 'cause, well, we liked the name…