Page 13 of Fed By Fear

“What about the haunted house itself? Are you picking up anything from inside?” Randall presses. We’re extremely close to the front. His voice is frantic with the need for more info before we pass through the threshold and he has to stop recording.

I give him the best I can under the polluted circumstances. “There’s definitely something inside.”

The first few rooms are filled with standard scare tactics. Right off the bat, a red and blue funhouse tunnel steals your balance. Which means you’re heavily disoriented by the time you spill out into a pitch-black room. The wispy hanging wires and gauze make you think you’re being touched by phantom fingers. Some of them are live wires. I’ll admit, the shock as they tap scalps and zap our raised hands takes me by surprise. Classic, tactile, even a little painful. Not necessarily scary.

A torn curtain with “Turn back now” illuminated by blacklight paint leads to a mad scientist’s laboratory. Bodyparts in jars of colorful liquid sit on every surface. The doctor himself is operating on a patient who’s still very much alive. They scream from the table, thrashing about while he cuts into their heart. The acting is subpar, but the fluid flicked all over us smells suspiciously metallic. I overheard a rumor in line that they use real cow’s blood. That’s the scariest and grossest part of this room.

While you’re distracted by the violent display, a ghoul jumps out from behind the nearest cabinet. Amber and Vic both scream bloody murder.

Dr. Cow Blood’s lab spills into a much smaller space. Live bugs scurry along the walls and ceiling of a long and narrow corridor. This one gives me the chills. Mainly because I can hear the crunching and smush sounds as we trample any insects unlucky enough to end up on the floor. The smell of crushed bugs brings back memories of cricket swarms in the heat of summer. That sulfuric, noxious odor is thick in here. I feel sorry for whoever’s responsible for reset and cleanup. Do they have like a bug dealer? Someone supplying them with fresh creepy-crawlies each night?

Amber and Vic shriek through the entirety of the corridor. Even I let out a squeak when something drops from the ceiling and onto my shoulder. When I go to swipe it off, its many legs momentarily cling to my fingers. That sensation is enough to make anyone want to puke.

We’re still picking bugs from our hair and clothes when we reach the next room. A typical graveyard scene. Not nearly as realistic as the one next door. The fog is thicker here than any of the other spaces. Someone grabs my ankle. I jump, but don’t scream. I’m a seasoned psychic who encounters dead people daily. This shit isn’t enough to truly scare me.

Randall, Amber, and Vic are absolute babies. Theyscream and run through all of the rooms. Amber’s man-candy, Aiden or whatever, laughs through most of it. The main monster in the graveyard is a retro werewolf wearing a torn flannel. His howls are overly loud to my sensitive ears.

“I will eat your brains.” An animatronic zombie pops up ahead of us, prompting another scream from Amber.

We’re two thirds of the way through the room when a burst of dark energy slams into me. My steps wobble. Something just happened. Something bad and too close for comfort. My companions remain unaware. There are so many screams from the surrounding rooms, I can’t tell which is fake, fun, or true fear.

It hits me all of a sudden that whatever is hiding in here amongst the false scares and phony actors is something ancient, evil, andreal.

I have underestimated this place.

They say there’s a blinding white light when you go to heaven. Maybe you’re giving up sight for something more. Eyes are just so “human earth plane” anyways. Way too soft and fragile for something so important.

Which is the strange thought spinning through my mind as a retina-searing brightness steals my vision.

The hokey haunted-house music and my companions’ screams have stopped. My eyes are slow to adjust to the room. We’re still in the faux graveyard. They’ve turned on the lights.

“I will eat your brains.”

Vic screams as the animatronic zombie cues up, his automatic timer clearly wired separately from the ceiling lights.

“Everyone please stay where you are.”

My still-blurred vision lands on a lanky boy wearing a jack-o’-lantern mask. He continues, “Listen up everyone. We’ve been slightly delayed. For your safety, please remain where you are. As soon as the lights turn off, you may resume your journey through Reaper’s Playroom.”

Rapidly blinking the white dots away helps to bring things into focus. The haunted house is far less sinister with the lights on. The dead still congregate here. They can’t help it. Many are tied to their resting places, and the cemetery is mere feet away from this haunt-for-hire attraction. It’s an insult to those who are supposed to be resting in peace, without the strobe lights and fake fog casting over crumbling headstones.

The graveyard we’re standing in is littered with Styrofoam tombstones and artificial flowers. Most have “RIP” carved into them. A few random oversized crosses and barely discernable angels sit scattered between the mounds of dirt.Massive furry spiders with red plastic eyes stretch across the space. Several of their legs have fallen off. I guess no one is counting when they’re sprinting past the menacing figures in the dark. This place could definitely use an update.

“What happened?” Amber asks. “Why’d they turn on the lights?”

My heart is still hammering from the shockwave of darkness that plunged through my system a few seconds before they stopped us.

“Technical difficulties.”

Liar. The worker shifts his weight. Aimlessly scratching at his arm. There’s power in controlling or creating fear in others. I’m sure the scare actors experience their own thrill pulling screams from eager crowds. Wearing a mask helps.Perceived anonymity does something to our inhibitions. Having to stare at their cheesy workroom and meet strangers’ eyes under the fluorescents must be awkward to say the least. Real fear shouldn’t come from this building or its props.The source of the thing emitting the evil that’s pressing in around me like a suffocating mist is another story.

“I will eat your brains.” The zombie pops up again.

Vic squeaks. “Can you turn that off?”

“It’s on a timer.” The worker shrugs.

“What’s in the next room?” My question is meant to sound nonchalant, but comes out a little strained.