The healthcare system could be worse.
I don’t enjoy getting scared. When I was a kid, I’d run out of the room when the commercial for Friday the 13th came on TV. I’ve never seen Nightmare on Elm Street, Halloween or Texas Chainsaw Massacre. One of my earliest memories is of a clown trying to shake my hand—I refused to cooperate, because even then I could tell that clowns are weird. In the parlance of clinical psychology, I’m what’s known as a big ’fraidy cat. Although I stand by my initial impression on clowns.
Thus it’s probably no surprise that I’ve never been inside a haunted house. I find life scary enough. But when SpookyWorld offers me a chance to get on the other side of the business—working as an actor inside their Sleep Stalkers attraction—I decide to confront my fears head-on. Which is to say, by jumping out at kids and trying to scare them so bad they pee themselves.
I drive to Litchfield, N.H. and meet the aptly named Joel Fearon to get a bit of coaching before my Sleep Stalkers debut. Fearon’s title is “haunt manager” and he makes sure that Spooky World’s parade of horrors goes off according to plan. Because truly blood-curdling nightmarish fright requires solid logistics. Do the hellish ghouls have their Halls cough drops for when their voices get hoarse from screaming in agony? Does the 7’4” dude lurking behind a certain door need gas for his chainsaw? That kind of stuff.
Fearon leads me into the Sleep Stalkers building and I’m immediately on edge, even though the lights are on and I myself look like a bloody-faced zombie, courtesy of the Spooky World makeup department. It’s creepy and I want out of here.
“The premise is that this is a sleep deprivation experiment gone horribly wrong,” Fearon says. “But, as bad as the patients are, the doctors are in worse shape.” This notion is supported by the arrival of Bob, an actor wearing blood-spattered doctor’s scrubs. The chunky red tendrils of flesh around his mouth indicate that his role involves a bit of cannibalism. Bob mentions that this year he’s made two people pee themselves—so far. “I like to tell them, ‘I want to eat your skin!’” Bob says. “That’s more scary than saying ‘I want to eat your brains.’” Totally—telling people you want to eat their brains is like saying “boo.” Nobody’s gonna pee themselves over cliches.
At 7 pm, the doors open and the victims begin entering the building. I’m positioned along a blood-spattered row of shower stalls with a guy named Joe, a seasoned pro who’ll demonstrate the procedure before I give it a shot. The first group—mostly girls—approaches and Joe explodes through hidden doors and screams “Shower time!” There is much shrieking. After they pass, Joe says, “I like to wait till the middle of the group to jump out. The people in front are usually the bravest, so you want to get the ones who are the most scared.” That sounds kind of mean, but hey, we’re not the ones who bought a ticket. We’re here to frighten and terrify, not make moral judgments.
I observe Joe blitz a few more crowds before taking my position behind the doors, watching the hallway through a peephole. A couple approaches and I burst out, bellowing the “shower time” line and looking quite convincing with my bloody smock and mangled face. At least, I must look convincing, because I cause a grown man almost jump into his girlfriend’s arms. I’d feel bad for the guy—hell, I am that guy—if this weren’t so funny. And satisfying.
As customers continue to filter through, some patterns emerge. Fulfilling their stereotypical gender roles, teenage girls are the easiest to scare, while teenage guys are the biggest a-holes. That’s why it’s so fun to make the dudes flinch even as they’re sarcastically declaring, “Yeah, man, real scary.” Sometimes I want to reply “Your mom’s real scary,” but I’ve got to stay in character. It’s like Disney World in that respect.
I try some different locations, and find that leaping from behind a shower curtain is actually less scary than just sort of slumping out in a lifeless fashion. Also, fear can be amplified by creepily parroting things people say on their way through: When a girl hugs her friend and cries, “Hold me!” Joe strides out of the shower and follows them down the hall pleading, “Hold me! Hold me!” Have I mentioned that Joe is wearing one white contact lens? It’s not a good look.
By the end of my shift, I’m no longer so creeped out by Sleep Stalkers, but understanding the mechanics of fear doesn’t make me any more enthusiastic about experiencing it. I won’t be renting Hostel anytime soon. I have decided to amp up my Halloween costume for this year, though. Richard Simmons is scary, but Zombie Richard Simmons is gonna be frightening.