*Note: This blog post first appeared on the Horror Writers Association website.
I remember when the feeling hit me, the one where you realize something that once brought you immense joy no longer reaches those heights.
Since my early childhood, my parents always found the time to take my sister and me to a haunted house attraction every October. We were probably too young for the experience, yet it was common for an 80s kid to be exposed to certain things way too soon.
We watched horror movies before we ever walked the halls of an elementary school. We witnessed increasingly violent media on TV and in video games. And yes, we even went to haunted houses before we understood that everything was fake within those blood-spattered walls.
Haunted houses are a tradition in my family. My parents would open the newspaper and target the locations with the four- or five-chainsaw (instead of star) ratings. Typically, our preferred haunted house always pulled in high marks – the Hartford (Wisconsin) Haunted House at the former Libby’s Canning Factory.
Through a child’s eyes (and even an adult’s), an old canning factory created a spooky atmosphere for a haunted house. A massive, open assembly hall served as the waiting area, giving visitors plenty of space to spread out and the organizers an abundance of spots to decorate with scary décor. You had cobwebs, skeletons, blood splatter and even a portable toilet prop with a decaying head that popped up for a jump scare.
As a child, the wait to get into this haunted house seemed like forever, but once you heard your number, the excitement (and anxiety) came forth. The first room of this haunted house was a makeshift elevator shaft, which simulated dropping into the depths of an abandoned hotel. The elevator would stall midway through before red lights illuminated a new threat. Rotating buzzsaws descended from the ceiling, causing our family to drop to the floor. As a child, watching them slowly inch closer filled me with panic. How would we get out of this? That answer came when the elevator doors slid open and we shuffled out into the next sequence of terror.
While terrifying as a child, there was something thrilling about being immersed in these scary moments. It felt like being a part of a horror movie. I often wondered how I’d fare if I was plopped into one of them. Haunted houses gave me that answer. If they were real, I’d fare poorly. In those early years, they were legitimately scary, especially if they had great set designs, realistic props and actors who bought into it.
Eventually, we all grow up and the luster of these childhood pastimes fades. As mentioned earlier, I remember when I noticed haunted houses didn’t have the same impact anymore. I was in college and came home one weekend in October to venture back out to Hartford with the family. This time, however, the scares didn’t feel the same. I noticed the hiding spots ahead of the jump scares. I saw the seams in the actors’ costumes. I even recognized the wear on the set pieces, some of which were still in service from my youthful years.
I left the haunted house that night with a sense of sadness that the magic was gone. Honestly, I was amazed it lasted as long as it did. Some people get past these things at a much younger age. For me, I always found a way to soak in the atmosphere and convince my mind that everything was real. For a while, I was able to capture the same thrills I felt as a child. But on this visit, I saw the haunted house as a sequence of cheap thrills accessible for $12.
Growing up might be easy for many people, but it is something I’ve struggled with most of my life. I recall so many fond moments from my childhood and look for ways to recapture that magic as an adult. Sometimes I get lucky and can channel it, but as I age, it feels harder to do. Maybe we’re meant to forget about these little slices of joy we once felt for the simple things in life. Perhaps growing up means looking at those childhood activities through a more mature lens.
This experience is part of the inspiration that led me to write the novel Legend Has It, a Halloween tale about a college student longing to recapture the magic he felt as a child from visiting haunted house attractions. His friends decide to give him one final hurrah by taking him to an extreme haunted house known for being unfinishable. They soon discover why it has this reputation and must fight for their survival as they navigate the horrors within.
To this day, I still visit haunted houses with my family. While they no longer have the same charm of yesteryear, I’ve found a way to bring that magic back, even for a few moments. Whenever I step inside, I imagine everything is real, just as I did when I was a kid. And for a moment, I feel that same anxious rush from the elevator at the old canning factory. It reminds me we’re only one thought away from experiencing that magic again.
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