Halloween Haunts: How to be Haunted by Leigh Perry

For me, October means haunted houses! Not the real ones, mind you; those are year round. I’m talking about haunted house attractions. As part of the research for my latest book, I wallowed in reading articles about haunts and stories from scare actors. I came away exceedingly impressed by the effort and creativity that goes into scaring people night after night. I also gleaned some advice to keep in mind before you visit a haunt.

1. It’s not real. Okay, you probably know that these aren’t real insane asylums or vampire castle, but unless I chant that to myself while waiting in line, I’m probably not going in.

2. Go before you go. Seriously. I know that as a horror reader, you are brave and can handle blood and gore. The thing is, a good haunt has a multitude of ways to horrify you, from simple jump scares to evil clowns to rats to all-too-realistic zombies to… It’s better to be safe than sorry—some haunts do keep track the number of people they scare into wetting and/or soiling themselves.

3. Don’t be a tough guy. Scare actors can instantly spot the sneer or swagger of somebody with a you-can’t-scare-me attitude. They target those people, and they will bring out the big guns. Worse, they’ll bring out the chainsaw. Very few tough guys can withstand a chainsaw.

4. Name no names. If scare actors learn your name, they use it, and while a screaming cannibal is freaky, a cannibal screaming your name is downright unsettling.

5. Play along. Even if you’re just not scared, don’t spoil it for the other customers. If you can’t faux scream convincingly, fine, but don’t laugh at the haunt’s best gags or point out the zipper in the werewolf suit.

6. Don’t touch. Scare actors are there to be seen and heard, maybe smelled, but not touched. You can be removed, arrested, or retaliated upon if you lay hands on a scare actor. (Some people react to being scared by punching, and if you’re that kind of person, don’t go to a haunt.)

7. You can escape. Suppose you’ve got a kid with you who’s had too much and is approaching catatonia, or the next room features spiders and you’ve got chronic screaming arachnophobia. Ask a scare actor how to exit early or how go around a room, and they’ll be glad to help you out. There are hidden paths and passages all through a haunt—the scare actors need them to sneak up on you. By the way, I advise you to always go around any squeeze room, those claustrophobic nightmares where you have to push your way through. Even if closed spaces aren’t a problem for you, those areas are hard to clean, and people sweat, barf, and even wet themselves. By the end of October, those rooms are going to be really nasty.

8. Don’t abandon your significant other or kids. This causes trust issues and possibly therapy bills. Keep your loved ones close. As a corollary, do not push your date for the evening between you and the rampaging mummy to protect yourself. The date will not end well.

9. Don’t be embarrassed if you get scared. Being frightened is the point of going to a haunted house! The adrenalin rush of a good scare provides some of the same catharsis as reading good horror, and maybe teaches you a little about yourself. It’s good to get scared!

10. Sometimes it is real. There have been actual dead bodies found in haunts. Some were suicides, but most were accidents. (By the way, no scare actor should ever do a hanging gag, no matter how safe it seems.) Also, most haunts do use real chainsaws. They just take off the chains. Still, don’t grab the chainsaw.

If this list hasn’t scared you off, I invite you to go find the nearest haunt and get scared! And scream a few times for me.

TODAY’S GIVEAWAY: Toni is offering a copy of The Skeleton Haunts a House by Leigh Perry and a swanky skeleton brooch. Enter for the prize by posting in the comments section. Winners will be chosen at random and notified by e-mail. You may enter once for each giveaway, and all entrants may be considered for other giveaways if they don’t win on the day they post. You may also enter by e-mailing membership@horror.org and putting HH CONTEST ENTRY in the header.

LEIGH PERRY mostly sneaks around horror. It’s true, she writes books about a skeleton, but he’s a crime-solving skeleton. Named Sid. He’s just not that horrific. As Toni L.P. Kelner, she’s written about zombies, werewolves, vampires, and witches, but they’ve been more on the urban fantasy side—a vampire running an amusement parks, a witch working at a bowling alley, and a werewolf rescuing a lost child. This month, however, marks Leigh’s official debut in the field she enjoys so much. Her first bona fide horror story appears in Seize the Night, an anthology edited by Christopher Golden. She considers herself far more BA now.

If you think you’re tough enough, you can visit her and Sid the Skeleton online at http://leighperryauthor.com

Excerpt from The Skeleton Haunts a House 

Most people wear Halloween costumes in order to look scarier, but my best friend Sid had picked his to look less scary.

He’d already climbed into the full-body fur suit, and I reached up to put the head on.

“How’s that? Is it straight?”

“I think so,” he said, “but it’s hard to breathe in here.”

“You don’t need to breathe.” I wasn’t being mean. Sid really doesn’t need to breathe. In fact, he can’t breathe because technically, he isn’t even alive. He died over twenty years ago, and like most people who’d died that far back, all that’s left of him is a skeleton. Unlike most people—unlike any other people at all, as far as I knew—Sid has come back to…Well, if not to life, then back to consciousness, movement, and a penchant for watching old cartoons. He also has a passion for Halloween, since it’s one of the few times he can go out in public.

One might think that Sid’s usual boney appearance was already right on target for Halloween and in previous years he’d dressed as Death, the Grim Reaper, and Jolly Roger.

However, recent incidents had linked skeletons and my family a little too publicly, and we’d decided that something more discreet was called for. Besides, Sid had run out 
of skeletal-themed costume ideas and was ready to try something new.

“How do I look?” He spun around slowly so I could see him 
in all his furry glory.

I reached up and straightened the green vinyl collar 
around his neck. “Not bad. I would never have recognized 
you.” That was, of course, the point of a full-body-covering 
getup. “Let’s hear the voice.”

“Scooby dooby dooooo!” he crowed.

“Excellent!” It wasn’t the best Scooby-Doo imitation I’d 
ever heard, but it wasn’t the worst, either. “Why don’t you 
practice moving around while I get my costume on? And 
remember you’re over a foot taller than usual, and a lot bigger 
around. Be careful and don’t step on the dog! The real dog, I 
mean.”

Byron, my daughter Madison’s Akita, had been solemnly watching the costuming process. I didn’t think he acknowledged the cartoon Great Dane as a fellow canine, and even 
if he had, Sid’s imposture would not have caused any latent affection to develop. Byron and Sid have a love-hate relationship. Byron would love to chew on Sid again, and Sid hated the memory of him doing so.

I left Sid stumbling around the living room, wincing as 
his tail nearly knocked a vase off of an end table, and went upstairs to my room to get ready. Since I was going as Scooby’s 
buddy Velma, my outfit was considerably easier to get on, 
and fortunately for my budget, had been made up of things 
in my house rather than rented from an expensive costume 
shop. I was wearing an old turtleneck sweater I’d dyed 
orange with a brick red corduroy skirt that I hadn’t worn in years. Once I added orange knee-highs and an old pair of sunglasses from which I’d poked out the lenses, all I had left to do was curl under my close-enough-to-Velma-brown hair.
When I got back downstairs, I did my own twirl. “What do you think?”
He put his paw onto his chin. “Your skirt is too long.”

“I hemmed it two inches shorter than any other skirt I own—that’s as far as I’m willing to go.”

“Isn’t Velma’s skirt pleated?”

“I didn’t have a pleated skirt, and besides, have you ever tried hemming a pleated skirt?”

“I don’t know about the shoes.”

“I am not buying a pair of shoes for one night.”

“And your hair is too long.”

“Sid!” I said. “I’m only dressing up to keep you company, not entering a most-authentic-costume contest!”

“Yeah, okay. Just say your lines!”

“Jinkies! I think we have a mystery here!”

“And?”

I pulled the glasses off and put them behind me. “My glasses! I can’t see without my glasses!”

“Scooby dooby doo!” He held up a paw for a high five, but managed to miss.
“Dude, I’m the one who lost my glasses!” I said, putting them back on my nose.

“Sorry. It’s not easy to see in this head. Shall we go?”

“Just as soon as we go over the ground rules.”

“Again?” He gave an exasperated sigh. “Don’t take off any piece of my costume until we get back home. Don’t go running around alone. Stay in character. Keep my phone handy.”

The phone rule had caused some problems since the costume had no pockets and Sid wasn’t wearing anything else, but I’d found a conference badge holder with a sturdy lanyard and a pocket big enough to hold the phone. Sid had it around his neck under the suit, and if necessary, could wriggle around to use it. It wouldn’t have been possible for a normal human, but most of what Sid did was impossible for a normal human.

“Good.” I checked that Byron’s food and water dishes were filled, grabbed my pocketbook, and said, “Let’s go!”

“I don’t think Velma carried a purse.”

“Sid!”

It took a little maneuvering to get Sid into the front seat of my green minivan with his head on. With anybody else, I’d have suggested he remove it for the duration, but since we didn’t want to give any children nightmares from seeing a skull on top of Scooby’s body, I just crammed him in and let him complain.

It wasn’t a long drive, anyway, though it took more time than it did most days because of the traffic. We were heading for the Halloween Howl, Pennycross’s annual celebration of all things spooky and scary. There were events scheduled at venues all around town, but McQuaid University—where I worked—was the epicenter. The Howl had started as a student Halloween party before morphing into the current month-long extravaganza. It wasn’t as famous as the Haunted Happenings in Salem, but it drew pretty big crowds from the western part of Massachusetts. We were still three weeks away from October 31 but the fair that was the main draw would be running all three weekends leading up to the big day, fortunately on 
a Saturday this year.

Normally I enter campus at the main entrance on Elm 
Street, but the tree-lined street was closed to vehicle traffic 
for several blocks to make room for the carnival midway, 
whose lights I could see as I approached.

Instead, I drove 
around to the back entrance, hoping the faculty parking pass 
that was one of the few perks of being an adjunct English professor would enable me to find a decent spot. Luck was with me—I snagged one of the last half dozen spots in the lot nearest the festivities.

The campus quad was normally a tranquil oasis of grass and stately oak trees, but tonight it was filled with tents for selling food and drink; campus club fundraising activities like a dunking booth and a cakewalk; a bandstand and dance area; and community arts and crafts displays.

I tugged my overly short skirt down a bit and helped Sid out of the car. After we made sure his head was on straight, I said, “Lead the way, Scooby. It’s your night to howl!”

“Thanks, Velma,” he said in a passable rendition of Scooby’s accent, and grabbed my hand to pull me along.

I didn’t blame him for being excited. Since Sid had come to live with my family back when I was six, ninety-nine point something percent of his time had been spent inside our house. Any opportunity to get out was a treat—being able to cavort in public was like Christmas.

He wasn’t the only one cavorting—the campus was hopping. And dancing and slithering and creeping and all the verbs that went along with the Halloween Howl. The McQuaid security officers were the only ones I saw who weren’t in costume. Sid played his character to the hilt, pretending to be frightened of a crowd of zombies, boogying with a lady vampire, and joining the tail end of a conga line composed of masked superheroes.

By then it was fully dark and I was getting chilly, which Sid noticed despite the fun he was having.

“You okay, Geor—Velma?”

“I’m fine,” I said, though I was starting to wish I’d rented a fur costume of my own. “I’ll grab some hot cider. That’ll warm me up.”

“Wait! I know! Let’s go to McHades Hall!”

“No, cider will be fine.”

“Come on!” Sid said, and grabbed my arm again to pull me through the crowd toward the front corner of the quad 
where a particularly bustling building loomed.

McQuaid Hall was the oldest building on campus, but the 
out-of-date, poorly maintained structure needed so many 
repairs that it was rarely used for anything but photo ops until 
a member of the McQuaid Scholars Committee realized that 
the place bore a striking resemblance to the Addams family 
mansion in the old TV show. So what better way to raise money 
for scholarships than to convert it to a haunted house 
every year, and rename it McHades Hall for the occasion?

McHades was one of the star attraction of the Howl. I 
understood the haunt was one of the best in our part of the 
country, but I’d managed to avoid setting foot in the place. I 
was hoping to maintain that record, but three things were 
working against me. One, my sister, Deborah, was in charge 
of McHades this year. Two, my daughter, Madison, was working there. And three, Sid had a death grip on my hand.

As we got closer, we saw that the line of people waiting to 
get in snaked along the sidewalk. “Oh darn,” I said in relief, “we’ll never make it through that line. Let’s hit the midway.”

“Don’t worry, Deborah will get us in,” Sid said, pulling 
me past the gathered ghoulies, ghosties, and long-legged 
beasties to the tent where Deborah watched over a pair of 
ticket sellers, talking into a walkie-talkie.

Sid cheerily said, “Hi, Deborah! It’s me, Scooby!”

Deborah looked resigned. My sister was a locksmith, 
which she said meant that she dealt in hard facts that made 
sense. Since Sid did not make sense, she had a more difficult 
time accepting Sid than I did. “I figured you guys would be 
showing up,” she said unenthusiastically.

Sid lowered his voice to what he thought was a conspiratorial whisper. “I don’t suppose you can sneak us past the line, 
can you?”

“You’re in a fur suit,” she said dryly. “Not exactly easy to sneak.”

“Aw, come on, Deborah—”

“But as it happens, Madison reserved will-call passes for you two so you can go in with the next party.” She handed an orange cardboard ticket to Sid, then tried to give me one.

“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll wait out here.”

“You don’t want to go in?” Sid said.

“Nope.”

“Not even to see Madison give her spiel?”

“She did it for me at the house.”

“You’re not still freaked out about—”

“No, I’m not,” I lied. “I just don’t like going in front of all these other people. You go ahead.”

“Are you sure?”

“The next party is leaving now,” Deborah said, though I’m not sure if she was taking pity on me or getting rid of Sid. Either way, he scurried off to join a group. A young Snow White immediately announced that Scooby would protect her from any monsters, and reached up to hold his hand.

“Isn’t that cute?” I said.

“It’s not going to be cute when she comes out of the haunt crying.” She pointed at a sign on the ticket booth.

WARNING!
McHades Hall is too scary for the following:
People with weak hearts.
Those who faint easily.
Pregnant women.
Intoxicated visitors.
Children who frighten easily.
Enter at your own risk—no refunds!

“Yow. Maybe you guys should tone it down a little.”

“If we tone it down, people complain because they feel cheated. We’re not talking McKamey Manor or Blackout, but we are trying to scare people. That is the point, after all.”

“I guess.”

“Just because you don’t like haunted houses—”

“I know, I know. I’m a wimp.”

She shrugged. “You can see we’ve got plenty of customers without you.” If anything, the line had gotten longer since we’d been talking. “Come Halloween, people are going to be waiting for two hours to get in. I just hope my cast lasts. All that screaming and scaring is hard work.”

“So how long is Sid going to be in there?”

“It takes about half an hour to go through.”

“Then I think I’ll go get a hot dog.”

“Bring back hot dogs and fries for me and my ticket sellers, and I’ll pay for yours.”

“Deal!”

I ran into my friend Charles along the way, and stopped to chat for a bit. Then with the line at the concession stand for hot dogs and the difficulty of carrying my load through the ever-increasing crowd, I was gone considerably longer than half an hour. When I finally got back, I handed Deborah the sack of food, reached in to grab a hot dog and a mustard packet for myself, and asked, “Isn’t Scooby out yet?”

“Out and back in again. He was making a hairy nuisance—”

“Good one!”

“What?” She made a face. “God, you’re as bad as he is. He was making a nuisance of himself while waiting for you, so I gave him another ticket.”

“Jinkies. I guess he enjoyed it.”

“Something weird about a . . .” She looked around and apparently decided too many people were in earshot. “About a guy like Scooby liking a haunted house, don’t you think?”

“You know, he volunteered to work here for you.”

“Madison told me. Thanks, but no thanks. We only hire fake spooks.”

“Suit yourself.” It was probably just as well. The other cast members might have noticed there was something odd about my pal.

I’d just finished my second hot dog when the first screams came. Well, to be fair, people had been screaming the whole time, attesting to the success of the scare actors’ efforts, but these came via Deborah’s walkie-talkie.

“What’s going on in there?” she demanded of whoever was on the other end.
The response was loud enough that I could hear it plainly.

“There’s a dead body in here!”