Halloween Haunts: The Frog and The Scorpion Go to Universal Studios
By Michael Subjack
“I know you’re going to tell people about that shit.”
We were barely out of the parking lot when Brian delivered this statement with a weary certainty.
“I would never do that to you, buddy,” I assured him. “This stays between us.”
It was a genuine promise. Too bad it only lasted a night.
We had just spent the evening at Universal’s Halloween Horror Nights, a tradition that began when I moved to the West Coast in 2010. The 2013 line-up wasn’t among the strongest, but there were a few stand-outs. The Black Sabbath maze (the band, not the movie) was a blast, a perfect marriage of imagery and music. There was also the Universal Monsters maze, a celebration of the iconic characters and a reminder of why they remain popular almost a century later. The Evil Dead maze, while focused on the remake, still invoked the gooey goodness of the Sam Raimi and Bruce Campbell films, so no complaints there. The standout that year, however, was the Insidious maze. I’ve only seen the first one, and while I remember thinking it was fine, that’s also the only thing I remember about it.
The maze was another story, offering familiar sets and characters that prompted fans of the franchise to point like that well-worn Leonardo DiCaprio meme. It also contained no shortage of scares. There’s a blessing and a curse to loving horror. For the former, I’ve learned your enthusiasm never wanes, regardless of age, but you also come to learn the tricks. It takes a lot to scare me, so the number of times the Insidious maze made me jump was significant, but compared to Brian, I got off easy.
I moved to the West Coast to attend film school, and Brian was one of the first friends I made. He’s the sort of guy who, to borrow a tired idiom, will give you the shirt off his back. We hung out a lot before he moved back to New Jersey in 2014. While we no longer meet for movies, drinks, and dinner, we’ve stayed in contact, something I can’t say for other friends I’ve made over the years.
One thing that always stood out about Brian was his enthusiasm and curiosity for how things operate. As I learned that night, those qualities went beyond movies and television. Brian had a genuine interest in how the mazes were constructed and where all the scares occurred. This meant walking behind him while he recorded everything on his phone, and I say with no hyperbole that he recorded everything. Did that include trips to the bathroom? I’m going to invoke the Mandela Effect and say yes. I don’t know if he still has it, but you could probably make a Hulu miniseries just from his footage that night. And while I admired Brian’s inquisitive nature, I also wondered how much he was actually getting from HHN, given his laser-like concentration on his phone.
My answer came at the halfway point of the Insidious maze. I noticed a figure shrouded in black crouching in the far left corner of the bedroom set we were wandering through. Despite not being able to make out a face, body language proved to be a hell of an indicator, because I immediately knew who the figure had in mind for its next scare. Brian stood about five feet ahead of me, swinging his phone around like an eager tourist. At just the right moment, the figure emerged with its arms outstretched, practically looming over Brian like Freddy Krueger in the original A Nightmare on Elm Street. Remember when he comes out of the wall over a sleeping Heather Langenkamp? It looked a lot like that. The effect was immediate. Brian jolted, dropped to his knees, and scurried away, his terrified countenance sporadically visible in the throbbing strobe light. My reaction was also immediate, as I doubled over with laughter.
When we exited the maze, we weaved through other attendees in an awkward silence before Brian looked back at me.
“I know you’re going to tell people about that shit!”
“Come on,” I said. “It’s not that big of a deal. If you don’t want me to say anything, I won’t.”
Brian’s face grew resigned as he shook his head. We spent the rest of the evening navigating the other mazes and attractions (and trauma be damned, because Brian continued filming everything on his phone).
It wasn’t until the car ride home that he mentioned it again. As fate would have it, we had a shoot the next morning on Stage 2 of our alma mater, Art Center College of Design. I arrived before Brian and gathered everyone around as they enjoyed a breakfast of bagels and coffee.
I quickly recapped the evening before arriving at the pivotal moment in the Insidious maze. As I had offered it no shortage of hype, a circle formed around me as I prepared my recreation, which I don’t mind saying, was spot on. I dropped to my knees, performing the same frantic scurrying as Brian, which earned laughter from our friends and classmates that echoed off the stage’s high ceilings.
As fate would have it, Brian walked in at just the right time, witnessing my glorious impression from start to finish. After some playful ribbing from the onlookers, Brian looked at me and shook his head.
“I knew you were going to say something, man!”
So you did, Brian. What can I say?
It’s in my nature.
Michael Subjack was born in a small town in Western New York and has since relocated to Pasadena, California. He’s published two short story collections, and his work has appeared in the anthologies 101 Proof Horror, It Calls from the Forest, Trigger Warning: Curses, and Heavy Metal Nightmares. He’s also had one of his stories read on an episode of the horror podcast Chilling Tales for Dark Nights. Most recently, Whisper House Press selected his story, Just Checking In, for their anthology, Costs of Living.
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