Stingy Jack
07-17-2004, 07:22 AM
For those of you who celebrate Halloween and like to go to those community haunted houses or trails, tell us your best experience with one.
This one took place when I was in high school in Tennessee:
There were two carloads of us, driving around Halloween night looking for a "haunted" attraction to thrill us. We heard of a particularly nasty trail out in the country, but none of us were exactly sure where it was. We found ourselves cruising down several back roads, plunging further and further into "inbreeding territory." The night was black as pitch, and we were beginning to think that if we ever found the place it would certainly be closed.
At long last, we saw a makeshift sign appear in the headlights, partly hidden by shrubs growing near the side of the road. This simple sign, made with black paint on a flap of cardboard, read "Haunted Trail: Next Right". Despite our excitement, several of us (myself included) held a few reservations about going. It was, after all, getting quite late and we were deep in the backwoods. There was no telling what sort of people ran this attraction (visions of "Texas Chainsaw" raced through my mind). The driver of our car even said: "What if they put up that sign just to lure in victims?" We all nervously laughed at the joke, though deep-down, I don't think one of us thought it was funny.
We turned off onto the dirt road that came up on the right, slowing slightly to make sure the car behind us followed. We found ourselves surrounded by dense woods. Black trees shone palely in our headlights, but the branches blended so completely with the night sky that we couldn't tell exactly how tall the trees were. All of us were nervous, but nobody voiced the idea of leaving for fear of ridicule. We had, after all, been searching for this place for nearly an hour -- and now that we had found it, nobody wanted to be the one to suggest going home. Even if we all wanted to go home, no one would suggest it. If you suggested it, you would be marked as "the scared-ass who made us turn around". Nobody wanted that.
Our tires crunched over the dirt on the road as it wound its way deeper into the woods. Soon, a light could be seen in the distance on the left, shining through a cluster of leafless branches. "Here we are," Christine, our driver, said. "Everyone got their money?"
"How much is it?" I asked from the back seat. "I only have five bucks."
"I'll spot you some if you need it," said my sister. She rode shotgun, and from where I was sitting I could see her profile, green from the dashboard lights. Her eyes were wide and searching. I knew she was scared.
We pulled up next to a ramshackle, clapboard house that sat in the light of a tall lamp-post. A woman, who had been sitting on a chair in front of the house, got up and walked over to us as we parked.
"Are you still open?" Christine asked her through the car window.
"Oh yeah. We're open. You'll be the last party, though."
"How much is it?"
"Six dolla' a piece."
I tapped my sister on the shoulder. "You have a dollar?"
"I told you I did. Just give me your five." We pooled our money together, and handed the bills over to the woman who walked over to our other car that had parked behind us. When we had all paid, she placed the money in a cash-box sitting on the ground beside her chair and went inside the house.
The two cars emptied out, and we met in a group, looking around. We all shared our thoughts on how far out the place was, and how we had thought of turning around before we saw the sign. Jonathan, the driver of the second car, said what we were all thinking: "These people are going to kill us and eat us. There's enough of us to last them through the winter for the next two years."
"Shut-up, jackass!" said Tara Laine, another friend from the second car. She smacked Jonathan on the arm, and by the look on his face, I knew it wasn't a playful hit.
"I think its cool," I said, trying to show bravery. "Look at these woods. They're creepy."
"Well, if I see one person look at me and start drooling, I'm running home. I'm not waiting for anyone with car keys." This was Blake, my best friend (who Vodstok reminds a lot of -- typical "nerdy looks", but cool in a way no stereotypical nerd could be).
Soon, the door to the house opened again and this time a hulk of a man emerged, wearing overalls and talking into a walkie-talkie: instructing his relatives in the woods to get into position for, what he termed, "fresh meat." We shared glances with each other as the man approached, but nobody said anything.
"Ya'll ready?" the man, who we now figured to be our guide, asked. His teeth were brown and twisted, and his face desperately needed a shave.
"Yeah," I said. "Do we follow you?"
"Come on." He began to trudge into the woods.
As we began the haunted trail, our mood lightened. The first few "scares" were pretty tame: hands reaching out for us from beneath a small, wooden bridge; a mad scientist (out in the woods?) conducting some hideous experiment on a cadaver; fake body parts strewn about, that sort of thing. "This isn't so bad," Jonathan whispered to me. "It's actually kind of corny."
"Yeah, you need to demand our money back," I grinned.
After a while, our guide led us into a small clearing in the woods. A makeshift gallows had been erected in this clearing, and was illuminated by a semi-circle of tikki-torches. A man stood on the gallows with a black sack over his head. Suddenly, another group of men emerged from the woods, all carrying torches, and approached the gallows. One of them climbed up and placed the noose over the victim's head.
"Ya'll are gathered here today to witness the execution of Jesse Holmes," the executioner drawled. I looked at my friends, but didn't get a glance in return -- they were all watching the gallows. "He's been tried for the murder of six teenagers, and has been sentenced to death by hanging. God rest his soul." With that said, the executioner pulled the lever controlling the trap-door, and the man dropped ... hung right before our eyes. It was a cheap effect, though, because the rope holding him up by a harness could easily be seen. I ticked my tongue loudly with my disappointment.
Which didn't last long.
As soon the man was hung, strobe lights began to blast their flickering into the woods ... and the distinctive roar of a chainsaw interrupted the tour. Our guide, who we all looked to for help, calmy stepped into the blackness, letting us know that we were on our own from here on out. I searched around frantically for a way out, as a chainsaw-weilding redneck burst through the trees into the clearing. The girls screamed, the boys screamed. Everyone huddled together in a group, paralyzed with fear -- except for me. I saw a toothless old cretin off to my right, waving for me to follow the trail he stood beside. I broke from the group and began to run, glancing over my shoulder to see who was following.
I saw all of my friends lumped into a mass of screaming limbs. They had fallen on top of each other, and another chainsaw maniac had emerged, waving his blade over the group. They were blocked: one chainsaw guy in front, one behind.
I didn't stop. I kept running, pumping my arms as hard as I could. The trail seemed to go on forever, and at regular intervals (this happened at least three times), another toothless chainsaw guy would appear from the woods beside me. But, figuring I was moving too fast to bother with, would run back to my group of friends whom I had abandoned. I could hear my friends screaming, and the increasing cacophony of chainsaws sent me into a terror I never thought I would experience. I could imagine my friends, piled into a group, surrounded by (at my last count) five chainsaw guys, who wouldn't let them pass.
I ran. I ran some more. Eventually, I saw the light of the house emerge through the trees before me, and I pressed myself to run harder. Just as I was about to break clear from the woods, my friend Jonathan tore past me, a look of sheer horror masking his face.
We got to our cars and Jonathan jumped into his, starting it up as quickly as he could. It wasn't long before the rest of us had arrived, each of them screaming and terrified. We all loaded up into our vehicles, and tore out of there -- as the rednecks all gathered together to point and laugh their asses off at us.
I know the ending was pretty abrupt, but I figured this was going on too long and didn't want to draw out any pointless resolutions.
Thankfully, none of us peed.
This one took place when I was in high school in Tennessee:
There were two carloads of us, driving around Halloween night looking for a "haunted" attraction to thrill us. We heard of a particularly nasty trail out in the country, but none of us were exactly sure where it was. We found ourselves cruising down several back roads, plunging further and further into "inbreeding territory." The night was black as pitch, and we were beginning to think that if we ever found the place it would certainly be closed.
At long last, we saw a makeshift sign appear in the headlights, partly hidden by shrubs growing near the side of the road. This simple sign, made with black paint on a flap of cardboard, read "Haunted Trail: Next Right". Despite our excitement, several of us (myself included) held a few reservations about going. It was, after all, getting quite late and we were deep in the backwoods. There was no telling what sort of people ran this attraction (visions of "Texas Chainsaw" raced through my mind). The driver of our car even said: "What if they put up that sign just to lure in victims?" We all nervously laughed at the joke, though deep-down, I don't think one of us thought it was funny.
We turned off onto the dirt road that came up on the right, slowing slightly to make sure the car behind us followed. We found ourselves surrounded by dense woods. Black trees shone palely in our headlights, but the branches blended so completely with the night sky that we couldn't tell exactly how tall the trees were. All of us were nervous, but nobody voiced the idea of leaving for fear of ridicule. We had, after all, been searching for this place for nearly an hour -- and now that we had found it, nobody wanted to be the one to suggest going home. Even if we all wanted to go home, no one would suggest it. If you suggested it, you would be marked as "the scared-ass who made us turn around". Nobody wanted that.
Our tires crunched over the dirt on the road as it wound its way deeper into the woods. Soon, a light could be seen in the distance on the left, shining through a cluster of leafless branches. "Here we are," Christine, our driver, said. "Everyone got their money?"
"How much is it?" I asked from the back seat. "I only have five bucks."
"I'll spot you some if you need it," said my sister. She rode shotgun, and from where I was sitting I could see her profile, green from the dashboard lights. Her eyes were wide and searching. I knew she was scared.
We pulled up next to a ramshackle, clapboard house that sat in the light of a tall lamp-post. A woman, who had been sitting on a chair in front of the house, got up and walked over to us as we parked.
"Are you still open?" Christine asked her through the car window.
"Oh yeah. We're open. You'll be the last party, though."
"How much is it?"
"Six dolla' a piece."
I tapped my sister on the shoulder. "You have a dollar?"
"I told you I did. Just give me your five." We pooled our money together, and handed the bills over to the woman who walked over to our other car that had parked behind us. When we had all paid, she placed the money in a cash-box sitting on the ground beside her chair and went inside the house.
The two cars emptied out, and we met in a group, looking around. We all shared our thoughts on how far out the place was, and how we had thought of turning around before we saw the sign. Jonathan, the driver of the second car, said what we were all thinking: "These people are going to kill us and eat us. There's enough of us to last them through the winter for the next two years."
"Shut-up, jackass!" said Tara Laine, another friend from the second car. She smacked Jonathan on the arm, and by the look on his face, I knew it wasn't a playful hit.
"I think its cool," I said, trying to show bravery. "Look at these woods. They're creepy."
"Well, if I see one person look at me and start drooling, I'm running home. I'm not waiting for anyone with car keys." This was Blake, my best friend (who Vodstok reminds a lot of -- typical "nerdy looks", but cool in a way no stereotypical nerd could be).
Soon, the door to the house opened again and this time a hulk of a man emerged, wearing overalls and talking into a walkie-talkie: instructing his relatives in the woods to get into position for, what he termed, "fresh meat." We shared glances with each other as the man approached, but nobody said anything.
"Ya'll ready?" the man, who we now figured to be our guide, asked. His teeth were brown and twisted, and his face desperately needed a shave.
"Yeah," I said. "Do we follow you?"
"Come on." He began to trudge into the woods.
As we began the haunted trail, our mood lightened. The first few "scares" were pretty tame: hands reaching out for us from beneath a small, wooden bridge; a mad scientist (out in the woods?) conducting some hideous experiment on a cadaver; fake body parts strewn about, that sort of thing. "This isn't so bad," Jonathan whispered to me. "It's actually kind of corny."
"Yeah, you need to demand our money back," I grinned.
After a while, our guide led us into a small clearing in the woods. A makeshift gallows had been erected in this clearing, and was illuminated by a semi-circle of tikki-torches. A man stood on the gallows with a black sack over his head. Suddenly, another group of men emerged from the woods, all carrying torches, and approached the gallows. One of them climbed up and placed the noose over the victim's head.
"Ya'll are gathered here today to witness the execution of Jesse Holmes," the executioner drawled. I looked at my friends, but didn't get a glance in return -- they were all watching the gallows. "He's been tried for the murder of six teenagers, and has been sentenced to death by hanging. God rest his soul." With that said, the executioner pulled the lever controlling the trap-door, and the man dropped ... hung right before our eyes. It was a cheap effect, though, because the rope holding him up by a harness could easily be seen. I ticked my tongue loudly with my disappointment.
Which didn't last long.
As soon the man was hung, strobe lights began to blast their flickering into the woods ... and the distinctive roar of a chainsaw interrupted the tour. Our guide, who we all looked to for help, calmy stepped into the blackness, letting us know that we were on our own from here on out. I searched around frantically for a way out, as a chainsaw-weilding redneck burst through the trees into the clearing. The girls screamed, the boys screamed. Everyone huddled together in a group, paralyzed with fear -- except for me. I saw a toothless old cretin off to my right, waving for me to follow the trail he stood beside. I broke from the group and began to run, glancing over my shoulder to see who was following.
I saw all of my friends lumped into a mass of screaming limbs. They had fallen on top of each other, and another chainsaw maniac had emerged, waving his blade over the group. They were blocked: one chainsaw guy in front, one behind.
I didn't stop. I kept running, pumping my arms as hard as I could. The trail seemed to go on forever, and at regular intervals (this happened at least three times), another toothless chainsaw guy would appear from the woods beside me. But, figuring I was moving too fast to bother with, would run back to my group of friends whom I had abandoned. I could hear my friends screaming, and the increasing cacophony of chainsaws sent me into a terror I never thought I would experience. I could imagine my friends, piled into a group, surrounded by (at my last count) five chainsaw guys, who wouldn't let them pass.
I ran. I ran some more. Eventually, I saw the light of the house emerge through the trees before me, and I pressed myself to run harder. Just as I was about to break clear from the woods, my friend Jonathan tore past me, a look of sheer horror masking his face.
We got to our cars and Jonathan jumped into his, starting it up as quickly as he could. It wasn't long before the rest of us had arrived, each of them screaming and terrified. We all loaded up into our vehicles, and tore out of there -- as the rednecks all gathered together to point and laugh their asses off at us.
I know the ending was pretty abrupt, but I figured this was going on too long and didn't want to draw out any pointless resolutions.
Thankfully, none of us peed.