The Horror

The cool autumn air brushed over us as we hurried from the trendy sushi place on the lower east side. It was the night before Halloween, and tonight we were going to Nightmare, “the scariest haunted house in Manhattan.” Tickets were sold out, but there was still a long line outside the door for people who had booked reservations several days in advance. The only decorations on the walls of cultural center were fliers for other Halloween parties and events around the city. Not much had gone into thematically enriching the outside, or the inside, as we were soon to discover. The lobby looked like it belonged to a cross of a theme park ride and a cheap night club. There was a ticket booth, and two big screens showing gruesome horror film clips that covered movies, student films, and even a Michael Jackson video. Hidden behind black curtains was a bar lounge with zebra striped chairs and a Heineken neon sign. If you were in line, waiters would bring orders while you were waiting. The staff wore black clothing complete with headsets and trendy club music played in the background. Then we approached the doorway. Covered by heavy black curtains, I shoved my boyfriend in front of me and grabbed his hand as we went into the darkness. Our group was led into a dimly lit room, behind a man sitting in front of a ventilation fan. The man moaned and slowly reached towards the fan, and we all knew what was going to happen next. The lights cut out just before his hand touched the blade, and we felt blood splash across our face. Screams pierced the air, and it was the beginning of the thirteen rooms of horror we were to endure. But it was all fun and we left laughing in the end. I love haunted houses. I can’t wait ‘till next Halloween.