Some friends and I recently visited a haunted house here in Edmonton to celebrate Spooky Month. Even as laid back as my life has become in recent years, most of my weeks seem to be fairly busy so a single haunted house is pretty much all there’s time for. Still, it was fun and we were all glad we went. Also it was free. People actually put on several free haunted houses throughout Edmonton every October; they just change every year so you need to look into them online. At any rate, since this particular experience was put together at low cost it maximized its use of budget materials and volunteer actors. A budget haunted house, however, doesn’t mean a bad one.
I like to use the analogy of video games here because the resources you have on hand influence the quality of a product but don’t dictate it. Back when computing technology was just a microscopic fraction of what it is today, video game developers worked within very tight processing constraints. The gulf between what a human could imagine and what a computer could digitally render – especially at any kind of speed – was vast. So those developers got creative, utilizing what their hardware and software could do in order to make a lot from a little. A good haunted house is the same: it approximates environments, builds representations of creatures or characters and juggles clever organizational tricks to make it all work. So this low-res haunted house offered an immersive, intense time packed with well-paced encounters.
In fact, several characteristics seem to form the backbone of any decent spook house, from shoestring to Triple A.
Coordination
The haunted house’s “programming software”, to use the video game analogy again. A handful of unpaid volunteers, some set up in static positions and some roving, can cover enough ground in an enclosed space to make you think there are dozens of actors. I’ve been to some haunted houses in which certain actors change roles, moving through walls and hidden passages, to re-emerge seconds later for a different encounter. What feels simple or spontaneous to a patron is the result of strategic positioning with calculated and rehearsed timing. Meanwhile, actors who’s roles are to rove more freely through the space can serve to either waylay rushing patrons or chase hesitant ones, thus maintaining pace.
Tension
The subtle messaging exuded outside the haunted house plays an active role in immersion before patrons even enter.
It’s hard to truly go overboard on decoration with Halloween or horror spaces because clutter actually adds to the sense of chaos or decay. However, simple plywood painted to look like rotten old siding or slimy stone can build up a space just from the outside because it partitions visibility and lets the imagination get involved. Enclosure of some kind is important because it separates the outer mundane world and the psychologically charged inner space of the “haunted” area. That natural mystery goes well with auditory cues like getting a volunteer to periodically scream, bang the walls or run a saw motor from inside the enclosed area out of sight. An actor or two posted outside to welcome guests can set the tone, convey the theme or drop foreboding hints about the action ahead.
Sensory Confusion
Since humans evolved to be most active during the day and take shelter during night, there’s no overstating the primordial weight of good old fashioned darkness. But poor night vision isn’t the only thing working in the house’s favour.
Strobing lights, artificial smoke and confusing geometry allow a person to get completely lost in a ten by ten foot room. If the lights are out or unreliable, the only spacial references are those controlled by the haunted house and its inhabitants. Sheets can be moved. Deep shadows can make a space feel cavernous or constricted. LED’s or glowing decals can attach to actors in black bodysuits to manipulate the shape of the walls at will. A small fan producing a vague directional breeze from some unseen recess can imply a passageway and misdirect patrons right into a waiting encounter.
The Jump Scare
You could argue that the old strategy of jumping out at someone without warning is cheap, reductive and ceaselessly overplayed. But like darkness, being startled by a sudden violent surprise is hardwired enough in humans to form the backbone of any haunted house worth the name.
Trap doors can burst open. Formless lumps in the dimness can leap upright. The suspense of silence can be torn open by a full-volume scream right next to a passing patron. Jump scares are also a perfect role for pneumatic armatures or rudimentary animatronics. Entire pre-designed kits exist so that you can bang coffin lids, launch clown faces, swing giant spiders or spring whatever loud, fast moving trap you want.
Ambushes and Hiding Places
Between live actors and remotely triggered mechanisms, a haunted house is all about ambush. Good haunted houses guide patrons through a linear path that feels like a contorted maze and into the sudden chill of an encounter around every corner. Great haunted houses make you wait.
Anticipation winds up a patron’s nerves, folding uncertainty on top of uncertainty. Between each jump scare encounter, the knowledge of more to come is a certainty; the question of when it will occur is what makes the very walls feel threatening. Paranoia sets in. When someone is tightened like a spring, the inevitable encounter resonates with several times more impact.
Bait and Switch
This clever strategy expects that patrons will try to guess which shadowy heap is about to get up and scream at them. Some haunted houses deliberately mix hidden actors throughout the environment with inert shapes which merely suggest them. Ambiguity can focus attention onto the fake body disguised as a living body disguised as a fake body and make the next jump scare less predictable.
The Silent Follower
As devious as the Bait and Switch but even more audacious for its relative ease. This time-tested maneuver relies on the belated realization that an actor has attached themself to the rear of a group of patrons. A costumed actor literally ghosting behind someone who’s taut attention is focused elsewhere bypasses the jump scare altogether in favour of a more “time bomb” effect. The longer the actor goes unnoticed, the greater the patron’s hindbrain sense of heart-pounding vulnerability when they finally glance backward.
When my brother and I put together little basement haunted houses as kids for our family we had no clue how to engineer a proper jump scare, let alone the application of eye-fooling light or the psychology of a stealthy follower. But clearly some folks remained committed to their craft. Like game designers of old, they build a fun experience that doesn’t demand a lot of sophistication – only the dedicated application of a few tricks.
We were fortunate we could make at least one haunted house this year. Though if I’m honest with you, the early snow this year was probably just as scary. …Maybe someone should make an Edmonton driving simulator; I think it actually employs every one of these characteristics.
There's No Going Back 