A Daily Iowan reporter tells of his experiences working the haunted house at the IMU on Oct. 29.
By Brett Shaw
I was murdered more than 100 times on Oct. 29. After having my throat slit by two women in purge masks, I repeatedly ran out from a doorway to beg bystanders not to continue forward. Of course, I am talking about working the Haunted House at the IMU.
Ever since I was a little kid, I have desperately wanted to work in a haunted house. Years of paying to be terrified by strangers always made me wonder what being on the other side of the mask would be like. Thanks to the generosity of the Campus Activities Board, I got to live that dream.
The night began by getting into makeup and costume. The friendly faces I had seen walking into the IMU were transformed into horrendous monsters and bloody messes. They looked amazing.
Opening the house, I crouched behind a doorway, covered in blood, waiting for the perfect moment to lunge out and sprint directly toward the guests. I then collapsed to the ground, sometimes too well. I have bruises on my legs, but I am dedicated to my art.
It was very interesting to see how people reacted to me dying at their feet. Some people would laugh and make jokes at my suffering, which would have been incredibly rude had this been a real situation.
The jokes would sometimes be funny, but many of them were just uncomfortable. A girl in a bunny costume pointed out to me that I was fake. A little boy’s parents told him to hit my unconscious body with a lightsaber. One guy just yelled obscenities at me.
The typical, most appreciated response was screaming and leaving me to die, which was rude but understood.
People were leaving shoes behind, punching their friends, and accidentally tearing down decorations in fear. My proudest moment by far was after jumping out and pleading one group of guests to leave, three of them actually turned around and went out the door.
This concept of people being frightened by me and my harmless friends was hysterical from behind the scenes. Little do they know, between groups we passed the time either singing “Cotton Eye Joe” or taking two-minute power naps.
My experience was heightened by everyone being in their Halloween costumes. It’s not every day that you get to see Miley Cyrus and Luigi on the verge of wetting their pants.
Coinciding with the amount of partying that occurs over Halloween weekend, the late hours did bring in a number of guests who were presumably under the influence. Panicked drunk people shrieking at anything that ran toward them provided refreshing entertainment.
However, scaring children to death was much less satisfying. Even after toning down our scariness for families that came through, little girls in bumble-bee costumes would still burst into tears and refuse to move at the mere sight of the purge masks and my open wound. I felt like the evilest person in the world.
But the best reaction by far was from a very young child who stopped walking and crouched down to ask if I was OK. His legitimate concern warmed my non-beating heart. He is the future, and I hope that he enjoyed our Haunted House as much as I would have at his age.