The Scariest Thing About Haunted Houses Is the Extremely Awkward Human Interaction

It's downright frightening... much like every other type of social interaction

Photo by Sierra Koder on Unsplash

Before we get to this week’s story, allow me to take a moment to send my thoughts and support to everyone affected by Hurricane Helene in Florida, North Carolina, and across the Southeast. Fortunately, we missed the worst of it here just north of Orlando, but you never know when it will be your turn. And now, here is a dumb story about something inconsequential…

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A woman wearing a mid-twentieth-century cocktail waitress costume and ghoulish makeup sashayed out from behind a blood-red curtain. A creepy voice crackling through the speakers leered “It’s SHOWTIME!” The boy in front of me giggled.

I felt inexplicably sad.

The woman, presumably an actor but I guess you never know, was about 12 inches from my left arm as our group of adults and seventh graders walked in a single-file line through a casino-themed scare house at SeaWorld’s Howloscream. She sidestepped out, made a weird face, did some jazz hands, and then sidestepped back behind the curtain.

I’m not sure that it was particularly scary, per se, but I’m not one to judge. She was doing her best!

I steadfastly stared straight ahead while I walked quickly, only allowing myself subtle peripheral glances. I had never been to one of these theme park horror events before, but I quickly determined this was the best strategy to avoid the embarrassment of potentially being jump-scared, and more importantly, having to acknowledge that these actors were fellow humans (presumably) with possibly the weirdest jobs on the planet.

Can you imagine?

Getting dressed up in a costume, face lacquered up with zombie makeup, and then repeating the same movements and screams and cackles over and over again for hours at a time. Like, yeah, I’ve put on a mask for years to be a parent— pretending to be impressed by my kids’ somersaults, pretending that I’m not a complete nihilist so I don’t scare off other parents, pretending that I know what I’m doing in any situation—but this is next level masquerading.

IT’S SHOWTIME!

That refrain has to haunt that poor woman’s every waking moment. She’ll take it to the grave.

I’ll take to the grave the extreme awkwardness of the entire evening. And the delight of seeing my suddenly-very-grown-up-seeming firstborn having so much fun with his friends.

But yeah, mostly the awkward part.

We were invited to Howloscream to celebrate the thirteenth birthday of one of my son’s friends. They’ve known each other since they were five, so we’ve come a long way. From the first day of kindergarten with the little red Ks pinned to their shirts to a thirteenth birthday at Howloscream where we walked together through a haunted red light district teeming with ghouls of questionable morals and intentions.

They sure do grow up fast.

If you’re not from the Orlando area, you might not be familiar with these haunted theme park events, but they are a staple of central Florida culture. Much like strip malls, that monstrous eyesore of an unfinished building by I-4, and giant inflatable pigeons. Pretty much all the theme parks have them now and the fact that I avoided attending one for over forty years is one of my greatest accomplishments.

I have to admit, though, I was a bit eager to find out what all the fuss was about.

Things got off to a perfect start. As our group walked through the front gate, we immediately saw a woman kneeling on the concrete while a person dressed up as some sort of zombie or ghost squirted red liquid from a large syringe into her mouth. I thought this was all part of the act and the woman kneeling was a member of the crew, but no. After she finished slurping from the syringe, she got up, dusted off her knees, and walked away with her friends who were not undead (yet).

Apparently, this place goes hard.

Our next stop was the aforementioned haunted red light district that was located under the bleachers of the Orca stadium (remember, we’re at SeaWorld, which makes this all feel even weirder). There were red booths with plexiglass windows occupied by ghosts and goblins of the night. I’ve been to Amsterdam before so I knew what to do: once again, stare straight ahead… see nothing… say nothing… don’t react when they bang on the glass. Men and women in skimpy clothes flitted about, randomly popping hand fans in people’s faces for some reason. There was a young woman dressed more conservatively in a tattered white garment wandering around, crying, and screeching about something being lost. It’s possible this one was just a mom who had lost a child in the park but I wasn’t about to ask.

We walked through about four “scarehouses” that had various themes: insane asylum, demented hospital, undersea monsters, grocery store checkout line. I stared straight ahead like a champ in each one.

I did wonder on several occasions if I was cheating myself by sticking to my see nothing, say nothing strategy for survival. I mean, tickets to these things aren’t cheap. Should I have been doing more to get my money’s worth? Every half hour or so I let my cheapskate intrusive thoughts win out and, when we entered a room that seemed relatively safe and devoid of human actors, I took a moment to swivel my head around and soak it all in.

Ah, yes… super nice rickety table with an abandoned checkers game and cobwebs. This is the stuff.

That was enough for me.

On the pathways between attractions, more actors lurked. One of the boys in our group liked to talk back to them and call them names when they tried to threaten him with a chainsaw or whatever, which I guess is fine if you’re a normal person, but it wasn’t my idea of a fun time. I made sure to distance myself from that kid while not straying too far from the group to attract attention from other actors who were being paid to terrorize me. It was a very tricky line to walk. It felt precarious. Much like life, I guess.

My son seemed to be having a great time overall but I noticed he also diligently avoided the actors. That’s my boy. I offhandedly said to him on several occasions, “Man, imagine working in one of these scarehouses?”

He was always like, “Yeah, you’ve said that a bunch of times now. Why are you so hung up on this?”

I don’t know, son. I don’t know. It’s just how my brain works. It loves to pick apart inconsequential things. I briefly considered applying to join the haunted house crew just so I could take my empathy up to another level.

Imagine me dressed as a zombie sneaking up behind people and whispering in their ear, “Sorry to bother you. I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry about me. It’s just a job. I put on the costume. Work. Then get cleaned up so I can pick up an iced coffee on my way home. It’s super late, yes, but I’m so amped after my shift the caffeine weirdly helps me wind down if that makes sense lol. Hope you have a horrifically frightening night.”

I’m not sure why that first cocktail waitress actor made me feel so sad or why I had a bit of a dark cloud hanging over me all evening, but I think it might boil down to the fact that I can’t see the world through any eyes other than my own. It’s no secret that anxiety is one of my defining personal characteristics. I struggle to order at a fast-food restaurant drive-thru so it’s no surprise that being inches away from other humans acting in very strange ways would make me uncomfortable.

And not only does it make me uncomfortable, but my default response is to presume that they also feel uncomfortable which adds yet another layer of discomfort. Of course, that’s probably not the case. It stands to reason people who choose to apply for such jobs might find them palatable or even enjoyable in some way. It seems impossible, I know! I would love to talk to one of the actors (when they’re not in makeup) to find out how they feel about it. (Actually, check that, I wouldn’t because it would be weird for me, but I like the idea of having such a conversation. Maybe I can just invent one?)

Being a stay-at-home parent can be a very isolating experience, and though I’m very well suited for it, in some ways it hasn’t done me any favors. Not having a true work life outside the home has made it very easy for me to withdraw into myself and my routines. To avoid human interaction. If I’m being honest, my strategy for surviving daily life is about the same as my strategy for surviving a haunted theme park event.

Eyes forward. See nothing. Say nothing. Always, ALWAYS use self-checkout at the grocery store!

It’s admittedly a weird way to live. Maybe even weirder than working in a haunted house. It’s repetitive and forever awkward, but comfortable when I don’t stray too far away from my little group.

And now you’ll have to excuse me because the witching hour of school dismissal approaches. More everyday awkward terrors await. The little girl who just moved into the house across the fence in our backyard could appear at the sliding glass door on our back porch at any moment. Like an awkward apparition.

IT’S SHOWTIME!

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Notes:

• Because Hades (the dog) is obsessed with Artemis and Apollo (the bunnies) we had to get a new hutch to keep them protected and out of sight. Needless to say, I followed the assembly directions perfectly.

• I took Love’s a Disaster on a field trip to a very important place… a high school football game. It was middle school night so my oldest played with the high school band before the game and at halftime. Absolutely wild that I have a kid that old. Also, the playlist of songs they were playing over the PA at this game was truly confounding. For example, coming out of halftime they played the Bad Wolves cover of The Cranberries song “Zombie” in its entirety! Nothing whips a high school football crowd into a frenzy like that song does. Later, they played “Better Man” by Pearl Jam to amp things up to uncontrollable levels.

• If you were wondering about that line towards the end of this story about the girl from across the fence… I wasn’t exaggerating.

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Don’t forget to check out my Yahoo page for more dumb stories and/or my books for even dumber ones.

Love’s a Disaster - contemporary fiction about a marriage proposal gone wrong, complicated families, second-chance love, Florida, sword fighting, and punk rock music. And yes, there is high school football.

Fatherhood: Dispatches From the Early Years - essays and humor about the very early years of my parenting journey

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