Spooky Destination at Stevenson University

It opened with a screech. Those who hesitated would be targeted, one by one.  She was scared. He was scared. They were all scared except for a few who took care of the pack. As the group pinched into the diminutive box of metal, a sudden bang began to rise. “I wanted to go to the movie theater,” she said in rage as her hands flailed in angst. As I caught a rapid look at her, I could see the paint that was scattered across her face to seem daunting. Her torn clothes looked to be just an old black dress cut into shreds. “I forgot to bring the popcorn,” said my school friend, Amy, as she looked at me in a chuckle. We were the only two guffawing. The hunky metal slid open as we entered the dark ghostly clearance. We barely had enough time to collect our thoughts in anticipation of the maze. My friend Kayla, who happens to be indifferent to clowns and strobe lights, knew what was becoming of her.

“Group number 7,” they said in a grimace. We wrapped around a chair, which looked to be there during primitive years, as it was transfused with cob webs and cinder. As we were about to walk into multiple rooms that were a part of Haunted Hallways, the event we would soon endure, I began to think back over the years. In the past, this function, at Stevenson University, had been frightening for some and phlegmatic for others. My school friends and I have essentially made it a tradition to go every year. So, we went with the afraid who were in reluctance and the daring, like me, who were in excitement.

As the timid ones were barricaded along with some other unfamiliar faces that were put in our group, to make it a group of ten, we zoomed around the tunnel of darkness. At first, it seemed to be a hallway with drapes upon drapes; the two teens in front of us blended in the group as if they were a part of it. They then, however, stopped in front of the first room that was amongst a collection of rooms sectioned off by draping. One of teens, who happened to be a male with a deep voice and all black clothes, gave an introduction of the first room. It was, however, hard to hear past the noises of those who dwelled in the space we, shortly thereafter, began to enter. First there was Andy and then there was Woody. Buzz Lightyear followed shortly after, but something was different. They were covered in blood — fake blood of course but blood nonetheless. This was Toy Story on a whole other level. I would not advise little ones to see this because they would never want to look at the film again in fear that the characters would turn horribly wrong.

The next room looked to be a horror movie, which I later found out was “Silent Hill,” a film that I most likely will not watch. I can do haunted houses, but horror movies that look too real to watch are a different subject. Regardless, we lingered through the room in which I stopped to see a girl with her eyes open in a position that seemed to be motionless. I said to Amy, who was the only one in the room that was able to respond to me without quivering from a character brushing up on her shoulder or caressing her ankle, “I have no idea how she can keep her eyes open for that long. I could not do that.” I then proceeded to say, “Cudos to you,” to the girl demonstrating the willpower to open her eyes that long. However, she broke character in a chuckle. I was satisfied because it was my goal, throughout the night, to see how many characters I could break. Unfortunately, this was the first and the last.

We entered the next room, and in a split second, I knew exactly what it was. A guy with pale skin, grey hair, that looked to have been glued on by each strand with green glue, black paint around his eyes and a black and white striped suit on his body, began to move around as his voice echoed, “Just say the three magic words. You know you want to.” As we moved around the table of boys and girls that chanted loudly, and slowly made our way to the next room, I said, “Beetlejuice,” and then Amy said, “Beetlejuice,” but when he pointed to Kayla, she refused, and he was disappointed.

We went throughout the next several rooms with this same pattern. A few characters popped out here, and a few screams followed there. We encountered the Glee Club’s “Nightmare before Christmas” performance as they sang and stared creepily. Next, we saw scary clips from “It,” a horror film about a clown. Need I say more? We traveled slowly, and the rooms blurred together as I found myself truly enjoying this occasion. It might seem trivial and lame, but I am glad I have done this every year since my freshman year of college. I am glad that I can help the scared roam through and laugh a lot with others, and I am happy that many get to experience the same thrill as I do.