How scary could it be? It was just a big, old barn.
We passed it hundreds of times in the daylight, barely giving it a second glance.
When darkness fell, however, the creaky building suddenly seemed a lot more sinister.
Disembodied voices moaned ominously from inside. Heavy chains slammed insistently against wood walls. Terrified screams cried out in the cold October night.
After nearly 40 years, I have a confession to make to my former classmates at Nimisila Elementary School.
When I told the kids on the playground how fun it was to go to the Manchester Jaycees Haunted Barn, I wasn’t being completely truthful. In reality, I was scared out of my wits.
I was 10 years old when I visited my first Halloween fun house in 1974. It cost only $1.
Nothing — not even a pile of Famous Monsters magazines — could prepare me for the jolts lurking inside that darn barn on Manchester Road.
For the most part, I kept my eyes closed and buried my head in my mother’s jacket while costumed monsters leaped from spooky scenes and growled in guttural voices. I couldn’t wait for it to end.
The next day at school, I pieced together enough glimpses of strobe-light mayhem to brag shamelessly about my unparalleled bravery against evil creatures of the night. In turn, classmates regaled me with epic survival tales from other haunted houses. I wonder if they had their eyes closed, too.
I should have been scared off, but haunted houses intrigued me. I scoured the Beacon Journal for advertisements and imagined visiting other frightful places.
The next year, I dared to return to the haunted barn with my friend Tim Ricks. My mother dropped us off, so there was no hiding behind her.
“You go first,” I told Tim.
“No, you go first,” he said.
This could have gone on for hours. We argued back and forth, pushing each other toward the entrance. Finally, we went in side-by-side.
As frightening ooo-weee-ooo music blared over loudspeakers, we cautiously worked our way through the fun house, jumping with fright when appropriate, hurrying past scary scenes when necessary. I remember that we got lost in a dark maze, and some numbskull ahead of us pulled out a lighter, prompting a stern rebuke from a flashlight-carrying mummy who warned that the barn might go up in flames.
Screams in the dark
The 1970s were the Golden Age of Haunted Houses. Many towns had banned trick-or-treat nights amid concerns about candy tampering.
Akron’s first haunted house was Scream in the Dark, which opened in 1969 as a fundraiser for the Youth for Christ Center at 137 E. Market St. The Mogadore Jaycees and Canal Fulton Jaycees soon followed with fun houses of their own.
Shivering kids lined up to be scared senseless, chattering excitedly while sipping hot chocolate and eating caramel apples from concession stands. The sound of distant screams ratcheted up the nervous tension.
As a birthday present every October, my mother allowed me to invite as many friends as would fit in her 1972 Chevy Nova so we could enjoy a Halloween tour, sometimes stopping at three haunted houses in a night. Mom paid admission for us and waited in the car.
Along with Tim Ricks, my annual tour included friends Joe Del Medico and Glenn Stephenson, who I met as freshmen in 1977 at North High School. Over the years, we hit just about every haunted house in Summit County.
One of our all-time favorites was the Haunted Opera House, which the Jaycees opened in 1972 at the Akron Civic Theatre. The dark auditorium was creepy on its own. Add a few monsters, and it was pandemonium.
We also frequented the Hudson Haunted House and Akron’s Haunted School House, which seemed to have bigger budgets and more impressive effects than other places. On some nights, Cleveland TV horror hosts Hoolihan and Big Chuck and the Ghoul made special appearances.
As we got older and learned to drive, my friends and I traveled in caravans. The haunted houses didn’t seem quite as scary, or maybe we were just putting on brave faces, but we still had a lot of fun.
Strange places
I recall visiting the Haunted Castle at Perkins and Union streets in Akron, the Haunted Valley Terrifying Barn at Valley View Lake Park near Wadsworth, the Tallmadge Jaycees Haunted House off Howe Road, the Eerie Express at Quaker Square, the Haunted Hangar at Akron Fulton airport, the Barber Haunted Mansion off Austin Drive in Barberton, the Moose Lodge’s Haunted Woods off South Arlington Road and Dr. Doom’s Haunted Tent in Cuyahoga Falls.
Among the more obscure places — at least to us — were the Devil’s Dungeon in South Akron, the Theatre of Horror in Barberton, the Hall of Horrors in Springfield Township, Cave of the Living Dead in Stow and the Haunted Swamp House in Tallmadge.
One memorable night, we drove out to Dracula’s Mansion in Franklin Township, but got lost because a Halloween prankster had turned the signs. We ended up at a nursing home, pounding on a door while older people looked out and wondered who we were. That was scary for everyone.
Another night, a group went to the Hinckley Haunted Hollow, where we witnessed a nasty fight between two guys who didn’t appreciate the wonders of Halloween. My friends and I pulled the guys apart, much to our later regret, because one fighter broke loose and clocked the other in the jaw while we held his arms, rendering him completely defenseless.
Sorry about that, guy.
Monster in the mirror
After I began my fall semester at Kent State in 1981, a dream came true. The Haunted School House hired me!
I landed a job as an “extra,” a floating worker who filled in for monsters on breaks.
Quickly, I discovered that scaring people was a lot harder than it looked.
Repeated lunging and yelling in a hot mask was physically exhausting. Bruises covered my body because visitors sometimes lashed out in fright. After days of screaming, I lost my voice and needed cough drops to soothe my raw throat.
One night on the job, I filled in for the Phantom of the Opera, who truth be told, didn’t know how to play the organ and merely pounded away at the keys and pedals, making annoying staccato sounds.
After years of piano lessons, I was proficient enough to make scary-sounding chords, so the floor manager promoted me to full-time Phantom.
Every evening, I performed in a dim light while lines of visitors watched me play. Those who thought I was merely providing musical entertainment were in for a shock. When customers let down their guard, I turned on a spotlight, lunged toward them and screamed.
It was a good gig.
All ghoul things must come to an end, though.
My friends and I visited fewer haunted houses as we grew up, found jobs, moved away or got married. The October tours reluctantly came to an end.
In recent years, my wife and I have dared to relive childhood, visiting the Haunted School House, Carnival of Horrors, CornStalkers Haunted Cornfield & Forest and the Bloodview Haunted House.
After gasping at the admission price — $20!!!!! — we courageously stepped inside.
Monsters were everywhere. We jumped and laughed, enjoying the scary scenery.
After all these years, it’s good to know that haunted houses are still a scream.
Mark J. Price is a Beacon Journal copy editor. He can be reached at 330-996-3850 or send email to mjprice@thebeaconjournal.com.