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Photograph by Thomas Crone
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Photograph by Thomas Crone
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Photograph by Thomas Crone
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Photograph by Thomas Crone
Not sure what you did last weekend, but I spent Friday and Saturday nights standing alone in dark rooms, clad in latex clothing, swathed in makeup. Sometimes, strangers came in and stared at me. Lots of screaming and loud music got involved. It was all very weird and very fun.
These nights were both spent at Soulard’s The Darkness, where I enjoyed my third-ever experience as a haunted house actor, all of them done, (ahem!), for purely journalistic purposes. As anyone who listens to commercial radio in St. Louis knows, haunted houses are a popular form of entertainment around here every fall, and The Darkness is among the leaders in attendance, size, and promotional punch. The crowds build every weekend, as long as the rains stay away and Cardinal playoff games don’t stretch into the night. By the end of October, long waits are the norm.
This past weekend, the audiences were solid, but not at crazy levels yet. Maybe that was just the speed I needed for a weekend’s worth of hilarity and, yes, a bit of work.
By Halloween, “it gets extremely busy,” says The Darkness’ Jeremy Tucker. “The line wraps around building. The groups don't stop the moment we open the door until we close them at the end of the night.”
Tucker works for Scarefest, the local chain of primetime haunted house operations. At the Darkness, his responsibilities run pretty deep and are plenty varied: “general manager, actor manager, actor trainer for all locations, hiring all locations, costume designer, makeup artist, and scenic artist, jack of all trades.” At the Darkness alone, he hires up to 80 actors for the prime-time weeks, 50 when it’s slow. There’s always a chance, in fact a likelihood, that someone will no-show or call in sick, making the hour prior to open a little extra intense for organization.
As I arrived on Friday, he wasn’t only dealing with the usual needs, he was also in the midst of a daylong shoot via the Discovery Network, in town to fill a Mythbusters spinoff project. So, in addition to hooking up one middle-aged goober from St. Louis Magazine, he had an eight-person cast and crew to help shepherd around the facility; that group, too, was actively taking part in the night’s show. He was busy as a bee so I wound up as the last actor to get into costume, herded onto set, and coached.
For Friday night, I was assigned the Grim Reaper, wearing a cropped latex cloak, latex gloves, a mesh mask and sporting a foam-core machete. Standing on a three-foot-high riser, my job was to blend into my “scene” and then scare visitors from above, through fast actions and a clickable audio device that offered up a massive roar. Maybe I was rushed, or suffering from some type of mild heatstroke, or just not listening, but I wound up getting pretty talky, instead of just hitting the sound button and swinging the machete. I was as wordy as a politician on the stump, threatening to cut off heads or tongues, slicing the air with my toy weapon, sweating away a half-dozen pounds under all that rubber.
Luckily, a zone boss rolled through every few minutes, making sure I had water; in total, I got about five refills on the night, needing every bit of that precious fuel to stay on two feet. But I was never expressly told to “shut the hell up” and so I kept jabbering. At the end of the night, which had its moments, I was a little upset about my acting chops, as I peeled off the half-cloak and stood in my sweat-drenched, black-clad glory. The night was okay, but I was happy to have night two in the back pocket. And that one? Well, day two flippin’ ruled.
Arriving at The Darkness for my second set, I was greeted by Tucker, who seemed approximately 1,000 percent less-stressed than the day prior, the cable TV team now a memory and his focus clearly set on the night’s vibe and flow and nothing else. On this night, he suggested I go to a scene with more action and interactivity, which is exactly what I’d hoped. I was sent up about 100 steps to the costume/prop shop and checked in for duty. So, here was the new gig: playing the Witch Doctor in zombie swamp house scene.
Before going in, The Darkness’ makeup-and-costume chief, Colleen, offered me a perfectly distressed suit, just the right amount of bloody. She pointed out the eye black, I started smearing foundation and then popped on a latex mask (trying not to think about how many people had worn the same mask) and headed off through the crazy maze of rooms and corridors to the swamp house, lead by my section boss, Lynda. She’d keep me hydrated for the night and would offer tips, as did Tucker; on this night, I was supposed to keep the scare quick, jumping out of an ill-lit corner, where I stood next to a statue. If I kept still, I’d be able to trick them into thinking that I, too, was a statue, and it’s amazing how much that simplicity works.
The night began busily, tapered a bit, picked up, slowed, then ended with two, massive, 20-person groups. In between came a gaggle of folks: young, old, black, white, Asian, Hispanic, straight, LGBTQ, in couples, in groups, but never solo. Quite honestly, if you looked at ANY form of entertainment happening in St. Louis over the weekend, you’d not be able to find one with as much diversity as this place, at this moment. On a broader, sociological level, there’s probably a study to be funded about the diverse clientele of horror houses.
And you have time to think about things just like that. In the swamp house, fake “meats” hung from the ceiling, a cracking-wood sound effect rolled on an endless loop and smoke poured in every direction. And what Witch Doctor’s lair is complete without a skinned faux-raccoon on the dinner table? Most compelling, though, was the floor of this room: it moved, constantly shifting on hydraulic jacks. (It’s a room that’s made other actors motion sick, though that somehow never hit me.) All the elements that go into a scare scene were in place here: a video projection, animatronics just outside the door, audio effects, lighting, props and, yes, an actor in the corner.
Tucker instructed me to speak in tongues, as my voice would already be muffled from the mask, which had a small mouth-hole for breathing. I had a metal water bottle, filled with bottle caps, a “rattle can” to help aid the scare. After that, it was simply a matter of waiting for the right moment to pounce. And here’s the only tip I’ll give scared horror house-goers. If you’re really scared, don’t stand in the middle; actors prey not on the first person in a group, but on the next couple; when they flip out, it scares people on either side.
And did we scare!
At one point, a young guy I caught unaware pirouetted and spun himself into a low crouch, a look of absolute terror on his face as I shot out of the corner. Later in the evening, a woman was so stressed that she ran full-on into a table. As she grabbed her mid-section, the guy behind her was so delighted by her pained response that he broke into a little dance; what a good friend! Another group ran out of the scene, out onto a shifting bridge, with at least three of them falling into-and-onto one another, a pile of people writhing and shouting on the wooden planks. And every so often, you’d have the cynical haunted house visitor; these folks do things like point at you, or ask you questions. It’s a weird way to spend your entertainment dollar, but whatevermakesyouhappy, right?
One last anecdote. Sometimes, Tucker, Lynda, or other “roamer” actors would also post-up in the zombie swamp, double-teaming the guests as they navigated their way through about 20-feet of U-shaped, floor-rocking space. Without glasses, I relied on listening to a bird sound effect from the previous room; 10 caws meant that someone was coming. This time, though, Tucker was waiting in the wings, and as the half-dozen-person group entered, he popped them, suddenly and terrifyingly. They shrieked and screamed and hopped around. Distracted, they ran into my corner and I managed to catch them at just the right moment, surprising them when they’d thought that the room’s only scare spot had passed. They continued flipping out until they hit the bridge, disappearing into the smoke and screaming at the next scare, a few yards down the path. This was a win-win.
Tucker sorta levitated over to me, extending his clenched hand. We fist-bumped and, I’m pretty sure, shimmied a little bit. He screamed “That’s how we do it here!” and flashed back out of the room, as quickly as stealthily as he’d arrived. In that moment, I felt 12 years old and completely outta-my-mind psyched, forgetting for a few minutes that my legs were sore, my breathing was labored, my attention was being assaulted by sound effects. That moment ruled.
He invited me back, Jeremy Tucker did, said I could come around later in the season if I wanted to take another crack at the action. Man, I hope he was serious.
The Darkness Haunted Theme Park is located at 1525 South 8th. For more information on hours and tickets, call 314-241-3456 or go to scarefest.com.
