My first time was at age eight in an old farmhouse. It had a lot of the thrills I now recognize as staples of the experience: the gruesome operating room, the bloody execution chamber and the locomotive barreling toward us. But the creepiest moment of my first haunted house came when I slipped and fell. As I rolled over to stand, my hands squished in something slimy. I looked closer and saw that I'd slipped in a mess of chicken organs. These costumed rednecks had gone so far as to cover the floor in slippery organic waste. I realized just how serious they were... More >>>