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| Excited to be at a new haunt |
What happens when you take a group of friends who work together in a haunted house attraction, pile them into a recreational vehicle, and drive 3 hours to a different diabolical destination in the middle of Nowhere, Texas? Much hilarity, that’s what.
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| 13th Floor at Scream Hollow |
If you read my blog about Scare Therapy, you know where I sit in regards to being a part of the horror industry. There’s nothing like working a scary room and yelling at strangers who paid good money to scream like babies when I lurch at them in Klown makeup, my eyes as wide as Jason’s Crystal Lake in “Friday the 13th.” So when I heard about the Summer Monster Bash at Scream Hollow, just south of Bastrop, Texas, I was in- like one of Jason’s finger knives into young flesh. I also don’t like doing things alone, so I rounded up the posse. And Mark’s offer to drive us in his nice thirty-five foot RV didn’t hurt.
Figuring out the best weekend to go, what time to meet, and other necessary plans, was like trying to take a family photo of fifty spiders. Exasperated, I called Mark and he agreed that we should just make plans and let the pieces fall where they may. The next two weeks were spent herding cats.
The players:
Mark, eternally known for his early arrivals (he even won a freaking medal from The 13th Floor management). As one of my fellow elders in the haunt, I think he loves haunted houses as much as I do. He lives 1000 miles from the haunt, figuratively, and his boys often make the drive just to pass through our huge maze of horrors, monsters, and spirits. His youngest son Landon came along. He is eleven.
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| Mark, Seth, Angel, Dee |
Dee came on board next. She and I worked great together during the Valentine’s Day “Love Bites” event. She made the first scare, sending the humans off their guard—“Well, she was scary; now to the next room for another scare.” But before they left the room, I—a vile vampire—leapt from a standing wooden coffin in the corner. I don’t know when I’ve birthed more screams in a single night.
Derek is a brassy fellow with a flashy car and a penchant for running after people with a chainsaw, and was the next to saddle up. I think Derek lives with the deaf. Or maybe he’s always talking over a running chainsaw. Dude. I’m right next to you.
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| Dee, Seth, Angel, Jayce |
Then there is the dynamic duo of spicy chicken enthusiasts, Jayce and Angel, who inspired what we now call “Chickenings:” excursions to Nashville hot chicken places in the North Houston area for meals that last up to nine hours, since Jayce likes to stretch a meal of two tender sandwiches for ever, as if the electric chair was his next stop.
Lest we forget his boy wonder, Angel, who can pair two words into one, like a sinister minister at a wedding ceremony. Angel is quite dependent on others for rides after his brother totaled his car—which is trivial, since his parents never let him drive. At least he doesn’t get in a car without asking permission.
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| Gage |
Rounding out the group was a friend of Mark’s named Seth. He loves horror so much that he came with us after knowing Mark only a week. Brave soul. We spent much of the day trying to convince him to come work with us next season, even though, like Mark, he lives 999 miles away. Figuratively. He’s eager to learn more about it. (As can you, at the website: 13thfloorhouston.com.)
There were other haunt friends we hoped would join but couldn’t. In the end it worked out perfectly, as Mark would need to get us a larger RV, or add a bus to his fleet. For each seat there was a beastly butt bouncing along the Texas highway to hellish adventures on a sultry Saturday afternoon in June. The perfect day for a teen-skinny-dipping-in-the-lake slasher to sit back with a cold one. And then go kill.
The scheme:
Be at 13th Floor at 1PM. We said 1PM because of the rounding up spiders thing. We wanted to leave by 2PM, but if we said two, we’d leave at three. So be there at one. My years as general manager for a haunt in California taught me such tactics. Zombies have little use for time.
Just up the road from Scream Hollow is The Gas Station, used in filming “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.” I’d been there before and knew about their tasty BBQ and decent shop of everything horror. In back, they even have a van identical to the one in the movie.
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| The Gas Station |
I planned a recess of a few hours here, to allow the gang to shop, get a bite to eat, and prepare for an evening in the woods at Scream Hollow. It was a capitol idea, and a true highlight for everyone. Many items were purchased; we depleted their supply of BBQ nachos (much to Dee’s dismay, being the first to order them after they ran out); and spent time socializing with the muscled young man behind the Gas Station counter, who would surely be among the first to die in a horror movie because of his good looks and charm. The pretty always die first.
Since the Scream Hollow gates opened at 7PM, we could hang like bodies on hooks at the gas station until 6:50 (you HAVE seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre, right?). It was literally three miles down the road. Even Leatherface and his chainsaw could sashay to the haunt in the time it would take us to drive there. That man and his weapon can move in concert together like they share a soul.
Everyone asked when we’d return to Houston, which was difficult to pin down. How crowded would the Scream Hollow Monster Bash be? Besides the four haunted houses, there was also a Halloween museum, a band, three bars, two pubs, and a bakery. We might have so much fun they’d have to pry us out. It closed at midnight, according to their web site, so we might get back at 3AM.
Equipped with an on-board fridge and microwave, we were encouraged to bring vittles and libations. I only travel in style, so was first to offer up refreshments. This lively group would surely enjoy my balls. I’ve only had the recipe for a few years. Vanilla wafers, walnuts, honey, and rum combine for tasty rum balls rolled in, for this horror-ific occasion, red sugar crystals. They looked like they were covered in fresh blood.
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| Making my balls |
Also, Mark loves to open and eat all the jam packets on the table when we post-game at Denny’s after a night of terrorizing at the haunt, so I made a special family recipe: Jam Bars, concocted with strawberry jam, to match my bloody balls. I also included a few bags of crisp snacky things, and rounding out with my infamous mocha-coffee-hazelnut-liqueur concoction: Penguin Juice.
Mark brought a wonderful jalapeno dip his mother-in-law crafted, drinks, and sundry other items. Dee engineered jello shots (a few were blue virgins for the boy, so he could feel a part of our party), and brought kolaches, and beer. Derek contributed a bottle of tequila that lived in the freezer when not polluting our minds during the voyage.
Speaking of voyage, the RV cum-land yacht tended to rock and roll like a boat on the high seas. “It’s top-heavy, so she’ll roll like this a lot,” Mark said, sending a chill down my spine each time he drifted slightly in one direction, and then jerking back to center lane, crafting visions of us landing on our side, like a beached whale stinking up the shore.
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| On the road with Mark at the wheel |
It was around 12:30 when the dysfunctional duo decided they couldn’t stand missing out. We arranged to have Jayce pick up Angel, meaning they wouldn’t arrive until 1:15. Groans from the gang caused me to reveal the plan of padding departure by an hour, so all were placated. “Have a kolache and a beer and hold tight.” When we pulled onto FM 1960, it was 1:55PM. I love perfectly integrated itineraries. With this group of slack screws, I deserve a medal for pulling that off.
We rolled merrily down the road munching, sipping, and tonguing jello from shallow plastic cups, while jamming to tunes from Derek the DJ. At one point, I opined that this, a road trip in an RV to a haunted house in the middle of nowhere, had the makings of a perfect horror movie, a-la “The Haunt.” And as we bounced through Bastrop and turned down the road on which were our despicable destinations, the tension flourished like kids to a house giving out full-sized candy bars at Halloween.
“There it is! The Gas Station!” “They don’t even sell gas. Why is this called a gas station.” “It’s where they filmed parts of TX Chainsaw. And they serve BBQ.” “Correction. They don’t just serve BBQ. According to the sign, they slaughter BBQ.” “If only that blue car would move, we could park right there…” And as if by the gods, the blue car’s reverse lights came on and left the perfect place for us to back into.
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| Shopping at the Gas Station |
The group gushed like ghouls to fresh meat over the bench on the front porch, dedicated to the movie’s actors who’ve gone before us, before going inside to do the same over the life sized movie monsters. We picked over shirts, Christmas stockings, action figures, pins, DVDs and bluerays, monster bobble-heads, and the menu of BBQ and sides, akin to werewolves on corpses. We were like kids in a candy store. No. Ghouls in a graveyard. Bats in a belfry. A slasher film killer at summer camp. Soon, everyone had bags of horror memorabilia and were out back under the breezeway, along with 5,000 flies. While the others ate, I retreated to the RV to prepare for the main attraction: the monster bash.
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| Caleb at The Gas Station |
I applied makeup to recreate Whisper’s the Klown: my iconic creation from Dr. Evil’s House of Horrors, back in Guerneville, CA. As GM, there were times I was too beat to don the klown’s persona—so full of energy was he, and quite a workout on my voice. He was named Whispers for his inability to speak anything in decibels under rock concert level. Any time I portrayed Veemana instead, people inevitably asked for Whispers. I felt horrible for letting them down. Now that I’ve lost weight, my old costume pieces were simply too huge—in a strong storm, I’d could end up over the rainbow in the land of Oz and those menacing munchkins.
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| Whisper in the breezeway |
When a new Whispers emerged with the worrisome smile, arms of torn flesh exposing sinewy muscle and bones, and a black and white striped shirt with clown tie, everyone raved. So did Caleb, the besieged upon young man behind the counter, who somehow was still alive.
It was nearly seven and we couldn’t wait to get to the Monster Bash. We turned off the highway and onto a dirt road through thick forestation. I darkly announced, “And they were never seen nor heard from again.” Cue nervous laughter. None of us had been there. It would be the perfect guise to lure the unsuspecting to a murder barn.
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| Welcome to the Monster Bash |
From the front, Scream Hollow appeared as a Renaissance Festival, where skulls replaced Beefeaters and witches instead of wenches. There was a main entrance behind ominous castle walls. The fence up front festooned with banners acclaiming their prominence as one of the top ten haunts in the US, and certainly—perhaps because they were the only one—the best in Bastrop County.
We were directed to park up the hill in a field. The only way to get the behemoth camper bus through the gate was to do a five-point turn behind someone’s home, entering the field at its furthest boundary from the event. Only then could we off-road through the grass and plant ourselves next to a tree and extend the RV slide-outs to start the party.
It was just past seven and we had an hour before their dusk opening. Envious of my alluring good looks, nearly everyone chose to apply makeup. I was the only one who brought any, so Dee and Derek took turns playing makeup artist. We were a ghostly group of ghouls spent on convincing Scream Hollow to allow us to help scare the squeamish spectators into a frenzy, when all was said and done.
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| Derek the makeup artist |
That wouldn’t happen, but we did meet some nice monsters. There were several creepy clowns in garish get ups; a creature by the name of Lu C. Screws, who was all about her crabs, Blazy and Itchy; and some sort of man with the bill of a duck, except his was lumpy. There were clown girls (one called me a Walmart version of a clown) and a woman with the head of a possum and a right arm sporting a dirty dog creature (so happy when that disgusting puppet...thing...kissed me on the cheek). And what haunt wouldn’t be complete without a chainsaw-yielding creature chasing us out the exits?
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| Forecourt of the houses |
We first chose first to analyze the twists and turns of the Asylum, before witnessing the wretchedness of the Witches Coven. Next we entered the Wicked Darkness haunt, aptly named for its complete and utter darkness and all horrors that fester without light. Finally, my favorite, the complete chaos of those crazy clowns in the Clown House. In each house were so many twists and turns that more than once we were unsure of which direction to proceed. We enjoyed the numerous props springing, lunging, thumping and swooping. We lamented that 13th Floor had so many broken mechanical props compared to theirs, lurching towards us from the dark. I delighted in the singular scare that got me all evening: a blast of unexpected compressed air. It was awesome.
After the thrill of the four houses of terror, some of us were ready for the haunted hayride that promised sightings of skinwalkers and mythical creatures that feast on the souls of the living. But Angel wanted to play in the dirt with the duck-billed man for what felt like an hour- the most painful thing we endured up to then. Jayce could have finished a meal before we finally rounded up the spiders to get going, so we could drink, dine, and enjoy the music at the bash.
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| Clown House |
Like our Halfway to Halloween, Scream Hollow was short of actors for the Monster Bash. There were swaths of haunted house deprived of the depraved, seeking to scare the bejesus out of the unsuspecting. Some of the monsters followed us throughout each haunted attraction. We constantly boasted our representing The 13th Floor. Many monsters were happy about this, having been to and enjoyed our haunt. And at the hayride, the ticket taker overheard mention of ‘13th Floor’ as we approached in the snaking line. As the boisterous being of the night that he was, he began to besmirch our beloved little haunt.
“Hey, now. We’re all one big family of monsters who should support each other's haunts. We’ll have none of that,” I said. “Yeah, we work there. We’re here to represent another great Texas haunt,” said another. He changed his tune quickly and we had a nice chat with him about how much we enjoyed our time there. Our Halloween season is so long and cumbersome, we don’t often have the opportunity to explore other fright fests.
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| Birds of a feather |
Finally, a green tractor pulling a trailer lined with bales of hay arrived. We boarded, and went down the country lane, through darkened trees, with a cool wind whipping up under a blanket of lightning filled clouds. It was a cold front. “If it starts raining on us, it’s Angel’s fault for spending half an hour playing in the dirt,” I said.
Drops of rain began to tease us as the host told her tales of terror among the ominous, swaying trees. At one point we came to a stop for a tree that was felled across the road. The driver had to alight and assist a monster in clearing the debris before we could venture forward. The trickle of drops turned to torrential rain before we returned. If the looks I flashed Angel could kill… We hastily said farewell as we joined a group of humans inside the covered safety of a bar.
“Um. You are all over 21, right?” asked the well witch. Standing next to me was Landon, who was all of eleven. Next to him was Angel, all of twenty. I took a step left to hide Landon and ignored Angel’s presence, “Yup. We are all that.”
Across from us was the Halloween museum, purported to be the only one in the US. Nearby were actors in hushed tones implying there was a decision to shut down early due to the storm. “We best go through the museum now, before they close,” I suggested. “Good idea,” came a reply. We dashed across the road and entered the gift shop. We were ushered into a hallway with a very detailed timeline of the history of Halloween. It was fascinating, and I need to return when not being rushed by others not as intensely interested in a thorough read.
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| Vintage decor |
The museum was in three buildings. It covered witches, answering why they wear pointed hats. One room was filled with vintage masks and decor. It was here that one brave soul asked if I was familiar with the more ancient aspects of the holiday. (Don’t clown around with a creepy Klown, if you know what’s good for you; and implying said klown is old is not a careful thing to do.)
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| Do not touch this piano |
There was a room full of Ouija boards and another was filled with medical horrors. Rooms were dedicated to movie monsters, complete with replicas of Frankenstein’s Monster and vampires; and to haunted toys encased behind signs warning, DO NOT OPEN. There was also a piano warning not to be touched, purportedly for bringing ill luck to those who had. Gage couldn’t pass up the chance to test this out, and this began a series of us touching the next person to pass the bad juju along.
Once back in the gift shop, more things were purchased, while others ventured in search of food. After pizza, and teasing Dee that they had BBQ nachos in good supply, there was one last gift shop of the day...that of our host, Scream Hollow. Their pride in their wares placed items out of the reach of my wallet, so I bought nothing, despite being tempted by numerous shirts and magical items. Perhaps after I’ve recovered from Long Covid and can return to the job I love so much…
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| Some of the haunted toys |
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| Whispers and the witch |
The rain ended and the park was closing. We said a final farewell to some of our new friends before traipsing through the damp field towards the RV. We decompressed inside. My injured knee hurt and my feet were so sore that they demanded to be released from their shoe prisons post haste. I removed my wig and zombie arm sleeves. The rain returned and the sky continued to flash with bolts of lightning. Drinks were served, dip was warmed, and I brought my balls out once more for those who enjoy rum balls, and before long, we voted to hit the road. As if I traveled through time in drafting our itinerary, it was midnight. Look at me go.
Getting out of that rain-soaked field in the dark was not as easy as getting into it. With Derek’s head out the window shouting directions, and more backseat drivers than back seats (“You’ll never fit through there!” “Are we stuck in mud?”). We made numerous attempts to escape. At one point the bus lurched left and sprang back to the right, tossing everything from the kitchen counter to the floor; it even sent the coffee maker to its untimely death. Groans and exclamations emanated from the peanut gallery. We had run over a log, and thus developed a new exit strategy: let’s go out the way we came in; not through the exit, but the entrance.
We squeezed through trees, which dug their bony branches along the side of the RV, with sounds of the sort that had me look at Dee while wincing in pain for what it must be doing to his wonderful motor home. Surely he was now regretting having offered it up for our odyssey. We got to re-live the five-point turn in back of that home before leaving through the main gate. Farewell Scream Hollow.
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| I don't know |
As if more bad luck might await our return via Hwy 290 to the north, Mark chose to return to Houston on I-10 to the south. The returning rain chose the same route. There was spectacular lightning streaking through the sky like sexy flashes of naked light. Cards Against Humanity came out while Seth and Angel fell asleep. This sleep was interrupted often with excited laughter and shouts of things such as, penis, vagina, the Jews, finger dicks, same sex ice dancing, and other such things normal people wouldn’t speak out loud. Landon was getting an education.
Before we hit Katy, Texas, Mark had to stop at Buc-ees for the second time that day. I was floored upon inspecting the exterior to find such little damage to the motor coach. Shouldn’t there be huge gashes of missing paint? It sounded so horrible how those trees scraped and groaned across the exterior. Much like Whispers under a full moon—which was hiding above the clouds that very night—but everything looked fine.
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| Penguin and the road beast |
Back on the ten, Mark pointed out where he lived. “Ah. So we’re fifteen hours from the 13th Floor,” we joked. There was crazy talk about stopping by Katy’s house (our fearless entertainment director) to say hello. We took the tollway back to 249, exited FM 1960, and rolled into the parking lot at 13th Floor a quarter after three. I heard no compliments to my covid-weakened mind skills at making plans with near military timing. My German heritage hit the mark.
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| Penguin and Landon |
We gathered our things, said farewell, ran through the rain to our awaiting cars, and by the time I dropped off Angel, got my things inside the house, showered my face paint off (farewell Whispers 2.0) and got in bed, it was 4:30 in the morning. It’s not every day I am up that late. My feet were in pain and my busted knee was murder. My brain was dead. I was so fatigued, I hardly recall driving home.
The following day was for boasting at how epic our adventure had been. Photos were shared, affection for those who couldn’t attend expressed, and new plans laid for further field trips to other locations, such as the Texas Chainsaw Massacre house to the west of Austin. Or even a return to Scream Hollow the next weekend. After all, now that Mark had mastered a perfect escape from the parking field from hell, why not? You’ve been warned. Prepare to read about the 13th Floor field trip part two: Scare Safari of Scourge.
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| Is there someone behind me? |
Special thanks to Savannah Mims for the edit assistance.
Do you know a horror-themed field trip we can take? Leave a comment below.
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