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Excited to be at a new haunt
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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
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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
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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
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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
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Also with us was Gage, a fellow Texan who in his past life grew old
in New England, and has yet to lose the accent completely, as it
tends to slip out in conversation. Either that, or he is secretly
possessed by one of the Kennedys. “Chow-dah.”
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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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?
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Special thanks to
Savannah Mims for the edit assistance.
Do you know a
horror-themed field trip we can take? Leave a comment below.
Includes free bookmark and button badge.
Mom wouldn’t be
around for their first anniversary; she passed away of cancer. She
had fought it for several years and kept how serious it was from us.
She had beat it once, and when it came back, we knew she’d do so
again. She was feeling well, looked fantastic, and was always in her
typical good mood. But she knew. She knew that was the last time she
would be with the whole family in this fashion, and she wanted to
soak it all in.
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