The last time I stepped inside a haunted house, I was thirteen, and I ended up in tears right in front of my dad — confirming what he had already suspected about his son’s nerves. These days I’m a dad myself, and the only things that really frighten me are my own kids. So I figured a haunted house probably couldn’t make me cry anymore, and I set out to test that theory at the biggest, priciest haunted attraction in town: The Darkness. Its founder, Larry Kirchner, figures he has poured around $10 million into building it. I wanted to find out whether the result was genuine terror or just an expensive snooze.
Like an overhyped bakery with a line out the door, the experience began with a wait outside. The crowd was exactly who you’d picture: pale folks in horror-movie tees, aspiring influencers snapping selfies, and one guy who looked like he hadn’t refreshed his wardrobe in two decades (that was me). Wandering in and out of the queue was a rotting corpse in overalls, growling into people’s ears, clutching a severed head stuffed with coins in one hand and a crackling cattle prod in the other. It set an unsettling tone before I ever got inside.
Once I finally made it through the door, there was another line — but a fun one, like a theme-park queue that wasn’t pretending to be anything but evil. The holding room was dressed up like an ancient temple, with three witches stirring a cauldron in the corner and a giant skeletal demon looming at the front, a dead ringer for the devil from the movie Legend. Lasers, fog, and one very energetic bald performer kept the whole room on edge. Then the lights cut out, the skeleton came alive with a booming, gravelly welcome, and I suddenly realized the “Darkness” in the name might be literal — the idea of being chased around in the dark by strangers started to get to me. And then I was in.
The first few minutes were pure sensory overload. Animatronic monsters everywhere, air cannons and buzzers going off at my feet, costumed killers lunging out of the walls, strobes, pounding music, screaming — and fog, endless fog. After that initial blitz, I got my bearings and switched from panicked scrambling to high alert. I realized I was rushing past everything and bunching up behind the group ahead of me, so their screams were spoiling every surprise. I parked myself beside a wall with a slimy ten-foot head jutting out of it until the people in front were out of earshot, then carried on, determined to get my money’s worth.
Slowing down let me actually take it all in, and the place is legitimately impressive. Most of the attraction is a parade of gory themed rooms and tunnels, each one lasting maybe thirty seconds. There was a greenhouse full of man-eating plants, an ice cave with an abominable snow monster, a chapel of shrieking demon nuns. I lost count of the rooms somewhere around a million, each one stuffed with nightmare fuel. Familiar scenes showed up too — a bedroom straight out of The Exorcist, and a sewer where a spider-like clown munches on a kid in a nod to It. The detail was remarkable, with animatronics far fancier than anything you’d find at a home improvement store (another place that frightens me).
The lifelike robots made it genuinely hard to tell when a real performer was about to leap out. More than once I crept up on what I thought was a person, only to get screamed at from behind instead. The actors were excellent — united in their mission to make you feel like a helpless coward, with real artistry in how they appeared. If you braced for someone behind you, they’d pop out in front; if you watched both ways, they’d drop from the ceiling. One performer got me three times in twenty seconds, and I jumped every single time.
One actor scared me so badly I lost my sense of direction and wandered into what looked like a backstage passage. The same performer, still fully in character as a pumpkin monster with a machete, very politely pointed me back the right way. I thanked him, which felt strange, since he was simultaneously muttering about stabbing me to death.
Some rooms outshone the others — a dazzling chamber where you wade through a waist-high field of green lasers stands out — but none of them were dull. It honestly felt like being dropped into the middle of a horror movie, which was strangely thrilling even for someone who doesn’t love the genre as much as the people who work there clearly do.
After about half an hour of jump scares and surprises too good to spoil, it was over — right on time, honestly. The fear had just about run its course, and I’d even caught myself faking being scared out of politeness to the actors. I exited through the gift shop (somehow also full of fog) and out into a dark alley, buzzing with adrenaline and with a new respect for haunted houses as an art form. I’m not sure whether repeat visits deliver diminishing returns, but I’ll be back to find out. Probably not for the Krampus Christmas version — the holidays are scary enough — but maybe Valentine’s Day?
