Fear is an instinctive, innate biological response that's kept humans safe for many millennia. In today's world though, many of the things we once feared — disease, darkness, delirium — are less deadly and therefore, less scary.
As people look to experience the adrenaline rush that true fear brings, places like Scarywood Haunted Nights have become an annual hub for horrors beyond comprehension: zombies, killer clowns (not from outer space), cannibals and pig-human hybrids.
"Anything that isn't natural to people helps bring that scare factor," says Scarywood director Jordan Carter, who also oversees marketing and entertainment at the North Idaho theme park. "We basically try to confuse the senses, we want there to be so many different senses that it becomes hard to tell what's real."
There's a lot that goes into leaving visitors' senses in complete disarray, he explains. Much of the park is covered in fake fog to obscure guests' vision. For this year's newest haunted attraction, The Swine, Carter's team attached thousands of dried corn stalks to park fencing to create a corn maze. The park also pumps smells into the air. In Clowntown, for example, cotton candy scents elevate the creepy circus vibe.
It's details like these that have kept folks coming back to Scarywood for the last 15 years. Each year the haunted park sees more than 70,000 visitors in just 15 nights, Carter says.
To better understand this frightful phenomenon, I decided to peek behind the scenes of Scarywood during its only trial run before opening to the public last Friday, Sept. 27. Without revealing too much of the murderous magic, here's what my night looked like.
The terror and despair begins early in my Scarywood journey. I'm scheduled to arrive at the park by 5 pm on Sept. 21, but I can't find parking in the guest lot. I panic and pull into an open lot so I'm not late. There are cannibals and clowns walking around, so at least I know I'm in the right place. (Sorry to whoever's parking spot I stole for the night.)
To go truly behind the scenes, I decide it would be best to experience what a "scare actor" goes through. At least in appearance that is, since I didn't have any Scare School (the boot-camp-style training where actors learn how to terrify guests) credentials.
I meet up with Carter during one of his only free moments of the night to determine what type of monster I'll become. My first choice is to don a ghillie suit and become a bush. It seems easy and I secretly want to emulate my sister, who dressed up as a tree for Halloween one year, but that pitch is shot down.
Instead, I decide to be a zombie. I've watched a season or two of The Walking Dead, so I'm confident of my ability to portray the undead.
The line for makeup is intimidating and at least 50 people long, but Carter says that's common. Each year, there are close to 300 scare actors who rely on a very small team of makeup artists — usually just five or six people — to bring the characters to life.
When I finally sit down to get zombified, I'm in the hands of Savanna Shafer, who's been a makeup artist at Scarywood for nearly a decade. She uses small sponges to apply an alcohol-based face paint. It irritates my nose and burns my eyes, but she says it's necessary pain, since gentler, oil-based paints won't last the whole night.
It only takes Shafer about 10 minutes to finish most characters' makeup. Next, fresh-faced monsters don their costumes and wait for the pre-show warmup.
I don't wear a costume, so I only look like a zombie from the neck up. I don't feel spooky at all, but baby cannibal Wucy, played by Jasmine Henry, tells me I "just need a stowy to weally bwing my chawacter to wife."
After some thought, I decide I'm a journalist who died at their desk on deadline, explaining the clean black sweater and slacks I'm wearing. I also choose to keep my name the same, but will respond to just the first syllable grunted in my general direction, too.
Almost as soon as I'm becoming secure in my own creepy character, warm-ups begin. This is when the hundreds of actors, all completely transformed now, gather to stretch their muscles, including their vocal chords. A symphony of shrieks, screams and cackles echo into the night, as folks practice using their diaphragm to safely create bloodcurdling sounds.
Now it's time to descend upon the park. Actors in each scare zone and at all five haunted attractions use off-duty scare staff as guinea pigs to ensure everyone's at their spookiest when the guests arrive.
I leave around 8 pm after doing a test-run of the cannibal-infested haunted attraction, Blood Bayou. Before I depart, though, I have to remove all my makeup — a surprisingly arduous task. Using a makeup-remover spray and at least five baby wipes, it takes about five minutes to get most of it off.
On the hourlong drive home, I realize I'm exhausted. I then remember the rest of the actors are scheduled to be at the park until midnight.
My brief peek behind the curtains may have revealed many of Scarywood's secrets, but my experience is only a fraction of what it takes to bring the park to life... I mean death. ♦
Scarywood Haunted Nights • Sept. 27-Nov. 2; Fri-Sat from 7 pm-midnight, Thu & Sun from 7-11 pm • $51-$72 • Not recommended for kids under 12 • Silverwood Theme Park • 27843 US-95, Athol • scarywoodhaunt.com
