Being pushed into a homicidal butcher with a big knife by my friend last year made me wonder whether I wanted to attend the theater department haunted house this year.But I decided I’d take my chances with a different group of friends and hoped that I wasn’t the one who ended up as the shield again.

It just so happens that one of the friends I was going with has a terrible fear of haunted houses, since a Frankenstein once proposed to her in one. This would be her first trip back into the realm of haunted houses.

Our tour guide ended up being Sarah Delia, my friend, and she kindly assured us that only one of the visitors had ended up missing so far. With that we stepped out into the dark starless night. This haunted theater, unlike the many others I’ve been to, had a story behind it – the legend of body snatchers at Castleton. A brilliant idea, at least in my mind and apparently theirs too.

Sarah led us to the back of the FAC, regaling the story of the supposed body snatchers, bypassing the route in the woods with the chainsaw chase because of bad weather.

This was fine by me, because I don’t trust anyone with a chainsaw, especially my step-father, let alone chasing me with one. At the point where we were about to enter the haunted FAC, Frankenstein’s unbride backed out and our trio was down to two semi-rational beings, not including our guide.

I was disappointed, because haunted houses are more fun when at least one person in the group is freaking out. It keeps some comic relief in the situation.

When it comes to haunted houses, I’m not sure what I dislike more: being the first one shoved into an unknown situation, which I was in this case, or the one that the spooks follow close behind.

On second thought, I’m more of a stay-in-the-middle kind of girl, which obviously can’t happen in a group of two.

Once we entered, I also had to find a way to manage taking pictures and getting out alive. Getting out alive is, of course, my first priority, but I wanted some striking pictures none-the-less. I found out that taking pictures while walking by a killer butcher, a different one this time, is not too easy. Since I seem to have bad luck with these butcher knife waving crazies, I decided my time was better spent keeping my eye on the butcher so his knife doesn’t accidentally leave the wall and take out my guts.

Navigating my way through the FAC in light and without being chased is hard enough for me. Then enter into the equation that someone who knows very well that I still am unable to tell my left from my right is screaming at me to go one way or another to escape the hungry cannibals or the leering Jasons.

Needless to say I was lost.

If this was a real haunted theater, I would have been killed a couple of times over, especially since I always turned the wrong way and found myself staring face to face with the exhibit of the room.

I would have waved, but I had the camera in hand so I took their picture instead.

A never fail for any haunted house is chauffeuring us poor victims through hanging sheets where people grab at you (this even though we were assured that no grabbing or touching would occur, but the one who opposed this already left so maybe they decided to go for it anyway) then straight into some kind of blood spattered murder.

When we reached the corridor full of balloons, I knew what was awaiting us as Sarah announced that if we were to pop a balloon, we would disturb what was hiding inside and what ever that was we didn’t want to find out, unless we wanted to be hurt — badly.

So my friend and I shuffled our feet as requested, like our tour guide did likewise at first (then she started trying to stomp one near the end, but she missed – whoops for us).

Once the balloon popping failed, they had to get us somehow so why not have someone come in claiming that an unnamed source is now in the building and we were to be on the lookout? The maniacal serial killer on the loose then jumped the announcer and chased us all the way out the building and pounded at the door trying to get out while our brave guide kept him shut in.

At least this year our tour guide made it out alive luckily; I kind of enjoy having Sarah around, alive and all.

When we made it back safely to the lobby to pick up the scaredy cat of our group, I scrolled through the camera to see if I managed to get at least one usable picture. Though I was sure to take a picture in every room, I found that I only had a couple pictures in all and ones I swore I had taken weren’t there.

Those included the ones I took of the depiction of Penelope, the supposed ghost lurking in Ellis’ bathroom. Who knows maybe Castleton is haunted after all.