How to Be Scared

If the sun is still up and shining incongruously over the 8-foot-tall skeletons atop the entrance to the Humboldt County Fairgrounds — done up for its seasonal shift as the Scaregrounds for Griffin Loch’s Scream-A-Torium — fear not. Well, not yet, anyway. Treat the entrance like the lobby of the movie theater before you settle in for a scary movie: Grab a snack and get in the horror headspace.

The Patron Kitchen truck was on site opening night though it wasn’t easy to focus on one’s carnitas taco with a stone-faced clown perched atop the picnic table. Women who exist in public will recognize the feeling of someone staring from the edge of your peripheral vision or standing silently and weirdly close despite your obvious discomfort. Unlike the outside world, there’s no contact from the roving strangers in makeup and masks — nice! — for which I think most of us would happily put down $10. (The rule goes for visitors, too, so hands to yourself, Uncle Fester.)

To get the most fun out of a visit to any haunted house, you’ve got to know what your preferred level of scare is. No screams, just vibes? You want the $10-$15 grounds-only ticket for a stroll through spooky sets, live bands in the barn and shops (no one on Instagram need know). Gradual steps up include a trio of “haunts” ($20-$40 VIP with Tiki Bar entry). Ask at the gate about access if you have mobility issues, as there are some uneven walking surfaces and that is not the kind of scare you’re looking for. Hear that, cute heels? This is a job for sneakers and flats.

Who are you going with? Hitting a haunted house is a game of suspension of disbelief and choosing your cohort is vital. Hardened cynics should do the socially responsible thing and pair up with fellow unflappable types with whom they can roll their eyes and pretend they absolutely expected that small young woman to pop out like that and that little yelp was 100 percent a laugh. Those of us who don’t want to learn how magic tricks are done and who want to spin in the lightheaded adrenaline rush of a good jump-scare in a controlled environment are better off with our own kind, shouting and laughing like maniacs in the dark until we emerge, giddy with endorphins.

Nor does stoicism or mockery aid or entertain the genuinely frightened. And in the course of strolling a spooky spot, you never know what might suddenly feel like too much (tight spaces, flashing lights, sudden jolts, someone who just looks a little too much like your sleep paralysis demon or your ex, and hey, it’s Humboldt, that could very well be your ex). Fellow lightweights, I absolve you of shame — if it stops being fun, tap out and do something that is.

Note to adults with kids: The regular haunts are definitely too scary for anybody who’s scared of the statues and tableaus along the entry path. Come back for the 3 p.m. Sunday family Spooktaculars that are geared toward little ones — pumpkin patch, bounce house — and you’ll all have a better time. Laugh at a crying kid and they won’t remember how silly it was to be afraid; they’ll just remember you didn’t care.

Back to our goofy good times. The volunteer-staffed Haunted Rail Tour benefiting the Clarke Historical Museum, the Timber Heritage Association and North Coast Repertory Theatre has the rust and ruin of old train cars and sheds to set the mood (“Ghosts on the Tracks,” Oct. 19, 2023). Dead Acres at the Blue Lake Casino Hotel is a haunted maze raising hair and funds for the Arcata Playhouse. (Halloween is truly the season for being bullied by theater kids.) It’s quite a bevy of poisons to pick from. Check this week’s Calendar for dates and times.

The Scream-A-Torium has set up stakes in the barns and outbuildings at the fairgrounds, including a tractor-pulled tram through zombie-infested alleys (sit in the back if you want to avoid getting wet) called, sentimentally, Outbreak. Prepare to shake and rattle as you roll. The Coulrophobia haunt, as the name warns, sends in the clowns. Winding passages and creepy music offer plenty of jumping out points for the red-nosed menaces. It’s a similar setup next door at Arachnophobia, celebrating eight-legged awfulness. And eyes, lots of shining black eyes. Finally, the Killers of the Lost Coast keeps it homicidal, with crime scene décor and serial-killer scares. The claustrophobic route is optional, thank Hannibal.

Are these mostly plywood and fabric-draped corridors dotted with costumed actors who’ve been practicing popping up like evil toasters when you turn the corner? Sure. Did my companion and I spend a good minute deciding whether we were going to pull back a swath of gauze and step through? Indeed. And that’s the fun of a haunted house. The only thing better than scaring yourself two-thirds to death is laughing at yourself once you’re safe and sound.

Jennifer Fumiko Cahill (she/her) is the arts and features editor at the Journal. Reach her at (707) 442-1400, extension 320, or jennifer@northcoastjournal.com. Follow her on Instagram @JFumikoCahill.