It is Halloween of my freshman year of college, and an organization on campus has set up a haunted house in the basement of one of the dorms. Long, thick fabric hanging from the ceiling creates pitch-dark, claustrophobic “halls” that lead suddenly to larger, semi-lit “rooms” where the scares take place. There are three people in each group that goes through the haunted house, single-file.

I am a short, small, quiet, unimposing white woman with no interest in sports. Behind me in line is a VERY tall, VERY buff Black man with his girlfriend, who is also Black and about my height and build. In front of me are three average-build white guys.

As we wait in the vestibule to be let in, Tall Guy approaches me diffidently, with his girlfriend giggling behind him.

Tall Guy: “Hey, I’m really sorry, but I get really scared in these things, but I lost a bet with my girlfriend there, and she said I had to come. Would you mind holding my hand while we go through?”

I manage to keep a smile off my face and agree. We go through, dropping hands each time we get to a “scare room”.

When we are about halfway through, one of the “scare rooms” goes dark, and the creepy, cackling “scarer” tells us to go off to the left. I have trouble hearing her, though, because as soon as the lights go out, Tall Guy starts screaming.

Tall Guy: “Where’s that white chick?! White chick! Where’d you go?! White chick! Please don’t leave me here alone!”

Girlfriend: “Hey, you shut up or I’ll drop your hand!”

Meanwhile, I find his hand, and for the rest of the haunted house, he doesn’t release it even in the “scare rooms”. When we reach the end, he thanks me as his girlfriend teases him.

A few months later, the spring semester begins. I go to a large, upper-level Middle Eastern history class and try to sit in the front row to compensate for my need for new glasses, only to be told that is reserved for football players, ROTC, and their friends. As I try to find a seat in the second or third row, I hear a half-remembered voice.

Tall Guy: “Hey! White chick! Remember me from Halloween?”

Me: “Oh! Hey! Tall Guy! You survived the scare season! Did your girlfriend make you go to any more haunted houses?”

Tall Guy: *Grinning* “Did you call me ‘Tall Guy’? That’s great. My brother’s taller than me. I’ll have to rub that in his face. My name’s [Tall Guy]. Yeah, my girlfriend [Girlfriend] tried to get me to go to one of those haunted corn mazes, but I just wouldn’t. I’ll have to tell her I saw that white chick again, though. I swear, you saved me from a heart attack.”

At this point, most of the other students have arrived, and all but the front row is totally full, with the front row only half-full.

Professor: *Irritatedly* “I guess if you know [Tall Guy], you can sit here.”

Confused, I do so, and Tall Guy and I continue to chat. He tells me he’s a junior on the football team, and I explain that I am a history major and had AP credit for the lower-level history classes. The ROTC students arrive in uniform en masse and fill up the rest of the first row.

Tall Guy asks if I want to join him and his girlfriend for lunch in the main dining hall, and I agree.

Once we get there, I follow him to a small, secluded room with two large tables. I realize from the physiques of the guys sitting there that this is likely the football team.

Tall Guy: “Hey, y’all remember White Chick from Halloween that [Girlfriend] keeps teasing me about? Yeah, this is her, [My Name]. We have Mid East together.

Football Player #1: “Ohhh, dude, with [Professor]? He’s tough. I had him last year. I can memorize dates and stuff easy, but he always wants you to go into like the deep backgrounds and motivations and stuff. Give me facts any day!”

Me: “I’m actually a history major and studied most of what’s on the syllabus in high school, so that’s a relief for me!”

Girlfriend: “I have him in the afternoon, and I’m crap at that kind of thing.”

Football Player #2: “Same with us.”

He gestures to either side of himself at [Football Player #3] and [Football Player #2]’s girlfriend.

Me: “Well, if any of y’all need help, I used to tutor in high school, so I’m pretty good at explaining that kind of stuff. It’s what all my teachers there wanted.”

A nervous talker, I take out the syllabus and proceed to give a mini-lecture about the topic we are due to cover the second day of class.

Tall Guy: “Dude. You know your stuff! You’ll tutor us? Let me call and clear it with Coach! There will have to be like background checks and references and stuff, but you’ll get to come with us on the long away games.”

Me: “Wait, what?”

It turned out that the football teams had dedicated tutors for various subjects, and the history tutor had quit suddenly due to family circumstances.

After a few days and many meetings and calls with my advisor, the head football coach, and my high school teachers, I took a final for the Middle Eastern History class, with that professor glaring at me the whole time. I passed with a 97%.

I was told that I could now tutor the football team for the spring and summer semesters since my references were stellar and I had now passed all the classes the football players were taking that semester. I got a fairly generous salary, travel weekends, and a whole pack of new friends! My dorm room fees for the summer were also waived, as I hadn’t planned to attend that optional semester. I was also moved to an Elizabethan History class that happened during the same time slot — one that was “full” and that I’d wanted to take anyway!

It just goes to show what a friendly demeanor and a lot of serendipity can get you! I still keep up with Tall Guy and his girlfriend, who are married, and Tall Guy went pro football for a few years before deciding to work in a job that would injure him less.

The first time I went through a haunted house, I was in middle school and with a group of my friends. I was pretty nervous because I had never been in one before, which I told my friends. One particular friend promised me that she had a foolproof way to make me not scared.

Cut to the first scare, which was an actor dressed as Freddy Krueger sneaking up on us as soon as we were finished being told the rules. 

Friend: *Turning around and waving* “Hi, Freddy!”

Freddy Krueger: “Hi, kids!” *Waves back*

We did that through the entire haunted house, and I must say, it was a lot less scary after that!

My family and I are at a landmark house in Gettysburg doing a ghost tour.

Guide: “Okay, so we are all aware, the ghosts do love to play with long hair, so ladies, unless you want some spectral attention, you may want to put your hair up in a ponytail. Also, it should be noted that they particularly love curly hair, and often those with curly hair report the most activity.”

At that moment, all eyes on the tour group turn to twelve-year-old me as I have very long hair and am the only one on the tour with curly hair.

Me: “Mom give me a ponytail holder. Now!”

Thankfully, I did not have anyone play with my hair.

I am an actor in a drive-through scare attraction. It’s like a classic haunted house attraction except that people drive instead of walking through. Various scenes play out and the scares get bigger as they reach the climax of the story.

When they first enter, they are given clear instructions: stop at the stop sign in each zone, only proceed when the light turns green, and drive no more than three miles per hour.

Most people can follow these simple instructions. Most.

As with most scare attractions, there is a combination of pre-recorded dialogue, sound effects, and spoken dialogue/scares. It’s important to keep traffic moving but also give cars the green light when it’s safe to move forward. Otherwise, we get cars backed up which hurts everyone’s experience and makes accidents more likely.

[Guest #1] drives into my scene. The track is playing with dialogue from the main protagonist and antagonist, and I’m waiting for my cue. [Guest #1] stares at me for a moment, completely ignoring the dialogue blasting into his car, before loudly saying, “I guess she isn’t going to wave us through,” and speeds off, nearly hitting the car ahead of him.

It’s almost as though I didn’t turn on your green light for a reason!

[Guest #2] stays for the entire scene. The jump scare happens and I, in character, yell at them to “Get outta here!” and hit the green light.

[Guest #2] just sits there. And sits there. Cars are now waiting behind her. She doesn’t even look at me: the green light is right in her face and she’s staring straight ahead. After an agonizing forty-five seconds, she finally remembers that green means go.

[Guest #3] comes rolling in. He and his buddies are having a blast — and not in a good way. They’re chattering so loudly that they nearly drown out the very loud audio track. They don’t stop at the stop sign at all, so I — in character — put my hand up and tell them to stop. They laugh at me and drive off at way more than three miles per hour… missing an entire jump scare and causing a backup.

A variation of these events happens every single night.

It never ceases to amaze me how people will pay up to $100 per car and then ruin their own experience. Or how many people can’t follow simple instructions. I guess they laugh and drive forward when crossing guards tell them to stop, too?

Not to mention the catcalling and heckling. I can’t imagine spending $100 just to harass people who are being paid to entertain you. And hecklers almost always miss out on the jump scares. Their loss!

I work in a haunted house, and I work both ends of the venue when it is slow. I sell tickets and then jump into costume to scare. I am pretty good at my job.

A family of three is going through. The father is jumpy but looks like he is having a good time; the mother and daughter are terrified. I take advantage of one of my favorite spots towards the end to give them a good finishing scare.

I jump out and yell, annnnnddd then the daughter turns 180 and runs face-first into a wall. I take off my mask and radio my buddy to turn the lights all the way on. She is bleeding pretty badly but I can’t tell if her nose is broken.

I escort them out to the lobby, grab the first aid kit, paper towels, instant ice pack, and a cold bottle of water. I start to apologize, but before I can finish, the father goes all bat-s*** on me. He starts off just yelling and poking me in the chest. Then it escalates to, “WHY IS THAT WALL THERE?!” and shoving. The whole time his wife and daughter are telling him to calm down and that she is fine.

Being me, I laugh when he asks why a wall was there and he gets really handsy.

Me: “If your daughter is fine, then you can leave.”

Customer: “No, buddy, I’m gonna kick your a**.”

I clock out then and there and walk out to the parking lot, still dressed as Jason Voorhees. Nothing ends up happening except him yelling at me more, and some guy in the parking lot yelling:

Parking Lot Bystander: “AWW, S***, THIS DUDE’S ABOUT TO FIGHT JASON!”