The Antlers haunts Newcastle, Part 2

Authors Note – Last week, I wrote the word “fart” in my column. It was a humor column, and I think the word “fart” is a humorous sounding word. However, a couple of people mentioned that I said the word “fart,” and while they didn’t exactly complain about the word “fart,” they nonetheless made it clear that they thought the word “fart” is not appropriate. So for this column, the word “fart” will not appear. I repeat I will not write the word “fart” at all in this column. I shall use the word “boofer,” which I find appropriate because that is the sound a fart makes. And I do apologize for using the word “fart.” I failed to reflect on the sensitive nature of some people and crossed over the line. I would make some excuse for my behavior, but the truth is I just had a brain fart.
 
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ow that that’s out of the way, I wanted to continue my story about Frightmare, because you only got half of it last week. By the end of this column, I’ll be able to say, as Paul Harvey also said, “Now you know the rest of the story.” He stole that from me years in advance.
When I went through the basement of the Antlers for Frightmare on Oct. 25, I stayed around after my frightening experience. Going through that haunted house was the most horrible, gruesome, disgusting thing I’ve been through in years. I had to be a part of it on Halloween. So I talked with Robert Miller, who heads up the annual event each year. This twisted and sick individual told me that he would love to have me participate. I would have passed on this opportunity except for one reason. The proceeds and food donations go to the food pantry, and I’m all for that.
But I got a surprise on Halloween about what my participation was going to be. Let me explain. No ... that will take too long. Let me sum up. You see, after I went through the haunted house, there was an opportunity to have my picture taken by Tasha Miller. But it’s not just a picture of me. I was able to put my head and arms through a bloody T-shirt and my head through a noose. The whole thing looks like I was a hanging victim. My body also looked cut in half with my legs gone. I was hoping to be there and let people get their pictures taken with me while I took bites out of their necks and arms, which I did do on the 25th for the last few people.
But Miller wanted me to do something disgusting instead. You see, I still don’t like horror movies or books. I used to when I was younger and not as sophisticated as I am today. One of the films I watched and hated was “Texas Chainsaw Massacre.” And the character of Leatherface has to be right at the top of my least favorite roles ever. I mean, he grossed me out about as far as I can be. And what did Miller want me to play? The cannibalistic butcher. It is as close to Leatherface as you can get. The only real difference is that the mask I was going to wear was a stitched-together pig head with dreadlocks. I was elated!
In front of me was a table full of ripped-up and hacked-up body parts. I was decked out in a bloodied white shirt, butcher’s smock and gloves, along with that nightmare of a mask. Now I think the body parts were fake, just props, but I can’t be sure about all of them because I only handled a few. Part of my confusion on this point came from something I found out about later. In the section of the haunted house that was after me, someone sprayed some stuff that was supposed to smell like a rotting corpse. I swear when I caught a whiff of that stuff, I thought, at first, that someone had cut a big fa ... aahh ... boofer. (Whew! That was a close one.) It was only later that I found out what that stench was. It smelled great!
I have no clue how many people went through on Halloween, but I do know that most of them could barely look at me as they tried to scoot past as fast as their legs would carry them, usually covering their face, so they didn’t have to look at me as I moaned and screeched out my anger. It was that, or they were trying to pinch off their noses against that rotting flesh boofer smell.
A couple of sound cues came my way each time. So, I would start by stroking a skull that was in a bucket of plastic body parts and moaning in sadness, I guess over what I had done. As soon as they came into view, I would straighten up and look at them closely. Many of them would freeze at that point, not knowing which way to turn. I would then grab a plastic meat cleaver and slam it down on a fake severed leg. Now plastic doesn’t make much sound. But I also had a 5-pound dumbbell hidden behind the bucket of body parts. I would slam it down at the same time as the meat cleaver hit the leg. It made a loud boom. I then grabbed the leg, held it out to them, right in their faces, and started howling at the top of my lungs. Panic would set in for many people at this time. They would dart past me as fast as possible while I turned my scream into a screech produced by a forced intake of air. I was informed by several of the actors that I was most effective.
During breaks and after the event, Miller and I talked about the process and some future ideas. I can’t believe I’m considering this, because I still hate horror. But I loved acting this part – the worst part of the haunted house when I went through. And yet when asked if I would do it next year, I had to say, “You betcha!” I would be honored to put Newcastle through this terror all over again, at least as long as I don’t have a bad case of the boofers. And now, you know the rest of the story.