Tag: haunted houses

The Best Haunted Thrill-The 290 Haunted House vs. The Theater of Terror

This year, the Fredericksburg area boasted two haunted houses for our Halloween enjoyment. The first and original for the area was Audelia Delacruz’s Haunted House,also know as The 290 Haunted House, which started at her house in Stonewall some years ago, but has been housed in the large white building on 290 East across from Trade Days for at least the last 3 years. The second, Theater of Terror, was hosted by the Freddyburg Youth Theater and the Fredericksburg Theater Company and took place at the Steve W.  Shepherd Theater or in reality the store-room there on the FTC facility grounds.

First let me say that I do not scare easy at these events.  I am more likely to get spooked walking around in my own house, or outside in the pasture in the dark than I am at a Halloween event. My own imagination and fear of animals that might attack, etc. in the dark are more likely to get me to jump. But that being said, I am always looking forward to the event that might scare me. To this end, I was very excited to attend these two events, just to see if they could scare me.

Both houses are put together by a collaboration of adults and teens/children and participation inside is both as well. One has several years experience of putting on a haunted house production, where the other is in its first year, unless I have somehow missed it in past years. If that is the  case please correct me. The latter has years of experience putting on theater productions. Both have the resources available to put on an exceptional production. Both have smoke, strobe lights, and dimly lit rooms. One also had other lights,  flashing or glowing things to add to the effects as well of lots of sound effects. Each also had a bit of narration.

Here is the major difference, props and costumes. One far out did the other. Any guesses on which one you think it was?

In one house, every participant was well costumed and fully make-upped so that they were the character they were playing and could not be easily recognized as themselves. In the other, this was not the case. I readily recognized several of them, though in costume, not nearly as well as the other house, and make up was little to none other than a bit of blood on the hands and maybe face.

One made full use of props and decorations, and created a unique theme for each room of the house, covering a multitude of creepy specters to incite your fears. There were people, scary statues,  and any number of things that left you waiting and wondering, “is it a real person or not and is it going to move and get me when I go by?” The other house had little difference between sets from room to room, and had almost the same theme in each.

One house also made much more use of the space they had available making the experience last longer, the other was considerably shorter. Sadly, in this second house, I was surprised to already be at the end. A literal, “that’s it???,” moment.

Another big difference was price, $5  for the 290 Haunted House verses $12 for the Theater of Terror.

I do give the participants props for all their hard work during the hours of operation  they made a valiant effort to scare their guests.  Even there when you consider one was a house of family and friend participants that are out to have a good time and provide the community some entertainment, and the other a theater arts group with the same goal, perhaps with a bit of fund-raising thrown in,  there was still a night and day difference between the two.  They do all deserve praise for all the before work organizing and setting these houses up, and now tearing them down.

Now before I tell you which was which  I have a question for you.  Think about the two groups,  which group would expect it to be?

The winner for me, this year was Audelia Delacruz’s  290 Haunted House. To answer the question, did it scare me? No it didn’t scare me, even though I was quite impressed with what all they had done and I did quite enjoy going through. It did make me jump and laugh at myself at least once, and it has done that every year. I will be back again next year.

So now to both groups, I can’t wait to see how you raise the bar next year.

 

 

 

 

Day 176-Halloween-The Harpist’s Wife

Happy Halloween! Today I am sharing another one of my ghost stories with you. I wrote this one some years ago as well, but it is all my own.  It was inspired by years of playing in the local cemetery behind my grandmother’s house, with my cousins while I was growing up.  It was published about 3 years ago on  Yahoo Contributor when I was writing for them, before they closed down the site, so there is some chance you may have seen it before. If you have, enjoy it again, if you haven’t, than welcome to the world of:

The Harpist’s Wife

It was a cold, dark, rainy, windy, night with lightning flashing and thunder rumbling loudly, and yet we were still there. We were stupid, foolish teenagers. We knew we shouldn’t be there; it was crazy and dangerous. We knew the stories were true, but we just had to see for ourselves. The legend said that if anyone went out to the cemetery on a night like this, one of them would not return from the Harpist’s grave, yet we still went. We had to know for ourselves. Call it dumb, invincible; know it all teen age pride and morbid, curiosity. We were six, when we went there that night.
Legend was that if anyone ventured into the cemetery on a night just like this one, you would see the Harper, hear him play, and watch as once again, he murders his wife, who smashes his harp in a jealous rage. Because the harp truly was his first love, in his will he left his full estate to the harp’s protection. It was to be enshrined atop his grave, in the most shatter proof glass, held together with thick steel, plated with solid gold. Lights shone upon it from either side, that it might shine like a god of the music world, he perceived it to be. He wanted it there, where he was sure, even in death; he could reach up and play it. And many say he plays it often. Many have heard it, and tell stories of reliving the night he murdered his wife with one of its broken strings, severing her throat. But each time there have been new witnesses to this crime, there has also been a new victim. His wife still tries to escape him, but for this there must be a trade, a soul for a soul. She must possess a mortal in order to flee from him.
So there the six of us were, standing in the stormy, dark night with only the light from the harp and the lightning waiting like lambs to the slaughter at the foot of the Harpist’s grave.
The thing about legends is that sometimes there are parts of them that people know, but are too afraid to speak of, so they only tell what they think will scare others away.
At precisely, 2:13 a.m., the harp began to play, and the harpist appeared at its side, an ordinary looking man, slender with shoulder length dark hair. Soon his lovely wife appeared, a vision of beauty with long flowing red hair, which surprised us, because every recounting of this story described her different, but always beautiful. They both were dressed in the finery of the late 1800’s. We watched as they began to fight. The real harp never moved from its shrine, and its music continued to play, as a vision of it fell to the ground. The Harpist scrambled to protect it, as she chopped it with an ax. Several times he narrowly escaped harm himself, crying in anguish as his precious harp broke into pieces.
She stood back weary and exhausted, dropping the ax to the ground, smiling. The Harpist plucked a long thin, sharp string from among the wreckage, and rose to face her. His hands wound tightly around the ends of the string until they began to bleed. Her smile faded, and she began looking for a place to flee for safety, it was then, they became aware of us watching.
She ran toward us wildly begging for protection, for a place of refuge. We scattered in different directions trying to get out of their path. I ran, my heart pounding, I could hear her footfalls behind me and her voice beseeching me to save her. I screamed that I could not help her because she was already dead. I stumbled over a low headstone, and fell and she fell upon me, and then we were one.
I felt her fear and my own, as she urged me to run, but I had broken my ankle in the fall and could only hobble. I cried for help from the others, but they would not come near because they had seen us become one, and they were afraid, but watched from the shadows.
I stumbled away as quickly as I could, but the Harpist overtook me, and I felt the bite of the string around my neck, cutting into my flesh. I could neither scream nor fend him off, though I tried. He over powered me. I felt my blood flowing down my neck, and my life slipping away.
In my head I heard her voice, “Thank you for setting me free, I am so sorry it had to be you.” Then I felt her fade away, and my world went dark.
When I awoke, the Harpist was once more playing his harp as though nothing had happened. My friends and the traveler were crying and screaming as they ran from the cemetery, leaving me behind. I called to them to wait, but they didn’t seem to hear me. As I started to follow after them, my foot caught on something on the ground. It was then that I knew what she had meant. Below me lay the body that once was mine, on the ground.
As I looked up, the Harpist beckoned to me. “Come my dear wife; let the music of the harp bring you peace, at least for a while.” I tried to walk away, but I found I could not leave the cemetery.
This was the part of the legend, no one would pass along. This was why no one described her the same way twice. Because each time she succeeded in freeing herself, she passed on her legacy to the one who took her place. This I now know, because for now until the next legend seekers came to the cemetery, on a stormy night, I am the Harpist’s wife.