My voice is starting to come back. Sunday morning I could just manage squeaks, but now I sound a bit like the Rock Biter from The Neverending Story.
Horror nights is moving along. The first public night was last Friday. Our house was only open for about forty-five minutes before they stopped the line for about twenty minutes. Turns out some guy had brought his 8-year-old son in the house. In one of the rooms the kid had gotten spooked, peed his pants, and then lay on the floor and refused to get up. After a bit they finally coaxed him up where he grabbed his father's leg and pissed again. They had to hold the house down while someone ran and got a mop and bucket. Folks, if you have to feed your kid pills, or if he's just simply a sissy, don't take them to things like this.
I have been enjoying my position. All the other times I worked at Horror Nights I was just behind a little hole and popped out. This is the first time I ever had to stay there in full view. I thought I would hate it, but it's turning out to be pretty fun. I have taken to shouting out nonsense and vaguely lewd comments to the people filing past me. Few examples:
(pause from mad laughter, make eye contact with some dude) Hey. Hey. Hey you. You smell that? That was ME!.
After the pump that has been running the shit-smell has been running for a couple of house, the entire house fills up with the smell of feces. You see people cover their noses and stuff when they come in.
Hey! I left you something in the bathroom. I made it myself!
I say this to tough guys. They either laugh or look pissed.
Why don't you come and give my dolly a little smooch. Oh, I know you just want to. You look like the type.
I say this while smashing my poor cabbage patch doll's face against the metal grate. I am not sure how much longer that doll is going to last. I abuse it pretty bad. Its face is now a crisscross of cuts and slashes.
Hey. You are hanging up here because you like me, aren't you. Why don't you take me home with you? We can spooooon.
I say that to people when the line stops moving and they are stuck in front of me. After I say that a lot of people won't make eye contact with me.
I'm a pretty girl! I'm a prettier girl than YOU!
I yell this at particularly pretty girls that come in the house. One of them turned around and stuck her tongue at me.
And so on.
I was surprised at how much it can take out of you. With me hoping around, capering, dancing little jigs and laughing over and over, when we go out on a break my costume is soaked in sweat. Saturday I woke up with a number of aches and pains. I had planned to do some stuff on Saturday before I went in again that night, but I was so pooped I simply slept most of the day. I did run out and grab some lunch with Alan. We went to 'Cripsers'. The place sucked. For some reason I thought it would be a Sweet Tomatoes clone with a big salad bar I could merrily pile up. Instead it was an overpriced sandwich shop. I ordered a rather simple sandwich, and when it arrived I peered down at it and wondered what the hell I was paying eight bucks for and why it took fifteen minutes to assemble.
Went home, took another little nap, and then it was off to universal again. On Saturday we were supposed to get out at midnight, but for whatever reasons (I think the long lines) we had to stay on an extra shift, so I did not actually get out of there until 2am. A bit of a bummer, but I got to sleep late the next day so it was not that big of a deal. Went to the folk's house for my mom's birthday on Sunday. My uncle told us how he loves Chuck E Cheese and how he likes to go there and find little five year olds walking around with strips of skee-ball tickets and stealing it from them.
No horror nights again until Friday. Then it will be a busy month indeed.
2026 Update
Dialing back to October 2006: Ed's voice croaked, his Cabbage Patch doll was carved up, and his lunch took fifteen minutes to disappoint him.
Send me back to 2006, where a man could be paid to lurk in full view, scream nonsense at strangers, and get away with it because the only recording device was his own blog. These days, every guest is a walking Instagram post; one 'spooooon' line and you're a clip, a hashtag, and a termination notice. There were no waivers, no mandatory break intervals, no sensitivity training—just a grown man shredding a cabbage patch kid and an 8-year-old peeing on the floor while his dad stood there. We didn't know what a trigger warning was, but we also didn't know what liability meant. And look at the economics: eight dollars for a sad sandwich that took fifteen minutes to assemble—my hell is a line at Crispers that never moves. Meanwhile, the uncle stealing skee-ball tickets from five-year-olds was apparently just a funny anecdote. In 2026, someone would have filmed him, followed him to his car, and started a true-crime podcast. The only thing scarier than Horror Nights was how little oversight any of this needed.
“2006 Ed, did you ever think about apologizing to that kid, or at least to the floor he baptized, before you went back to screaming about your dolly? And when you called yourself prettier than the actual pretty girls, did you rehearse that line in the mirror or just let the haunted house air out all your worst instincts?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2006 Ed: Well, Beelzebubba, that’s a fair question, and it deserves a fair answer. Apologize to the kid? Hell, I hope he’s okay, but his dad’s the one who ought to apologize for dragging an eight-year-old into a haunted house full of people hollering nonsense. And the floor? That floor’s seen worse, I guarantee it. They mopped it up, took a break, and we went right back to scaring people. Apologies aren’t really part of the job description when you’re covered in sweat and fake fog. And the mirror thing, no, I don’t rehearse. I just open my mouth and let whatever’s in there come out. The haunted house air does something to you, I swear. It’s like all your worst instincts get a megaphone. Plus, telling a pretty girl she’s not as pretty as me? That’s just comedy. I’m a dude in a scarecrow getup with a slashed-up doll. I’m not winning any beauty contests. But for one night, I’m the prettiest girl in that room. Take that, foul germs.
