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The Horrors Of The World Can Wait: I’m Inside A Haunted House

On spooky Halloween shit as "the bootcamp of the psyche"

photo by Mitch Gilliam

Masked men lurk in the shadows of America’s major cities this Halloween season, waiting to jump from corners and frighten adults and children alike with jump scares, terrifying costumes, and threats of damnation. Sadly, I’m not talking about Hex House, the Castle in Muskogee, or even extreme haunts like Blackout. I’m talking about the ICE invasion of American neighborhoods, schools, and workplaces at the behest of Donald Trump. 

Do Americans still crave fright-for-entertainment when real-life ghouls go bump in broad daylight?

Surprisingly, all signs point to yes. Horror movies have risen in popularity over the last decade, with the oft-maligned genre racking up award show accolades and an increasing share of the box office. Gen Z are becoming the Halloween Generation in their own right, with 21% of U.S. adults under 30 claiming the night as their favorite holiday, compared to only 12% of their over-30 ancestors. 

I wanted to see for myself whether Tulsa is in on this surge. I’ve been a horror movie and haunted attraction fanatic since Pre-K. My folks built us a haunted house when I was in first grade; hell, I helped run West Side Madness in 2021. Scary shit is what I love. But what’s it like out there these days in the haunted streets? 

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The hour-and-a–half wait to enter West Tulsa’s Hex House last Friday was testament to the terrifying truth that, indeed, we still love this shit, with plenty of Gen Z ghouls queued up to quiver.1  

While you wait, you’ll encounter a handful of actors interacting with the crowd to various degrees of success. A zombie with heelies and kneepads was living their best jumpscare life, while a guy with a hot dog on a stick and some sort of butterfly unicorn entity roamed the huddled masses and just kinda poked them or stared. A Pumpkinheaded figure on stilts stilted to excellent effect. 

After 90 minutes of groaning through the line and griping about every attempt at spooking me, the actual haunt blew me away. My tight grip on my partner’s hand let me know I was terrified in the first dark corridor: I might be an experienced fright-goer, but that doesn’t stop me from being a massive chicken. Jump scares and gory props abounded in The Experiment, the first of Hex’s three dungeon crawls, but it was the actors’ commitment and deft use of misdirection that kept my blood pumping and my disbelief suspended by reptilian-brained instinct. 

photo via Hex House

I won’t give away any details, but I never expected to hear the intro to Pig Destroyer’s “Prowler In The Yard” used in a haunt. A massive black backlit dragon sent my partner against a wall as I belted out a full-blown Homer Simpson scream. The set design was a perfect mix of soundstage professionalism and amateur ingenuity, with the multimedia assault anchored by passionate performances from every haunter.

I was thankful to find the exit, and finally breathe through embarrassed laughter. The wait was indeed worth it for us, and that entry line—which was even more massive by the time we left—showed that many others were prepared to decide for themselves.  

"Wanna Buy A Haunted House?"

If the line is too daunting, you could always make your own haunted house. During a time of mass poverty and unrest, home haunts sprang up during the Great Depression as a way to corral wayward youth from house to house in neighborhoods to be spooked by simple frights, lest they flip over cars and saw off telephone poles as they did in the infamous “Black Halloween” of 1933. More recently, Christian-themed Hell Houses like “The Nightmare” from Tulsa’s GUTS Church run counter to the satanic scares of their secular counterparts, but they’re ideological descendants of those earliest haunts. 

I asked Jeremie White—Graveyard Shift collaborator, Horror Con organizer, and creator of his own home-based haunted house—why we turn to fake horror when the world abounds with the real deal.

“I think historically when the world is embroiled in conflict like wars and famine, the inclination is to lean into horror and open the valve,” White said. “A little bit of it is escapism.” Concurring that the state of the world is “maybe the worst I’ve seen in my lifetime,” he added that “Wes Craven [creator of Nightmare on Elm Street and Scream] always said that horror is the bootcamp of the psyche. To be forewarned is to be forearmed.” 

One way White and his co-conspirators have forearmed themselves since the last election season is to build a fully functioning haunted attraction in his yard and garage the last two Halloweens. Two years ago, White was doomscrolling through Facebook at work when he saw a full Okie home haunt—planks, drywall, props and all—for sale on Marketplace. He immediately texted his bandmates, Eric Salazar and Patrick Caldwell: “Wanna buy a haunted house?”

Longtime lovers of everything horror, the trio and their friends went wild building their own props and frights for their Labyrinth, which was erected in White’s front yard. Replete with a tentacled toilet monster and open air Satanic altar, the haunt debuted at a Halloween party where a trip through the scary zone was mandatory to hit the dancefloor inside the White residence. 

“People tried to Venmo us at the end of the night, because they loved the haunt so much,” White said. “Of course, we didn’t accept. But it makes you proud to provide something special.” Plus, he said, planning the haunt gives him something to focus on instead of … all this. 

You can only get into White and Co.’s haunt by invitation, but Tulsa boasts a wide array of hay rides, haunted castles, corn mazes, and asylums to take your mind off the true terrors of this timeline. Instead of doomscrolling in your room this Halloween season, beef up your nervous system at one of these spots instead. Hex House is indeed worth your time: just buy the fast pass, show up early, or wear a catheter for the super spooky long-ass line. At least you won’t be experiencing the horrors alone. 

The Pickup is an independent media company doing culture journalism for curious Oklahomans. We write stories for real people, not AI scrapers or search engines. Become a paying subscriber today to read all of our articles, get bonus newsletters and more.


Footnotes

  1. Seriously, though: That wait is brutal. The fast pass upgrade isn’t just worth it; it’s mandatory.Return to content at reference 1

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