Tentatively, I push through the battered wooden door, past its scarred reddish hue, into the adjacent room. I need to crouch down to squeeze through the tiny doorway. The spring-loaded hinge offers enough resistance to make me question my plan to carry on, to follow this path. As I clear the door, the room beyond is black as a nightmare. Eli, behind me, grabs fistfuls of flannel shirt, terrified to release me, afraid I might disappear. A dim orange light winks twice revealing for an instant, rows of bodies–ghostly white with featureless faces–hanging from meat-hooks. In the following darkness, the image remains. Seared into my brain like a road-map pointing which direction to go. Slowly, we pick our way past the corpses, afraid to touch them, afraid they’ll touch back.
Eight seconds from the Den of Darkness. A haunted house at Field of Screams, “America’s #1 Haunted Attraction” in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.