I first arrived at 412 South Hospital Road by accident.  I was lost; looking for another house in another neighborhood.  There is a reason I’ve been called “Wrong Way Roger”.  This accidental meeting between house and human was kismet though.  Nearly six months later, I bought the old farm house that no one seemed to want.

The house sat on nearly three wooded acres; a huge piece of property by Michigan suburban standards.  As my husband at the time went off to the airport for work, I settled in to start the unpacking.  That is when I met Madge.

My daughter was the very first person in our family to meet her.  She was four and saw nothing wrong with playing with the lady who sat on the front step with her.  It meant nothing to my little girl who so whole heartedly left out cakes for fairies at night and thought that mushroom rings might be a portal to new lands, that Madge was a ghost.

In the beginning, I admit, she scared me.  She threw knives on the floor when my husband at that time decided to cook.  She emptied out closetfuls of clothes during the night whilst we slept.  But eventually, I learned that Madge was telling us something.  Sometimes it took me weeks to decipher what it was that she was saying, but in the end I pieced it together.  There were things we should know.  There were rules to living in HER house with HER.

Children were not to be yelled at was the first rule.  She often made noise in other rooms to take me away from the kids when I would scold them.  Her position on this idea changed as the kids grew to be teenagers, I must add.  Second, no men cooking in her kitchen.  She did eventually allow bread making on the holiday, but aside from that, she was slam door, throw knives and all out frighten men who tried to cook.  She also didn’t like drunk men and made it known to several through the years during parties.  Candles would burst with wax and once even the legs of the buffet table collapsed next to a rather drunken man who was getting obnoxious.

As the years passed, Madge grew quieter and I listened harder.  There were times I could hear her whispering to me.  She woke me when teenagers didn’t come home on time if I fell asleep on the couch waiting up.  She played with my dog.  She protected me by locking doors when I needed help.  She was my friend.  And I once was so grateful to her for watching over me and my children that I promised I would protect the home that we grew to love and the friend who lived there with us.

Fast forward seven years from that day.  Since the day of my promise, my life has taken a huge turn.  My marriage fell apart, the small little children who came to Hospital Road no longer wanted to read stories under the apple tree, they wanted to go away to college.  I fought for fourteen months to keep the house and my promise to Madge, but regrettably, I lost it in foreclosure.  When I told Madge we had to leave, that my savings were gone trying to save the house, she did not take it well.  She threw books.  She flung pictures and shattered glass.  I heard her cry and I joined her.  I begged her to come with me.  But somehow, I knew what I was asking was impossible.

It’s been almost two years since I closed the door to the farm house and left with my children.  For this article, I decided to go back and  see if my old friend might talk to me like she had so long ago to me as well as to a select few visitors she came to love.  The following is a transcription of the recording that I took while inside of the house.

412 South Hospital Rd; 5pm, November 2010

I stand outside and take in what nature has done to a 100 year old house in less than 2 years.  The gables are broken, the siding is peeling, paint chipping and the flower beds have weeds that are higher than I am tall.  I fumble with the lock box of the door and go inside.

Ok.  It’s freezing in here.  I thought that the county would keep the heat on so the pipes don’t freeze or maybe the bank would keep it warm enough so the house doesn’t fall into disrepair so quickly but I guess that’s just a rumor.  Ok.  I’m turning on my little phone recorder now.

Mrs. Moore?  Madge?  Are you here?  It’s me, Michele.

I’m standing down here in the music room.  Gosh.  I used to play the piano in this room.  I wonder how many piano lessons I have taught in this room?  Do you remember Madge?

(listen to my footsteps echo on the hardwood oak floors)  Here we are in the dining room.  For twelve years, I served Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Winter Solstice, Easter and countless birthday parties in this room.  At least the old light fixture is still here.  I loved that light.

Oh my gosh.  When did this happen?  Oh Madge.  I’m sorry.  It looks like someone broke out the window to your reading room.  This was your reading room according to some of the old farm wives who are now in their nineties.  It was a huge pantry when I lived here.  It doesn’t look like it has rained in here yet.  Did this just happen?

(there is a huge banging noise in some other room and I gasp)

Crap.  Why did I decide to come alone?  It’s getting dark in here already and (I try the light) there is no electricity.  Soon, I’m going to be walking around here by the light of my cell phone.

This was the kitchen.  This cupboard was my friend Katy’s.  She gave it to me right before she died.  Do you remember that Madge?  You kind of threw a fit when we redid the kitchen.

(The old coffee maker that my ex left falls over in response).

Madge, I’m holding this phone and its recording us.  Is there anything you want to say to me?  Sometimes the recording will hear you even if I can’t.

(I wait to give Madge a chance to respond.  I feel cold but I don’t know if its my imagination or not)

Well, there is the door to the basement, but its way too dark now to go down there.  So much for my career as a ghost buster.  I didn’t even remember my flashlight!  (I laugh nervously)

Now to my favorite room.  This is a huge room.  20by20.  I used it as a library.  I think we had something like 2000 books in here at one point.  It’s hard to believe I’m down to something like 50 of my own books now at my new place.

(I scream!  A huge, old dictionary that I left behind has landed in a cloud of smoke on the floor behind me.)

Madge.  I just came to say that I’m sorry.  I know I let you down.  Please forgive me.  I can tell you are angry.  It feels heavy all around me in here.  It used to be my favorite room and now all I want to do is run out.

The feeling is getting worse.  (I cough)  I gotta get out of here.

.

There were some basic closing sounds but really, I just ran out in a fit of tears.  All night, I told myself that it was just the emotions of seeing the place again.  When I played the recording back to myself the next day, all I heard was one phrase in a whisper that sounded female.  It was when I was in the library, when the heavy feeling was overpowering me.  All she said was, “Mine.  My house!”

I have been thinking about it, and I can only guess that Madge has taken it upon herself to protect the old farm on her own now.  If it was forgiveness that I was looking for, there is none to be given by Madge Moore.  Upon research, Mrs. Moore was a farmer’s wife who lived just down the road from the TB Sanitarium.  Thus, the reason why the road was named Hospital Road.

Mrs. Moore’s husband died young.  Law said that she was a woman and could not own property.  If she wanted to keep the farm, she had to remarry.  She refused.  Instead, she got an education via postal mail, found a loop hole in the law and remained single for the remainder of her life, running the farm with great success.

In true fashion, Mrs. Madge Moore is looking for further loop holes in order to take care of her beloved land in Waterford, Michigan.

Read the rules

One word: Disturbing

A few more words: “Kneel on the X!” yelled someone from behind. I dropped to my knees, my wrists bound and tightened against my back. A burlap sack was slipped over my head. I was nearly blind in the darkness, wearing a pair of ear mufflers. For a while, a good healthy while, all I could hear was my breath.

One of the ear muffs was pulled back and into my ears someone yelled, “Scream!”

I can’t scream.

“Bark like a dog!”

“Arf! Arf!”

I was dragged to the other side of a dark room. My head, covered by the burlap sack, fell back into my assailant. One shoe on, one shoe off, taken away from me back in one of the previous rooms. I was left in a corner, seemingly abandoned as flashes of light trailed through the darkness before me. All I could do was wait. Lay. Breathe with my bound wrists pressing into my back.

This wasn’t a nightmare. This wasn’t a twisted fantasy or a story I made up. This is Vortex Theater‘s haunted house attraction simply called Haunted House. But when I reviewed it last year, the experience had left me feeling a bit silly — a half-assed attempt on a good idea, however the attraction was different this year. It was horror taken to another level of art. It was virtual horror. Real. A patchwork of hyper sex, violence, and sense deprivation while guided into the vortex (if you will) of fear, which never relents upon entrance through each of the rooms.

All of the things you may have heard are true. You walk in alone. You sign a waver. They tell you nothing. This experience is for a different kind of haunted house fanatic. Think of the original Last House on the Left – a film that couldn’t be made today. Imagine entering a home occupied by the victims of depraved killers and their assailants. You are passed, pushed, pulled into several rooms, each one darker and more sinister than the next. Do not look for Halloween decorations or traditional horror film collages. You are in their world and they will let you see what they want you to see.

This was different from the other haunted attractions that I have reviewed because in the end, I was left feeling disturbed by Vortex Theater’s attraction; excited that someone had decided to go the extreme to give their particular audience exactly what they want — safe horror in something like a horror fantasy camp.

Continues through October 31, 2010, 115 W. 27th Street, New York, NY, nychalloweenhauntedhouse.com, No one under 18 will be admitted, $15-30

Last year we walked through Psycho Clan’s Nightmare: Vampires and realized the difference between a haunted house attraction and a haunted house experience. If Timothy Haskell, director of Psycho Clan, has his name attached to a production then expect it to be at least very damn good. After bumping into walls last year, being screamed at by the most warped looking vampires I had yet to imagine, I knew that his work, and the work of those involved, was special. It wasn’t always like that. There have been some misses in the past but this year’s Nightmare edition is a new masterpiece in the thread work of horror experiences — at least the ones you pay for and survive.

So what’s the story, you ask? You enter an insane asylum in which the patients have more control than the spin doctors who are charged with the facility. The narrow rooms and black walls provide a foreboding feeling of danger.

Here are some qualities you can expect from one of Psycho Clan’s productions:

1. Surprise

Shock, in the relative safety inside of a building in NoHo, is thrilling. It’s fun. You are never lulled into a sense of safety in this house but you will be unsure of what to expect next. Some of the rooms include dioramas of violence and lunacy that hadn’t yet been done in New York City. The creators went the distance with this one by engaging the audience and allowing them to interact with their hosts in a sort of game. You are told to stare into the mirror of the “Bloody Mary” room and repeat her name until…well, you know how that is supposed to go.

2. Intelligence

The scares are not all screams, which was a complaint we had last year. This year’s rendition has been enhanced to psychologically screw with the visitor’s heads. Before being turned loose into the darkest part of …Superstitions’ heart, a nurse will ask your name; she’ll write it down, give you a story, and then prods you on to the next room where a caged psychotic will curse someone for the remainder of the trip. The cursed, in this case, me, will be marked and have to endure some special attention. Maybe my only complaint is here…the idea of a cursed guest is excellent, however I think the cast should terrorize this marked person more.

3. Quality Production

Keep it simple, silly. Psycho Clan did not rely on expensive budgets but instead were directed by their talents in craft and creativity. Anyone can replicate a scene from a horror movie but how many create a new horror experience? Consider the scariest films you’ve ever seen. I mean, really, fucked up scary. Just look at the productions of The Exorcist, which mostly took place in a bedroom. Psycho was set in a minimally decorated house. Last House On The Left (the original) realized its psychologically and violent story in the woods. Nightmare: Superstitions utilizes space, trickery, and clever set productions to bolster its fear generator.

4. Brilliant Performances

In Haskell’s latest email, he mentioned that this year’s cast of actors was better than last year’s. As a fan, it is difficult for me to agree because of how convincing both casts have been. I may relent, however in an admission of a point — the challenge to frighten an audience night after night through acting instead of screams and cheap surprises is admirable. The actors do not rely on screams, instead using them as an accent for the chilling portrayals of their characters – they really are acting. They are not just wearing masks, running around, putting on creepy faces to scare you. These people are trained and they are using their training against your bravery. They will most likely win.

5. Trustworthiness

Nightmare is pruned and cared for every year to exact a more terrifying experience each time. The creators opened themselves to suggestions and comments. It shows. One of the complaints regarding endlessly screaming monsters has been addressed. Like last year, there is a story; a theme throughout the entire experience that is simple and satisfying. You really do feel like you’re walking through the residence of a hundred deranged patients under the spell of superstition.

6. Length

Ever feel that your hard earned money was wasted at an overpriced Halloween attraction? A ten minute walkabout in which you find yourself giggling more than shrieking? Me too. The length of Nightmare: Superstitions is appropriate at approximately 35-45 minutes, leaving you very satisfied with the experience.

If you want a true Halloween horror experience, this is about as close as it gets without any bloody messes on your hands.

Continues now through November 6th, NoHo Event Center, 623 Broadway (enter at Mercer Street), New York, NY, hauntedhousenyc.com, $35 at door, $30 online, Students $10 prior to one hour before show

It’s not fair, the preview I mean. When I got to Suzie Wong’s, a low-lit, swanky bar on 27th St. for happy hour, I was ambushed.

“You have a pretty face,” growled a woman with dark circles under eyes; her skin sloughing off like lead paint. A clown, a bloody butcher, a tall monster, lumbered around with two heads…after dodging them for the bar, I ordered a drink and watched these grisly characters interact with their guests. What a fucking cool life this would be if it were real but once you get past the long nails, the axes, the red-stained sledgehammers, you see these actors dressed in their costumes, having as much fun as their guests.

Now of course not everyone will get to experience the mayhem at the bar since this was preview night but this is the theme. Under one dark roof, these B movie degenerates, these horror denizens of nightmare past, they congregate just to scare the shit out of you…and surprise — they do.

After the mayhem at the bar and the permeating smells of make up and latex, we were led to the main attraction across the street. We took the elevator up to the fifth floor. Everyone was crammed inside and smiling nervously and then, ding, the doors opened into a dark corridor, splashed with day-glo renderings of demons and visions of dark dreams; glowing in the dark halls, painted black, we, the guests, were tossed into a disorienting state that led up to a false cronie at the entrance who gave you the rules. They were the standard stuff, nothing unusual and when it was time, you were set loose again, like rats in a maze of fantastic ruin and decay.

Interestingly, the creators of Blood Manor kept their gore house traditional; staying away from an overarching theme so each room was different than the last, which left me unsure of what to expect next. The production value was better than I had ever experienced at their previous editions. The rumor on the street is that this is the most costly haunted house attraction in New York City. Before entering one of their last rooms, we were handed 3D glasses to wear. When we parted through the curtains, three vampiric-looking woman greeted their visitors; one of them screaming from an open coffin. Although definitely not a detraction from the experience, many of the rooms were so well done that I wanted to hang around a little longer to observe all of their creations. It’s a horror fan’s paradise, which indicates the brilliance of naming the attraction Blood Manor. It is their house and you are temporarily privy to all of their distorted and violent fun.

The good news:

1. They get pretty damn close to you. If you’re looking for more of a sense of pending danger, then you’re at the right place. But worry not, they will not touch you, not on purpose at least.
2. The length of the tour is perfect. There are many rooms to explore and lots of details to admire. The room inspired by Texas Chainsaw Massacre is fantastic.
3. The makeup and costumes look pretty convincing.
4. Ice T showed up with his hot wife. It must be good.
5. Location, location, location. There are a lot of good bars and the restaurants in the area to lull your cowardice into submission.

The bad news:

1. They get pretty damn close to you. This could also be due to my visit on press preview night. The actors, knowing that we were there on press night were probably already aware that we had to be sick fucks for being there and were simply giving us what we wanted.
2. Although the price is almost standard, the cost of $35 can still be a bit up there but you definitely get your money’s worth. If you buy your ticket in advance…well, that changes everything (See below)

While you’re there, say hi to Princess Jack. Tell her flash photography sent you.

Continues now through November 6th, 542 W. 27th St., New York, NY, bloodmanor.com, $35 at door, $30 online

They hover over you, grimace and, though you might not know it, breathe over your shoulder. Blood Manor’s tagline? Its residents are crazy, and they are expecting you. Its Web site warns those easily spooked, prone to seizures and under 14 to stay away. Long a fan of all things Halloween and the mayhem the holiday entails, I was intrigued and entered the manor ready to be terrorized.

An elevator ride to the fifth floor and a quick trip to the cashier led to a dark hallway, where we were instructed to proceed in small groups. The five of us huddled together, soon engulfed by darkness. And that’s where things got fuzzy.

Nineteen rooms later, we emerged unscathed after running from chainsaw-wielding creatures, Freddy Krueger and taunts from bloody, tortured women. The rooms are elaborate: each has a different theme, complete with animatronics, costumed actors, flashes of light and, as a friend with a stained white shirt will attest to, blood splatters. Perhaps the most fascinating part of the manor is a series of hallways in 3D, while a roomful of men with flesh suspensions felt a little too authentic.

Now in its fifth year, Blood Manor is the creation of “home haunters” Mike Rodriguez and Jim Faro. The two annually decorated their homes for Halloween, not knowing they lived 2 miles apart: Faro in Floral Park and Rodriguez in Queens Village. After they were introduced, they partnered with event planner Jimmy Lorenzo, who secured the space for the haunted manor.

“Here we are, five years later still going,” said Faro, who spends the rest of the year brainstorming themes and does most of the decorating himself.

Despite the elaborate set design, some rooms evoked more laughter than scares. The third chainsaw-wielder lurking in the shadows wasn’t quite as scary as the first, with one prompting a friend to fall to his knees screaming just for kicks. A room featuring female zombie strippers seemed more gratuitous than terrifying, though my male friends had no complaints. Congested foot traffic, often stalling the transitions between rooms, also took away from the intended feelings of isolation and immediacy. But perhaps the biggest hindrance was the no-touch rule, which assured us the monsters’ physical proximity was all show.

Ultimately that could be why most haunted houses fail to deliver real scares. If a stray hand somehow finds its way to your shoulder, it more often than not belongs to someone you know.

Continues through November 7th, 542 W. 27th St., New York, NY, www.bloodmanor.com, $25-30

By Carlos Detres

[EDITOR'S NOTE 2010: PLEASE GO HERE TO READ OUR REVIEW FOR 2010. IT'S A MUCH RICHER EXPERIENCE.]

Haunted house attractions are big on this year’s lists of things-to-do for Halloween. Vortex Theater Company hatched a plan to continue its fear fest from this past summer’s A Midsummer Nightmare – a clever and seasonally atypical production aimed at those who couldn’t wait until fall to get their haunted house kick. Their latest and most aptly named endeavor, Haunted House, has been getting a lot of word of mouth, partly because it is the only attraction in which you go in alone. Oh yeah, and there’s touching too.

My friends and I sat in Peculier Pub, drinking beer, and taking bets on who would call “safety” while on the creepshow tour of New York City’s most recent addition to the thriving haunted house scene. We had poured through the manifold reviews and decided that a vat of liquid courage was necessary to slip into the mean claws of solitary darkness. I wasn’t expecting art or high-dollar effects but when it is required to sign a waiver before entering the attraction then you begin to intuit trouble.

Once at the Vortex Theater, I stood in a relatively small line of excited revelers and waited until each one disappeared behind a black drape. The first sign of disappointment was evident in the lack of screams despite being behind a pair of giggling girls. Then it was finally my go. I stepped through the drape and was commanded to stand on an ‘x’ then I was offered a shot of whiskey, “Ok, here we go,” I thought. A small cage with albino mice huddled in their nest. One of them yawned. I was handed a face mask to wear, a key chain flashlight, and was given the rules:

1. Stay on the line.
2. Put on your mask
3. Don’t touch the walls.
4. Don’t touch anyone.
5. Stay on the line (this is because I had a hard time doing so right after they turned me loose)

I watched the glowing line on the floor that guided me around the maze of strobe lights and fog, losing my balance a couple times as I reached for the walls. There were a few attempts at scares but mostly, I found myself laughing uncomfortably in the dark. At one point, a bag was put over my head and my hands were strapped behind my back with zipper handcuffs while creepy music played in the background. After a few minutes, I was set free to continue my stumble along the glowing line.

I don’t want to give the rest away but there wasn’t a whole lot that went on. Most of the time I spent at the attraction was in line, leaning against a wall. All of the talk about “safety” and stories I had read of people running off in a panic caused a wonder in me: Did I have the right location?

In spite of the dull experience, I would reiterate their warning that if you’re liable to panic attacks, etc. then this is not for you but mostly this is due to some of the precarious navigation through tight corners, strobe light flashing, and bondage that will occur. If you decide to go, make sure you reserve online in advance or they will not allow entry.

Psycho Clan’s new creation begins with a unique prologue for a haunted house – MoVA – the Museum of Vampyric Artifacts — an exhibit of items used by vampires from the past and sculptures of our favorite bloodsuckers from every culture. The faux exhibit is curated by a fanged tour guide until something terrible happens, leaving it up to the guests to find their way out of a pit of gory and violent despair that is this production’s instant classic: “Nightmare: Vampires”.

Director and creator, Timothy Haskell unleashes his fecund imagination and all that it bears but it should be noted that he has not created your run-of-the-mill haunted house. It is both terrifying and artistic with plenty of rooms on two floors to wipe your bravery with. Haskell, known for his bloody Broadway takes on Roadhouse and  Fatal Attraction, wields, with intelligence, a surrealistic cabal of unsuspecting frights that allure your senses, even if it is only a transmission through the most subtle details.

Gone are the current notions of sexy vampires. Haskell has returned to the origin of vampirism with beasts who belong nowhere near a castle or royal court. These vampires are played by actors who have faithfully ingested their roles and produced convincing portrayals with the sort of viciousness reserved for a more savage era. They are not coy and they are not aristocratic but instead are gruesome and menacing. A recent tour proved so provocative that two people were escorted to the exit only after the strobe lights had created a shift in their perception.

The cost proves to be its only hindrance, however if thirty dollars can be spared, treat yourself to this unique experience. A bar awaits you at the end to drink down that heart rate.