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2017 Haunts


Concerned whispers rapidly transform to fervent screams of accusation as hysteria engulfs a town crumbling under the threat of witchcraft. Friends, neighbors, family members – no one is safe from persecution. Each night brings a new trial followed immediately by an execution, a death which fails to quell the insatiable lust for answers among the townsfolk. Leaving your hundredth trial, you trudge the dimly lit cobblestone streets when you are suddenly flanked by members of the occult and presented with a proposition: protection for defection.


During the late 19th century while the industrial revolution was in full swing, many electrical and medical advances were taking place. At the forefront of this new alchemy was Dr. Victor Frankenstein. As Victor thought of himself as the modern Prometheus he would stop at nothing to achieve the forbidden dark art of raising the dead. The paradox of life and death consumed the doctor and his works reflected this, as he scoured the local cemeteries for fresh cadavers. While his impatience grew to find the perfect specimen, the Dr. became more bold and would scout the local taverns and social events hoping to find the perfect individual or… part of one to further his dark obsession. The end result of the good doctors ambitions turned out to be more sinister than anyone could have imagined.


Many people fantasize of making it big: like being a big star in a glitzy motion picture or a model in a glamour magazine… it is, after all, the stuff dreams are made of. But when a sadistic serial killer lures people into his gruesome lair with promises of wealth and fame – those dreams become a horrific nightmare.

Are you ready for your close up?


Waking up in a daze being dragged down a dimly lit hallway. ‘What’s going on?’ Head pounding with no relief. My ankles released by fiercely strong hands. A loud metal door slams shut behind my disheveled body. I open my swollen eyes to look around, all I see is darkness with no glimmer of hope. My arms are strapped around my beaten torso, unable to be freed. Suddenly, I am propped up by a strange man onto a flimsy wooden chair. I struggle to release my arms to no avail. A spotlight blasts my face. A stern woman stares down at some scattered documents in front of her, she hisses “Misfit?” I lift my head. “Welcome to Scharnhorst Mental Asylum,” she smirks. “You will be admitted within the hour for the murder of 3 people. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” A grin widened across my face. I let out a half laugh as I answered, “Nah!” I took a breath and happily replied, “by the time I’m running this joint,” I paused, looked around the room, widened my smile and continued “it’ll be the Cuckoo’s Nest!”