Haunted Houses Are Played Out. Make A Haunted Home Instead.

Vampires, zombies, Uncle Al playing dead in the garage… again? The haunted house had a good run, but now it’s time for an alternative: the haunted home. With the right touch, it can be much more frightening. You may already have the supplies.

 

First, set the mood on your front porch. You don’t need revving chainsaws or the flaming grins of jack o’lanterns to instill fear. In a haunted home, you can achieve the same effect by mounting a sign next to the door saying “Live. Laugh. Love.” Lavender background and cursive are optimal.

 

Crossing the threshold after that will take bravery. To those who have it, encourage the use of the shoe rack below the Glade Plug-In in the foyer, where in years past, Frankenstein would push his way out of the closet, forcing visitors to retreat into the living room. That can now be done with a powder blue canvas on the wall: “Today Is a Good Day to Have a Good Day.”

 

In the living room, keep your company on edge. Focus their attention first on the mantle. There, illuminated by two equidistant spotlights, place a polished, mahogany command: “Gather.” That’s not all. Over the Ethan Allen sectional, display this gold-trimmed invocation: “Bless This Nest.” Take notes, Freddy Krueger.

 

Your goal in the kitchen is to triangulate the terror. Last Halloween, cackling witches offered guests a ladle of their steaming brew, chopped off digits and all. Child’s play. Instead, leave on the marble counter—beside the decorative hand towels—a mug with this warning: “Don’t Talk to Me Until I’ve Had My Coffee.” Then, open up the cabinet above to reveal “It’s Wine O’Clock Somewhere.”

 

Once the screams have subsided, hit them again. No longer are you a bloody-aproned chef serving a shrieking head on a silver platter. No, the haunted home deals in the quiet kind of horror. Therefore, bolt to the near wall a cast-iron, all-caps noun: “FOOD.”

 

For those who can see through the tears, the next sight could be their last. At your direction, they will whirl around to endure this italic manifesto: “In This House We Dance in the Kitchen, We Say Please, Thank You and I’m Sorry, We Laugh Like Crazy, We Sing Out Loud, and We Never Give Up.” Don’t be surprised if someone calls the authorities.

 

From here, lead the sniffling bunch into the finished basement to the washer and dryer. This year, no headless figure will pop out from behind them, squirting blood from their jugular. Instead, hang on the wall above the anti-wrinkle dryer sheets this beveled-edged declaration: “A Smile Is the Prettiest Thing You Can Wear.” Jason Voorhees looks like a clown by comparison.

For the finale, bring your guests back to the foyer. They may think the tour’s over, and the coconut oil-infused Kleenex you provided will no longer be needed—until they see you reach for the cord that pulls back the curtain on a piece of decor that chills to the bone. This encapsulates the whole experience, so make sure the dimmer-controlled chandelier is at maximum brightness. When all is ready, unveil atop the doorframe a rustic plank that simply says, “Home.” Guests will look at this like how Wendy Torrance looked at “REDRUM.”

 

And that’s that. Survivors of your haunted home, hysterical after seeing you label the place where you live—and, apparently, laugh and love—will burst out the door and flee through the leaves, down the driveway, past the arriving cops and health inspector, into the street and up your neighbor’s walkway. There, shoeless and a shell of their former selves, they will pound on the door and plead, pay, do whatever it takes to find refuge in their cozy, calming, blissful monster-filled haunted house.