LORD BRITISH’S SPOOKHOUSE!
The week before the Eve of All Hallows, I received an unusual piece of mail: an
Invitation to Terror! The invitation was printed in silver on black, and
promised an experience not soon to be forgotten. Never one to miss unique
experiences (or a good scare), I rode the jetstream to Austin, TX to journey
through Lord British’s Origin Spookhouse.
The tales I have to tell of that trip are such that I have chosen to present
them in two parts. The first part (which follows) presents a slightly
fictionalized narrative of my tour of the Spookhouse, intended to give readers a
sense of the experience enjoyed by those with courage enough to brave the
Spookhouse. The second part of my story is a more sober recounting of the
Spookhouse, describing its origins, its creators, and many of the special
effects and stunts used therein.
A JOURNEY INTO TERROR
I joined with others from my party in my approach to the old house known as
Brittania Manor. We numbered four in all, each suitably attired for what
promised to be a daunting excursion. Thunder rumbled from the direction of the
house, though no clouds obscured the stars overhead. I confess: This did not
settle my nerves, though I maintained a calm visage.
As we walked up the path, we were accosted by a nun whose face wore the lines
and haggard look of someone who has seen more of terror and death than should be
viewed in several lifetimes.
She eyed our little party with a critical, though not disfavorable, eye. Then
she recounted the story of the manse just ahead of us. It seems the house was
once a monastery for an order of monks. But the head of the order, a Cardinal
Diego Martinez, delved too deeply into matters best left alone. His probings
opened the way for evil, and the sorceress Minax slew him, claiming the
monastery for her own.
The monks were driven out, and now, their only hope of reclaiming their home is
the retrieval of a certain item: the Gargoyle Talisman. If we were to aid these
noble monks, we would have to penetrate the manse, now warped by evil beyond
recognition, find the Talisman, and bring it forth. We were not told the form of
the talisman, nor where it could be found.
As the nun finished her story, she looked at us again and strove to persuade us
to put this quest aside. “Not for us should you do this,” she urged.
But we were adamant in our resolve. Perhaps if we had known then what we were
to encounter later, our answer might have been different.
The nun bowed her head in acquiescence to our resolve, then turned as a man of
noble visage strode toward us.
“Come this way please,” he motioned, and strode toward the monastery. As we
followed, he introduced himself as Lord British. “I have heard of your quest,
and will guide you to the door.”
As we neared the entryway, Lord British stopped us and asked why we were here.
My companions seemed tongue-tied and muttered something nonsensical about
Halloween and Spookhouses. I spoke up quickly: “We wish to retrieve the talisman
and free the Monastery of evil.”
After gazing in some alarm at my companions, Lord British put his hand on my
shoulder, “Watch over these, your companions. I fear they are not ready for such
trials as they will face inside.” I nodded my head, and my companions wisely
refrained from speaking again.
At the door we met a cloaked monk. Lord British introduced our party to the
monk and told us that this monk had helped betray the order. Before we could
react, Lord British hastened to add that the monk had repented his sin and
wished to redeem himself by helping us in our quest.
The monk held out a small wand, “With this wand I shall open the door before
you. In this way, I hope to expiate my sin.”
So saying, he motioned us back, then stood in front of the door. With a shout
he pointed the wand at the door.
Blue lightning streaked through the door from a face that suddenly appeared
there, striking the monk’s wand. This horrible spark danced and spat for fully
five seconds before the monk dropped to the ground. The acrid smell and wisps of
smoke told his fate to all who stood there aghast at the suddenness of the
thing.
Lord British woke us from our shock and motioned to us. “Come with me, this way
is closed now. I cannot lead you further, but can direct you to the monks who
have taken up residence outside the monastery. Perhaps they know of another way
in.”
Still dazed and mumbling quick prayers for the soul of that poor monk, we
hastened after Lord British. He showed us a path into the woods and then bade us
farewell and good luck.
We followed the path to a nearby fire, where we found a small band of monks
sharing the warmth and listening to the sad tunes of a lute played in minor key.
The lute player spied our party as we entered the small ring of light and
hastened to greet us. “What do you here in these cursed woods so late at night?”
he asked.
We told him of our quest. As with the others, he first tried to persuade us to
abandon our quest. Failing that, he sighed, then motioned forward one of the
monks. “Our sister knows of another way into the monastery. She will guide you
to the door, but no farther.”
We looked down at the small monk who crept toward us. She was stooped in an
odd, unnatural manner, and her voice was a harsh rasp that set our nerves
jangling. “Yes, yes, the small door. I will show it to you. I like it. Heh heh.”
Despite our misgivings, we followed this gnomish monk further into the woods
down a steep rocky path lit only by her feeble lantern. As I stared intently at
my footing, I noticed an unusual number of large white stones strewn about.
Looking closer, I recoiled as I realized that these were bones and bone
fragments heaped in such profusion all around us. What manner of creature would
create such a litter? Best never to find out, I thought.
A horse’s neigh rent the still night air, and our guide held up the lantern.
Out of the mists to our right, a horse skeleton glided toward us, led by a
female apparition. “Wraith!” cried our guide, “Quickly, we must leave these
woods!”
We hastened after our guide as the wraith called out for us, her macabre
attractions tugging at us. As we looked back, an enormous black cat yowled and
leaped out of the woods at us. Seemingly daunted by the size of our party, it
left us alone, but continued to howl as we retreated. Finally, we spied the
house ahead of us.
The monk started cackling as we neared a small door set near one corner of the
house. “The small door, heh, heh. I like the small door. Do you know why?”
Mute, I shook my head, not sure how to respond to this misshapen monk.
“The rats! The rats are biggest and juiciest by the small door. Heh heh heh.”
Shuddering, I was glad when she swung open the door and motioned us in. “I
cannot follow, but you must go on. Others have stayed inside waiting for such as
you to attempt this quest.” With that, the door slammed shut behind us, leaving
us in a short corridor.
I strode purposefully toward the door at the end of the corridor, determined
that the dim light and cobwebs would not bother me. I swung the door open, only
to be confronted by a brick wall. Behind me one of the party members found
another door hidden in the shadows by the entrance. He opened that door and we
plunged through.
Here we found another monk who seemed to know of our quest. He informed us that
we had arrived at the same time as the Cardinal’s death. “Every night his death
is re-created here. Follow me and you will learn of his demise.”
He led us up a spiral staircase, where we witnessed a strange scene. We stood
on a balcony above a candle-lit room obviously used for sorcerous undertakings.
A huge crystal ball stood to one side of an enormous tome. A man dressed in a
cardinal’s red robes stood hunched over this book, reading aloud. His voice
rumbled and ground over the strange words like boulders digesting smaller rocks.
The very sound of these words struck fear into us, though we knew not why.
Suddenly, a beautiful woman strode into the room. So this was Minax! She
entered into a stormy argument with the cardinal, demanding to be shown what he
had discovered. “No!” he cried, “These words should not be read by mortals. They
will unlock a great evil!”
“And a great power, you fool!” the woman shouted back. When her verbal assaults
failed, she drew a long knife from the sleeve of her gown and stabbed the
cardinal. As he slumped to the ground, she stooped over the book and began
chanting the spell we had heard before.
Our guide drew us away from this ghastly scene, “Come, we must go on.”
We followed the monk past a room containing the Cardinal’s remains. Then we
passed a bizarre living wall of human souls. As ethereal voices cried out to us
for help, faces and hands pushed out of the wall’s surface toward us. Our guide
informed us that these were lost souls imprisoned in the wall by the evil Minax,
who took over the monastery after slaying the Cardinal.
He led us past the wall and toward a tower. “There is someone here who may be
able to tell you more of the talisman, but it is dangerous. Do you wish to turn
back?”
Stubbornly we motioned forward. We would see this quest through, whatever our
eventual fate might be.
As we entered the tower, a hideous gray apparition flew overhead. “A gargoyle!”
the monk cried. Fortunately, this creature was satisfied to simply scream and
hound our footsteps as we climbed into the tower.
We reached a platform at the base of a steep stairway, more ladder than stairs,
truthfully. As we looked up, a dark figure spread his cloak and glided down from
the top of the steps toward our party.
“Who dares disturb the rest of Lord Ozymandias? Do you not know that I have not
feasted in many moons? Perhaps I shall feed on _you_!”
With each word, this vampire — for that is what he was — glided ever closer.
With his last words, his pale face nearly grazed my own as he leered, exposing
long white fangs, his body suspended out over us.
“Ah, I sense you are on a quest. What do you seek?”
“The Gargoyle Talisman,” I forced myself to say, more intimidated by this
creature than I would care to admit.
“Yes, I see. I cannot tell you where this thing can be found, but I can tell
you what it is. The Gargoyle Talisman is the smallest finger of a gargoyle,
hacked off his hand while he yet breathes. Perhaps you will find what you seek
in the netherworld.”
We were scarcely comforted by this information, but we hastened back down the
steps, not wishing to tempt Ozymandias’s gruesome appetite any longer. We
followed another narrow corridor through a misty swamp, then to the shore of a
small river.
There our monk told us he must leave us. “I cannot cross this river, you cross
alone. Another monk will aid you on the other side.” He helped us into a small
craft, and pushed us out into misty waters. Too late we realized we were without
paddles, and perforce had to dip our own hands into this ghastly stream to
propel ourselves.
As we knelt over the sides, a dark figure leapt from the waters, nearly
swamping our small boat. Before the creature could attack again, a monk appeared
on the opposite bank, grabbed the rope we threw him, and drew us to shore.
“Quickly, before he returns! We must go,” he urged us as we clambered out of
the boat. Just as the last of us stepped on land, the creature returned.
Fortunately, it did not care to venture from its watery domain, or this
narrative might have ended here.
The monk led us toward a spiral staircase. Just as we approached, a tall
shadowy figure lurched toward us from the shadows. “Hurry, up the stairs!” cried
our guide, as he led the way.
We quickly scurried after him, but the stairs proved to be little sanctuary.
The shadow stretched upward to an unnatural height — twelve feet at least! And
his arms reached through the rails to snatch at our feet and clothes.
Fortunately his grip was weak and fear strengthened our legs and we made good
our escape.
We found ourselves in front of a set of cages with victims chained inside while
guards roamed the tops of cages lashing their inmates. We were forced to make
our way through this nightmarish scene, with the captives grasping at us and
pleading for help. The guards just laughed and motioned us forward.
In the next room, we were rudely shocked to find ourselves confronted with
Minax herself! The beautiful woman we had seen earlier was now transformed, her
face a demonic visage that I can scarcely find words to describe. Her nose had
grown into a hooked beak, her chin protruded sharply, and her brows and
cheekbones were similarly exaggerated. The whole was colored in a sickly green.
But worst of all was her voice.
“I know what you want, you fools,” her words clamored and echoed in our skulls,
grating our nerves and echoing inside us. “You will have to make a sacrifice to
_me_ if you wish to go on. One of you must receive my mark.”
Not knowing fully what I did, I stepped boldly forward. Minax reached out with
her hands and brushed each cheek as I strove not to flinch at her evil touch.
Later, I would discover the full extent of my folly.
Quickly we left Minax’s lair, her laughter echoing in our footsteps. We
proceeded forward to an apothecary who did not have a gargoyle talisman but
offered us other equally unsavory concoctions. We begged off and left hastily.
Our guide led us to a small chapel staffed by nuns. These nuns offered to bless
us if we would undertake a task. “Free our brother Elijah, who came here before
you on the same quest,” they urged us.
We agreed, and the blessing was given. Given, that is, to all but myself. As
they saw the marks left by Minax, the nuns hissed and backed away. “Evil! You
show the mark of Minax! Evil!” I was forbidden the blessing and we were quickly
sent our way.
We emerged on a balcony to behold a horrifying sight. A young woman lay on her
back, a bloated spider straddling her body in a pool of blood. As we approached,
the woman struggled feebly and cried out for help. Our guide shook his head,
though, “Too late for this one.”
We took a set of spiral stairs down. As we descended, another spider, the twin
of the one above, leapt from below. Its leap was twenty feet if it was an inch,
and only good fortune and the sturdy rails of the stairway preserved us from
this unholy creature. We half-fell, half-flew down the stairs and emerged into a
graveyard.
Our guide reminded us that we were to seek the Talisman in the netherworld.
Where else but in a graveyard could we get so close? Motioning us to a small
open crypt, he bade us to search it for what we sought. As we crowded in, a
gargoyle swung down from above the doorway, grasping at our backs.
In panic we scurried back, noting that nothing lay in the crypt. We escaped the
clutches of the gargoyle and looked about for our guide, but found instead
another horrifying apparition: Death!
Death was, if anything, more terrifying in life than he/she/it had been in our
imagination. He stood seven feet tall in a long hooded robe that hid all but his
skeletal hands and face. Red eyes burned into us as he gazed at our little
party, and he swung his great scythe forward.
We scarcely knew what to do, but Death motioned across the graveyard to another
small area, then glared at us again. Refraining from discussing the issue any
further, we hastened off in the direction indicated.
As we crossed the graveyard, a woman’s scream pierced the night air. Suddenly,
yet another gargoyle swooped overhead, grasping at our heads. We ducked, but
continued on. If the gargoyles were trying to stop us, we _must_ have been on
the right path!
As we neared the area we had been directed to, we saw that it was a small
platform built about 50 feet beyond the slope ahead. A small rope bridge crossed
the gap, and a man stood on a small extension of the platform at the end of the
bridge.
Suddenly, our guide reappeared and shouted, “Brother Elijah! He is there, we
must rescue him.” Our guide dashed onto the bridge and we hurried after. But
before we were more than halfway across, the small extension gave way and we
watched in horror as Elijah was hanged right before our eyes. The sickening snap
and protruding tongue told the end of Elijah’s tale for all of us.
From under the bridge, several trolls sprang forth and began to grab at us. We
turned and fled before any could get a grip and drag us off the bridge. Our
guide then pointed toward a small door with writing on it, and we hastened
toward it, glad to be leaving the graveyard.
As we approached the door, I saw that the writing on the door read “Abandon all
hope, ye who enter here.” Despite these words, hope rose in me. These words
hinted at the very netherworld we were supposed to find. Perhaps we were finally
nearing our goal.
The door was smaller than it first appeared, and we were forced to kneel, then
crawl into the passage beyond. This passage led up at a sharp angle, eventually
depositing us into a strange room.
The room was dark momentarily, then lit for the briefest moment, like a
lightning flash in the darkest night. The flashing kept going, in a rapid
pattern. In this quasi-light, we saw that the room was painted in a
black-and-white checkered pattern. And a similarly patterned creature was in the
room with us! We managed to find another exit, and made our way through, only to
find that we had jumped from the proverbial frying pan into the fire. Where we
had previously dealt with flashing light, here there was none at all, only
darkness. We seemed to be in a narrow corridor, and as I was in the lead, I
urged the party forward.
Alas, even the greatest leader can do little in total blackness, and soon I
found myself in a _cul de sac_. I instructed the rearmost to take the lead, and
work back to the last branching. There we would take the other path and hope it
would lead to a better conclusion.
We proceeded in this manner, exchanging leads as we encountered dead ends,
until we finally emerged into a lit area. Here we saw a wooden platform leading
toward yet another rope bridge. We moved ahead, our eyes readjusting to the
light.
A man in strange blue clothing greeted us and motioned us onto the platform. As
we gathered together, the platform gave way under our feet!
Fortunately, we dropped no more than six inches before the supports caught us.
Unfortunately, the rope bridge had broken and fallen into the boiling mud pit
below. The man grabbed a rope dangling from the supports above. “You will have
to swing across with this,” he told us, leering at our reluctance.
We gazed at each other, but none moved forward until I finally grabbed the rope
myself. It turned out to be quite easy, and the distance was no more than
fifteen feet. Seeing my example, the rest of the party swung across quickly and
we proceeded forward through a curtain.
Here a man wearing white robes smeared with blood seemed to be cutting apart a
gargoyle who was lying on a bed. A female assistant was helping him — when not
caught up in bizarre fits of cackling laughter. The room had strange ropes and
lines strung all about, some terminating at one wall, the others attached to
various devices being manipulated by the man.
As we entered the room, the white-robed figure greeted us and asked what we
sought. We told him of our quest for the Gargoyle Talisman and what we had
learned of its nature.
“Well, this gargoyle ain’t exactly breathing, but we can see about that,” he
replied.
So saying, the man turned toward the wall from which came all the lines and
cables. This wall was composed of metal in strange patterns and arrays, studded
with lights and levers in odd positions. The white-robed figure proceeded to
pull levers, switch dials, and turn knobs to the accompaniment of sounds oddly
reminiscent of our encounter with the blue lightening.
Slamming one last lever into place, the man turned toward the gargoyle holding
out two prongs connected to the machinery on the wall. As he touched these prods
to the gargoyle, it twitched and leaped and the whole bed shook. The assistant
clutched at the gargoyle’s feet and cackled horribly. We saw with horror that
the gargoyle’s eyes flashed open, and his mouth gave vent to a scream. Evil
though he be, we thought this unholy resurrection to be more than any creature
deserved!
The mad man, for surely that is what he was, quickly pulled a knife and hacked
at one hand. Then he pulled the prongs back, and the shaking and twitching
subsided. He turned to us and said, “Here is your talisman. Stone now, as all
gargoyle flesh becomes when it is no longer alive.” One of my compatriots took
the petrified digit, too shocked to mumble even perfunctory thanks. Our guide
then hastened us forward.
The next room was a small triangular shaped affair. As we crowded in, the door
slammed shut behind us. Again. How often had this happened in our journey? I
began to wonder if we were not simply pawns being manipulated for the amusement
of the evil Minax. Perhaps our whole quest was a sham, meant only to lead the
gullible forward until they could be brought to some gruesome end.
I shook myself out of this grim reverie and started searching for another way
out. The guide examined the apex of the triangle, the most logical place for an
exit, but said there was no way out. The other walls were solid, and the
entrance was completely blocked. Again and again we searched.
Finally, I shoved the guide to one side and found the exit, right where we
thought it would be. I glared at the guide, but he shrugged and said that it
hadn’t been there when he looked. He then pulled me to one side, “You are
endangering the whole party. You should never have taken Minax’s mark, for now
your soul is forfeit. This mark shines like a beacon to the evil ones ahead. If
your party is to have any chance at all, you must go last.”
I confess, I did not trust this guide very much at this point, but I couldn’t
argue with his logic. Everyone we encountered had focused immediately on my
mark, so it clearly was as obvious as the guide claimed. As we opened the exit,
I took my place at the rear of the line.
This exit was the smallest we had yet encountered, and we were forced to crawl
on hands and knees to enter it. One by one, we crawled in, till at last it was
my turn. I knelt and followed close on the heels of the guide. But as I got
through the door, another in front of me closed.
I turned as quickly as I could in the cramped area, but the door behind me was
already closing. I was trapped! My prison was a small box about three feet wide
and tall, and scarcely longer. I pressed on each door in turn, and searched all
the surfaces for an exit. What an ignominious end, I thought, to die trapped in
this filthy box.
Suddenly my prison lurched into motion. I tumbled from side to side as the box
turned, spun, and moved off in a seemingly random pattern. Finally, it came to a
sudden stop and one of the doors slid open.
I crawled out, but soon wondered if the hellish scene before me was truly
preferable to my little box. I had crawled into a cage hardly larger than my
box. Creatures of unknown aspect crouched on top of the cage and reached through
to clutch at me. The room was lit in dim blood-red light, and a huge demon stood
before me, within a pentagram inscribed on the floor.
Smoke writhed around the feet of the demon, and his visage was horrifying to
behold. Huge horns protruded up from his forehead, and his brows jutted forward
menacingly. His chin and cheekbones were equally exaggerated, and his skin was
colored red, completely down to his waist. His body was tall and strong, and I
could easily believe that he could rend one of our party with his bare hands.
Before I could speak, the rest of my party stumbled into the room! Could I be
saved? Or were they all to share my doom?
The demon spoke then, in a huge booming voice that seemed to echo in dimensions
not seen. Where Minax’s voice had grated and chilled us inside, this voice
seemed to want to smote us down like a giant fist. Strange lights played about
the room, in harmony with this demonic sound.
The demon pointed at me and said, “His soul is mine. Unless you can give me
something to win his freedom.”
My companions turned toward me as the creatures continued to torment me. “No!”
I shouted. “He wants the talisman, don’t give it him.”
They turned back to the demon, who spoke again, “Yes! Give me the talisman and
I will free him. Fail in this, and you condemn him to death and his soul to
damnation.”
I pled with my companions to ignore this offer. I knew that my sacrifice would
yield great good if it could lead to the expulsion of Minax and her evil
minions. But my companions bargained with the demon, first winning my release
from the cage, then the freedom of my soul. I felt the marks disappear from my
flesh, as my companions handed over the talisman.
Realizing it was too late to change their minds, and not trusting a demon to
hold to its word, I cast about desperately for an exit. In one corner, I spied a
darkness in the dim light and made for it. Yes, an exit was there.
I crawled into a round tunnel that spun and tumbled me as I crept ahead. I
found that a forward tumble seemed to neutralize the effect, and I managed to
make it through. My fellow party members soon followed and we found ourselves
once again outside the manor. As I began to remonstrate with my companions about
giving up the talisman, a monk approached us.
“Your friends chose wisely,” he said. “Had they kept the talisman at the price
of your soul, it would have been tainted and unable to be used to expel Minax.
Others will attempt this quest, and someday Brittania Manor _will_ be free.”
I was still frustrated with our failure as we trudged away. But as we walked
down the path, I spied Lord British leading another party of four toward the old
mansion. I murmured a prayer wishing them luck in their quest and my heart rose
at the thought that even Minax must eventually succumb to the stubborn nobility
of those who quest against evil.
BEHIND THE SCENES AT THE SPOOKHOUSE
The proceeding narrative is true in the number and variety of events that
occurred. The characters encountered, and the overall plot and dialogue, are
also real. Most of the special effects occurred in exactly the manner described.
Blue lightning really does smite the sinful monk at the door to Brittania Manor!
This section takes you behind the scenes of the Spookhouse to give you a glimpse
of the effort that went into its creation, and insight into how some of the
effects were performed.
Lord British (aka Richard Garriott, of ULTIMA fame) has been creating
Spookhouses for several years. This Spookhouse is distinguished from past
efforts in several important ways. First, Origin Systems and FCI of Japan
contributed $50,000 to help make this year’s Spookhouse the biggest and most
elaborate yet. Second, to ensure that the tour could be experienced properly,
attendance was restricted, and only those with an invitation were allowed in.
The tour took 40-45 minutes in all, which is several times longer than any
haunted house in my experience. Moreover, the use of a coherent plot and lavish
costumes, make-up, and special effects made the whole experience unique. In many
ways, the tour gave visitors a chance to play in a small ULTIMA-style setting.
As mentioned before, considerable funds were contributed to help put the
Spookhouse together. Lord British donated the use of his own home to the cause,
and the uniqueness and size of Brittania Manor contributed incalculably to the
experience. In addition, at least 70 people gave of their time and energy to
help construct, then run, the Spookhouse. The cast was enormous, and watching
them gather and prepare for a night of haunting was more than a little
reminiscent of a large stage production.
The cast members are all friends or acquaintances of Lord British. Many work at
Origin Systems. Others are members of the Society for Creative Anachronism. All
shared an incredible enthusiasm for the project that sustained them through long
nights (till four in the morning at times) and the workdays that followed.
The effects used in the Spookhouse were dizzying in their variety. The thunder
was a looped tape played through hidden speakers strategically placed about the
manor. Other speakers were hidden in the woods and around the house to produce
the sounds of the horse’s neigh and the woman’s scream, as well as other
effects, such as the moaning voices in the human wall.
Elaborate sound equipment was used to pick up and modulate the voices of Minax
and the Demon. The masks used in the makeup of these characters included hidden
mikes in the chin pieces for this purpose. Various amplification and
reverberation devices created the unique sounds, while hidden speakers around
the room projected the “multi-dimensional” effect.
In the Demon’s chamber, an assistant stands behind a curtain and aims a set of
lasers at whomever the Demon is addressing. This has the effect of making it
look like the Demon’s eyes are casting a red light on each person he faces.
Dry ice and fog machines were used throughout the house, as appropriate. Dry
ice was used primarily in the swamp and the river, while fog machines created
smoke for the drier areas of the house.
A strobe light was used in the checkered room, and the character in there was
dressed in checkered clothes and make-up. The whole effect was startling and
quite unnerving.
The gargoyles and spiders were suspended in rappelling gear to achieve their
swooping and leaping effects. The gargoyles generally were hung on lines and
simply swung across open spaces. The spider gear was somewhat more elaborate.
The spiders were hung at one end of a counter-weighted rope. This weight was
carefully calculated to give the spider a net weight of about five to ten
pounds. This enabled the spiders to leap with their own strength (up to 20 feet
in the air), and to rapidly climb the outside of the spiral stairs to chase the
party. An interesting aspect of this effect is that the spider character must be
of a specific weight and size for it to work properly.
The flying gargoyle in the graveyard was achieved using a suspended line about
100-150 feet long. One end was tied at the third floor balcony, the other about
10 feet up on a hidden platform at the other end of the graveyard. A person in
gargoyle costume wore a harness around his hips. This harness was attached to
one pulley riding the line. The gargoyle reached forward and grabbed two lines
hanging from a second pulley. Then it leaped off the balcony, and “flew” down
the line suspended underneath the pulleys.
As Lord British explained this effect, he offered to show it to me. He quickly
donned the harness, clambered up the ladder, and flew across the graveyard. Not
to be outdone, I took a turn at gargoyle flying myself. The experience was
nearly as exhilarating as the Spookhouse itself, and I felt a pang of envy
toward those who’d been able to perform in this wonderful interactive show.
The horse skeleton was really a horse skeleton, and it glided along using a set
of pulleys and a line, much like the flying gargoyle. The use of clever
underlighting and some extra wisps of lacy cloth enhanced the illusion. And the
bones strewn about were just that (yuck!).
The Creature from the Black Lagoon (the river monster) was a man dressed in a
black skin suit and flippers. The indoor pool was used for the river, with the
bottom painted black to make it less “pool-like.” Draping was hung around the
pool, affording the creature a hiding spot before he sank silently beneath the
surface to pounce on our unsuspecting party.
The incredibly tall grabbing monster was a fairly tall young man on painter’s
stilts with arm extenders. He was dressed in a custom-designed robe that hid
these features. Death was another tall man in a mask with red LEDs for eyes. He
carried a real eight-foot-long scythe that would probably fetch a goodly sum at
an antique shop.
To me, the single most startling effect was the blue lightning. In fact, this
effect scared off many small children (who were not supposed to be there
anyway). While I wasn’t tempted to flee, I will confess to being completely
surprised and stunned at the sight.
The effect uses a Tesla coil operating at a reported 1,000,000 volts. The monk
holds a metal wand that’s wired through his robe to a metal plate in his shoe.
The monk stands on a wire mesh placed approximately four feet from the door. The
monk holds the wand out, and as he presses a trigger, blue lightning springs
from the door to the wand. Not only is this visually spectacular, it is _loud_.
The monk held this spark for nearly 20 seconds for photographers, and it was
stunning.
In addition to the high-tech effects, elaborate makeup and costumes are
employed. Every character associated with the Spookhouse is in costume, and 90%
wear makeup. The Demon’s makeup took over an hour to apply, and others’ makeup
took nearly as long.
A complete script was created for the tour, including a description of effects,
and instructions on dialogue and coping with slow visitors. This script was
modified and adjusted right up to the first night, honed and perfected by
feedback from all involved.
The only sad note to this experience is that it was over too soon, and it’s not
likely to be repeated for a while. Origin says that there will not be a
Spookhouse next year, and they are not sure whether there will be one in 1992.
Looking at the various things done to Lord British’s house, I can understand how
it may take a while to recover and recuperate. Still, if you’re in the vicinity
of Austin, TX as All Hallows Eve approaches, you might find out whether you know
someone who works at Origin Systems. And then sell your soul for an invitation!
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Another file downloaded from: The NIRVANAnet(tm) Seven
& the Temple of the Screaming Electron Taipan Enigma 510/935-5845
Burn This Flag Zardoz 408/363-9766
realitycheck Poindexter Fortran 510/527-1662
Lies Unlimited Mick Freen 801/278-2699
The New Dork Sublime Biffnix 415/864-DORK
The Shrine Rif Raf 206/794-6674
Planet Mirth Simon Jester 510/786-6560
“Raw Data for Raw Nerves”
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