My name is Amy, and Halloween is my religion. Call me a rock n’ roll horror junkie—I crave loud music, dark nights, and the kind of shadows that refuse to stay quiet. All year long I wait for the days to shorten, gearing up for haunted road trips, my annual haunt party, and the next twisted creation clawing its way out of my imagination.
In 2016, I hosted my very first haunt party at Cottonwood Corner Terror House, twisting my once‑ordinary home into something far less welcoming. It started small—handmade props, dim lighting, a sense that something wasn’t quite right—but it didn’t stay that way for long. I was hooked the moment the fear felt real. Potion bottles and spell books gave way to hooded figures lurking in corners, bubbling witch’s cauldrons, crumbling cemetery columns, rusted graveyard fences, swamp jars, unblinking eyeballs, creepy dolls, and yes… decomposing body parts (my sister says “corpsed” isn’t a word, but the dead don’t seem to mind). I’ve since taken things further at Broadway Horror House, a century‑old home where the walls seem to remember everything.
This is where I share how these nightmares are brought to life—and the ones still waiting in the dark—so fellow horror junkies can spread the unease, extend the terror, and make the world just a little more unsettling. If you believe fear is better when it’s shared, you’re exactly where you belong.
