My haunted past: I was a teenage monster | Mark J. Price

In the dark corridors of my memory, I hear the screams.

So many screams.

Men, women and children all shrieking in terror.

Gosh, it was awesome.

More: It's Spooky Season: Guide to Northeast Ohio's haunted houses in and around Greater Akron

One of the greatest jobs I ever had was working at the Haunted Schoolhouse in Akron during my freshman year at Kent State. It really was a dream come true because I had grown up with the Halloween attraction.

As a birthday present every October, my mother let me invite friends on haunted excursions. She would pack up her 1972 Chevy Nova with excited kids and take us to three haunted houses in one night. Mom paid for everyone’s admission and then waited in the quiet car for us to return.

The Haunted Schoolhouse was a mandatory stop. With three floors of fright, the former Thomastown School at 1280 Triplett Blvd. was larger than its competitors and featured the scariest monsters and weirdest scenes.

We shouted and jumped as creepy creatures in grotesque masks leaped out from the hidden recesses of the complex. It was a twisted fairyland of fiendish ghouls, dark mazes, strobe lights and fluorescent paint. What a fantastic time!

A Beacon Journal classified ad practically grabbed me by the throat in September 1981: “MONSTERS WANTED.” The Haunted School House mascot — a shrouded skeleton with a bony, outstretched hand — beckoned me to apply in person. “EARN MONEY. HAVE FUN.”

Get paid? Heck, I would have done it for free. I filled out an application and soon received the thrilling news that I had been hired.

But joy turned to despair when the managers assigned me the parking lot. What?!?!? I was going to spend cold, rainy nights directing traffic with an orange-coned flashlight? That’s not why I applied. I was born to be a monster, darn it.

My spirit was crushed, but I decided to go through with it. At least I could say I was a part of the Haunted Schoolhouse.

And then a miracle happened. One of the monsters quit before the opening night and I got promoted to the spooky cast.

It was the eighth season for the haunted house owned by Pat Masturzo and Dan and Cindy Johns. New that year was the Haunted Laboratory, a separate attraction next door in the former Guggenheim Airship Institute.

The competing houses were open every night from Friday, Oct. 2, through Saturday, Oct. 31. The hours in 1981 were 7 to 10 p.m. Sunday through Thursday and 7 to midnight Friday and Saturday. Admission was $3 for the school and $2 for the lab. Today, that would amount to about $10 and $6.65. There was a snack bar, free parking and free babysitting.

The actors gathered in a big room, listened to instructions from the owners and picked up costumes and masks for various scenes. I was named a substitute, meaning my job was to fill in for other monsters when they took breaks.

In the dark passages behind the scenes, I hastily changed outfits and put on rubber masks. I can still smell the baby powder and hot latex.

Then I stepped into nightmarish settings involving graveyards, classrooms, swamps, butcher shops and other grisly tableau.

“ROWWWWWRRR!” I yelled.

Customers jumped, screamed, laughed and ran.

That’s right, people, I’m a monster! Grinning behind the mask, I waited for new victims.

“ROWWWWWRRR!” I repeated.

A group of young men formed a conga line past my strobe-light scene and sang “Your mother, your mother, your mother” to the tune of the Mexican Hat Dance. I have no idea why I remember that.

The Phantom of the Opera

After a few days, I received my big break in show business. The guy who played the Phantom of the Opera needed a breather. His second-floor scene wasn’t too complicated: He operated an electric organ, hit a light switch with his foot and jumped out as customers drew near.

The only problem was that he couldn’t play the instrument. He randomly pounded the keys, creating headache-inducing discord.

I slipped on the purple velour suit and Lon Chaney-style mask and took a seat at the console. All those years of piano lessons with Nicolas Constantinidis had finally paid off.

Eerie music began to waft through the room. I formed spooky-sound chords and sounded out movie themes from “Halloween,” “The Exorcist” and the obscure slasher movie “He Knows You’re Alone.” I even bluffed my way through the intro of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor.

I’ll be the first to admit that I wasn’t the greatest player, but I could fake it better than the other guy. The managers promoted me to full-time phantom.

Customers arrived at my lair after exiting a dark maze. Many assumed I was there for the sole purpose of providing background music. They let their guard down and stopped to listen.

That’s when I stomped on the light switch and leaped out at them.

“ROWWWWWRRR!”

They jumped and screamed. Then I triumphantly returned to the organ to wait for the next people.

There were occupational hazards. My arms were soon covered in bruises from running into wooden railings and getting smacked by scared people. They weren’t supposed to touch the monsters, and we definitely weren’t allowed to touch them, but sometimes they reflexively lashed out in fright.

After about a week, I developed laryngitis. We monsters popped lozenges like candy and sprayed our throats with a soothing analgesic. Even though my speaking voice turned to a whisper, I could still “ROWWWWWRRR!” with the best of them.

Best of all, we were treated to pizza each night. It was fun to commiserate with my fellow monsters over a quick bite in the breakroom. Then we returned to our scenes to wreak more havoc.

In addition to scary music, I occasionally tried other songs, treating my co-workers to snippets of Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” and Kiss’ “Beth.” On the night I turned 18, I played “Happy Birthday to You.”

Screams on Halloween night

As it got closer to Halloween, the Haunted Schoolhouse became a continuous line of customers. I didn’t know that scaring people could be so tiring. When I got home after work, I had recurring dreams that I was waiting in the dark to scare people.

Halloween night was exhausting. So many people, so many screams. It all became a blur. I don’t think I even took a break that night.

“ROWWWWWRRR!” “ROWWWWWRRR!” “ROWWWWWRRR!”

And then it was over. When the screams faded, the Phantom of the Opera took a final bow and turned off the organ. The silence was bittersweet.

At the season-ending banquet, I collected a bonus for not missing any nights. It was great to see the crew one last time.

I intended to return to the Haunted Schoolhouse the following season, but I landed a restaurant job in 1982 and couldn’t take off a month. Instead, I happily returned as a customer, watching another guy wear my mask.

A church organist had succeeded me, and he was so much better.

As the Haunted Schoolhouse celebrates its 50th season this year, I look back with great fondness. I hope today’s monsters are having as much fun as we did in 1981.

It truly was a scream.

“ROWWWWWRRR!”

Mark J. Price can be reached at mprice@thebeaconjournal.com

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This article originally appeared on Akron Beacon Journal: My haunted past: I was a teenage monster | Mark J. Price