On a cold, clear Friday night, the Roller Barn premiered the Return of Frightville, a longstanding Oak Harbor haunted house tradition. Due to conflicting actors’ work schedules, I had the opportunity to fill in for the iconic role of Pennywise, the creepy clown from “It,” as well as a few other scary incarnations.
What follows are true stories from Twisted Manor as told by creatures who dwell within.
The Return of Frightville marks 24 years since the haunted house’s start, though it has changed over the years. Since James Croft purchased the Roller Barn in 2019, every dollar the haunted house brings in goes to maintaining it.
“Everything we do is to keep this barn in the community,” Croft said to a room of clowns, mummies, demons and monsters after reciting the rules of the scare and giving a pep talk. “Otherwise, a developer will come along and turn this into apartments.”
Actors retreated to their rooms, instructed to stick to our boundaries and not steal anyone else’s scare. Pennywise lurks in a shadowy corner behind bloody glass, though a secret passageway allowed me to appear at the front of the manor for a spook before hunkering in my lair.
Clutching a plastic knife and lit only by distant strobe, I paced between these two portals, anticipating guests from behind a blood-stained window. “Pop Goes the Weasel” chimed from a giant jack-in-the-box down the hallway over and over and over and over again.
Finally, movement flickered through the crack of the door. I tore it open and jumped.
The man didn’t flinch and instead looked me in the eyes and said, “Bring it.”
It was Roller Barn staff, not a guest, a man all too familiar with the maze’s hidden clowns.
I retreated, practicing how to make my laugh scarier. Not long, and bangs and screams rose from down the hallway. Finally, I thought. Someone was here.
At Twisted Manor, flatulence is a sign of a successful scare. While my Friday remained fart-free, I learned that some groups are easy screamers. Others are harder to crack.
Some guests flinch and bellow at each giant spider, each severed head, each bump in the dark. Some keep their eyes sealed so they cannot be scared at all. Some chat and laugh their way through.
One child responded to my yell by asking if I wanted to buy car insurance.
As I grew in confidence, I stepped out from behind my glass and walked along a group of women. One of them thought I was a member of the party. She leaned my way and said, “This is so good.”
I said calmly, “Thank you.”
She screamed perhaps the loudest of the night, and her group ran down the black-and-white striped hallway.
If time between groups permitted, the monsters of Twisted Manor snuck away from their quarters to scare each other. Maybe the youngest actor of them all, a short clown who called himself Mr. Freaky, got me pretty good, smacking my glass when I thought there was no one in the house.
At break time, a prison escapee with a potato-sack mask with protruding fangs dragged his axe down the hallway. A plague doctor appeared, as did other clowns, Cackles and Notso.
Some peeled their masks and took in deep breaths, chuckling about the best screams of the night. In the break room, actors reapplied makeup, told stories of scares and ate macaroni and cheese.
Then, back at it. Guests awaited.
It takes a few tries to perfect the scare. It comes down to the shape of room, available lighting, perspective of the guest and the type of guest.
It seems when I found my groove and was my utmost ghastly, the night had nearly ended, leaving me itching to return like a junkie. With each rising moon, the monsters of Twisted Manor perfect their personas, sharpen their fangs and hone their spooks for an increasingly macabre experience.
The Return of Frightville is open Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays through Halloween weekend, with automation-only matinees on Saturdays and Sundays and full scares in the evenings. For full hours which vary toward the holiday, visit therollerbarn.com. Tickets range from $15-25 depending on the scare level.