Cate Roser
When I was 12, I hit a significant milestone, a true coming-of-age moment: going to my first haunted house. It was a dark and stormy night (well, it was just drizzling, but I was in seventh grade and over dramatic about everything, so we’ll just say it was a stormy night). And, it was Friday the 13th of October 2017 (now this is true, no seventh-grade dramatization here). Seriously spooky.
My four friends and I were going through a “scare-ra” (a term I niftily just invented to mean “scary era”). We were inexplicably intrigued with all things scary, things that would give us a fright. For example, rather than throw on a cutesy chick-flick or rom-com at slumber parties, we would scour the horror movie section for something to watch. Consistent with this theme, we decided that it was time for all of us to experience the thrill of a haunted house. And we did not start with anything lowkey or kid-friendly to ease our way in. Instead, we headed straight for the big leagues: the Dent Schoolhouse.
If you’re not from Cincinnati, then hearing “Dent Schoolhouse” probably doesn’t trigger your fight-or-flight instincts like it does for many of the city’s residents. Sweating, rapid heartbeat, and muscle tension are all common responses to hearing this phrase being uttered. It’s rumored to be the scariest in the city. Everyone and their mother has either been to or at least knows about the Dent Schoolhouse. It’s a city staple.
According to the The Dent Schoolhouse website, legend has it that between 1942 and 1955, many students began to go missing from the Dent Public School, and there were complaints from other students about a potent smell that seemed to be coming from the school’s basement. When asked about the smell, the janitor blamed it on the pipes, but when the smell became so foul that students began passing out, local community members stormed the basement and discovered the remains of the children who had disappeared. No one knows what happened to the janitor, but it is believed that the schoolhouse is haunted by his spirit and those of the students.
So, on this dark and stormy Friday the 13th, my friends and I found ourselves waiting in an extremely long queue for the Dent Schoolhouse. Even though we liked scary stuff, that doesn’t mean we handled it well. In fact, we barely even made it into the haunted house because we got so terrified while waiting in line. One of the haunted house actors saw that my friends and I clearly did not belong there and were way in over our heads, so he capitalized on this opportunity to get some big shrieks from us. When we would least expect it, he would pop out of nowhere and jumpscare us. We created quite the scene and drew attention from the crowd. Just to paint a picture for you, it was as though my friend’s and I were Edvard Munch’s “The Scream,” and everyone else in line was a museum-goer who couldn’t stop stealing glances as they made their way through the gallery. We definitely made a statement.
After waiting for about an hour, we finally arrived at the front door of the schoolhouse. Thinking it couldn’t be much worse than the jumpscares from the line, we entered with confidence. But inside, things did not cool down. Just when we thought we had nothing left to scream, we proved ourselves wrong. We were the loudest ones by far, and our screeches probably scared the other visitors more than the haunted house itself did. None of my friends, including me, wanted to lead our little pack through the horrors of the house, so we took turns hiding behind each other. It became our strategy for survival. To be honest, most of it was a blur of screams and fake blood splattered across the walls, but I clearly remember the immense relief we felt when we made it outside into the cool, crisp fall air. It was over!
We walked through a maze of school buses that we thought were merely just design. Little did we know, this portion was the finale of the haunted house. And it’s here where we encountered the star of the show in all of his glory — the notorious janitor. Chainsaw in hand, uniform dripping with blood, he stared directly into our souls. What did my friends and I do? Our fight-or-flight response kicked in and we chose flight. We made a beeline for the exit, and the janitor chased us out of the property, his chainsaw buzzing aggressively.
My friend’s dad was waiting for us at the exit, and asked how it was, but we were too stunned to even respond. He took a photo of us at a designated photo booth area, and the image is forever ingrained in my mind: five girls with wet hair, tense muscles, forced smiles, and dilated pupils. To say we looked like deer caught in headlights would be an understatement. Every year around this time, this photo resurfaces from my camera roll memories, haunting me like the janitor did all those years ago.
We went home and, looking at this iconic yet somewhat embarrassing photo, we couldn’t help but laugh about the entire experience, although deep down, I know we were all still a little spooked. Needless to say, we learned our lesson: we were not equipped for spooky excursions. So to end the night, we changed into our pjs and began making plans for next weekend: Halloween Haunt at Kings Island!