OCTOBER 20, 2009 -- The Kitty Committee is nervously waiting in line, trying not to block the entrance to a new downtown Subway sandwich shop. They are queued up to get tickets for The Haunted Hotel, a gritty, urban and time-tested Halloween attraction.
There are three members of the Kitty Committee, an ad hoc trio of 12-year-old cheerleaders who, as the name of their club clearly implies, dress up like cats and go do scary things. They survived the Haunted Trail in Balboa Park, though two members just looked down at their shoes for the entire one-mile, outdoor scare-a-thon.
The costumed cats are drawing attention while waiting in line. A non-costumed Haunted Hotel employee, whose primary job appears to be making sure the Subway door remains clear, notices club members Chandler and Danielle wringing their hands. They look like miniature (feline) versions of Boston Red Sox fans waiting for Big Papi to hit a homer in the ninth inning of a World Series.
The employee motions to a couple Haunted Hotel actors dressed as garden variety ghouls walking up and down Market Street. “Hey, these ones are scared!” the employee says. “Make sure you take special care of them inside!”
Chandler and Danielle shudder. Francesca, the brave one, looks on with disdain.
Danielle wants to go to Scareventures, two blocks away and allegedly not as scary as Haunted Hotel. Chandler is not against the idea, but Francesca will have none of it. “This is what we planned,” says Francesca the Brave.
Chandler is my daughter, and I’ve seen this every year. First, she pleads to come to a scary attraction. The first was the former Frightmare on Market (below Side Bar, and now the site of Scareventures). I bought tickets and we stood in line, just the two of us. Then she said: “I can’t do it, I can’t do it, let’s go, let’s go…” as we were about to go in. But we do it and are entertained, the only adverse outcome being welts on my arm where she had grabbed me for the duration.
As we approach the Haunted Hotel entrance, the anxiety level of two-thirds of the committee is rising.
“Has anybody ever died in there?” asks Danielle. “And how many chainsaw people will there be?”
I joke: “I heard the chainsaw people might be on strike, so it’s hard to say.”
Only Francesca laughs.
As the tickets are handed over to get in the door, the Kitty Committee scrunches into a tight ball. Their pre-teen feet stop moving forward. I look down. Is fear of the unknown about to win out over the exhilaration of the unexpected?
Darn, I think to myself. I don’t think they give refunds.
About 20 minutes later, the Kitty Committee walks—no, runs—up the steps and out of the Haunted Hotel. For the record, there were two chainsaw people among the highly creative, creepy settings we shuffled through. Chandler and Danielle probably looked up from their shoes a couple times.
Now, here on busy Market Street, on an evening where the temperature allows for short-sleeves but sweat has been built up from nervous energy and clenched muscles, the Kitty Committee is all smiles.
“A lot of those monsters smelled funny,” notes Francesca.
Chandler looks up at me with wide eyes. “Daddy,” she says, “Can we do it again?”
(
The Kitty Committee is nervously waiting in line, trying not to block the entrance to a new downtown Subway sandwich shop. They are queued up to get tickets for The Haunted Hotel, a gritty, urban and time-tested Halloween attraction.
There are three members of the Kitty Committee, an ad hoc trio of 12-year-old cheerleaders who, as the name of their club clearly implies, dress up like cats and go do scary things. They survived the Haunted Trail in Balboa Park, though two members just looked down at their shoes for the entire one-mile, outdoor scare-a-thon.
The costumed cats are drawing attention while waiting in line. A non-costumed Haunted Hotel employee, whose primary job appears to be making sure the Subway door remains clear, notices club members Chandler and Danielle wringing their hands. They look like miniature (feline) versions of Boston Red Sox fans waiting for Big Papi to hit a homer in the ninth inning of a World Series.
The employee motions to a couple Haunted Hotel actors dressed as garden variety ghouls walking up and down Market Street. “Hey, these ones are scared!” the employee says. “Make sure you take special care of them inside!”
Chandler and Danielle shudder. Francesca, the brave one, looks on with disdain.
Danielle wants to go to Scareventures, two blocks away and allegedly not as scary as Haunted Hotel. Chandler is not against the idea, but Francesca will have none of it. “This is what we planned,” says Francesca the Brave.
Chandler is my daughter, and I’ve seen this every year. First, she pleads to come to a scary attraction. The first was the former Frightmare on Market (below Side Bar, and now the site of Scareventures). I bought tickets and we stood in line, just the two of us. Then she said: “I can’t do it, I can’t do it, let’s go, let’s go…” as we were about to go in. But we do it and are entertained, the only adverse outcome being welts on my arm where she had grabbed me for the duration.
As we approach the Haunted Hotel entrance, the anxiety level of two-thirds of the committee is rising.
“Has anybody ever died in there?” asks Danielle. “And how many chainsaw people will there be?”
I joke: “I heard the chainsaw people might be on strike, so it’s hard to say.”
Only Francesca laughs.
As the tickets are handed over to get in the door, the Kitty Committee scrunches into a tight ball. Their pre-teen feet stop moving forward. I look down. Is fear of the unknown about to win out over the exhilaration of the unexpected?
Darn, I think to myself. I don’t think they give refunds.
About 20 minutes later, the Kitty Committee walks—no, runs—up the steps and out of the Haunted Hotel. For the record, there were two chainsaw people among the highly creative, creepy settings we shuffled through. Chandler and Danielle probably looked up from their shoes a couple times.
Now, here on busy Market Street, on an evening where the temperature allows for short-sleeves but sweat has been built up from nervous energy and clenched muscles, the Kitty Committee is all smiles.
“A lot of those monsters smelled funny,” notes Francesca.
Chandler looks up at me with wide eyes. “Daddy,” she says, “Can we do it again?”
(Haunted Hotel is at 424 Market Street and open through October 31. They are closed October 20-21, but open every day of the rest of the month. Doors open at 7 p.m. on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Sundays, and 6 p.m. on Fridays and Saturdays. Tickets are $15, cash only.)
