It was a dull Friday evening and I was in my apartment alone, with no established plans for the night. The date was Oct. 9. I assumed that I would be relegated to completing the quickly accumulating workload of assignments and other responsibilities that lay before me. However, the clock rolled around to 6:59 p.m. and I received an unexpected text. “What are you doing tonight dude?” the message read. I immediately perked up from my previously slouched position in my desk chair, relieved that my night was taking a welcome-turn.

“Nothing man, what’s up?” I replied, and then proceeded to wait to hear what my friend had in mind. A few moments later, I received a follow-up text detailing the suggested festivities. Upon reading the text, hesitation set in almost immediately. “Me and a high school friend are going to the haunted harbor at the Queen Mary in Long Beach, it’s $27 dollars haha.” The text read.The hesitation that I spoke of developed rapidly because although I was more than a little enticed at the idea of going out, the words “haunted harbor” raised a red flag in my mind (and my stomach) .To provide some necessary background context, I had never been to a haunted theme park before in my life. I had heard many stories from good friends about how much they enjoyed events such as Hollywood Horror Nights, but I could never be convinced to attend myself due to my frequent rejection of the notion that paying to be scared was a worthwhile investment of my money.

In any case, boredom had overcome my reluctance, and anything to serve as a temporary distraction from the work that I had to do was appealing enough to override my fear. After exchanging a few texts wherein my friend successfully convinced me to tag along, I made my way over to his apartment. We purchased our tickets online and then set out in the direction of Long Beach, stopping to pick up my friend’s old friend on the way. Aside from casual conversation amongst the three of us, a substantial portion of the car ride I was attempting to mentally prepare myself for what was about to happen. I was continually thinking that as long as I was in the right mindset, it would lessen my fear and make the experience more bearable.

Unfortunately this was not a very effective strategy. My friend informed me that there were six mazes at the Queen Mary, and time permitting, we would be going through each one. Once we arrived at our destination, after waiting in a decently sized line, we made it inside the park. Droves of people were wandering everywhere I looked, presumably with the intention of experiencing everything that the Queen Mary had to offer. The area that exists between each maze is commonly referred to as the “Scare Zone” and what that basically entails is that there are costumed actors who roam around, seeking to provide a quick scare to unsuspecting attendees.

Being that I was aware of the nature of the scare zone, my guard was already up prior to even entering a single maze. The first maze that we went into was circus themed, and I’m sure you may have guessed what that implies. Yes, Killer clowns, lots of them. I happen to not be particularly fond of regular clowns, so ones that are dressed as though they just stepped out of a Stephen King film and are trained to act as though they genuinely want to murder you, made it that much harder to confront them. Each maze, despite having different individual themes, was a sporadic blur of adrenaline, claustrophobia, and anxiety. And yet, there was something strangely addicting to conquering each maze, and for the first time, I began to understand the appeal of events like this one. Although short-lived, the heightened adrenaline that is produced from navigating the mazes is a hard feeling to replicate by other means (The most comparable feeling in my mind is riding roller coasters).

Will I be eager to do something again like this next year? That remains to be seen. But what was most important was that I was willing to give it a try this year, and that is what mattered when all is said and done.