Send in the clowns — & haunted teddy bears & body parts

METZ HILL — At first, nothing seems too spooky about the hallway hidden away behind a red velvet curtain.

Everything is dark, and the smell of artificial smoke fills the air. A hush has fallen over the entryway, but shrill screams and moans of agony can still be heard from every direction.

With the flash of a strobe light, everything is revealed. The walls and ceiling of the narrow hallway are covered with hundreds upon hundreds of stuffed teddy bears. Each flash of light exposes the plush, colorful wallpaper.

The cuddly critters don’t invoke a sense of comfort nor calm. Instead, their presence in a dark hallway send chills down the spines of visitors.

The owner of the haunted barn, Pete Hayes, came across the bags of bears being sold by someone who lived on the East Coast. Hayes figured he could use them for decorations. The bears, though, have an eerie story of their own.

The stuffed animals were given as gifts to children who were terribly ill and admitted to a hospital. And, as the story goes, when the children died, their souls were trapped inside of the bears they had touched. Now, those bears are hanging from the walls of the Metz Hill Haunted Barn.

This is the first year the haunted barn has been open to the public; in the past it was used for private Halloween parties, Hayes said. But as the number of spooky rooms increased and the encouragement to go public mounted, Hayes decided it was time to share the gift of fright with the community.

“Plus, it’s fun to scare the hell out of people,” Hayes said.

Hayes and his pal, Ken — who wanted to remain behind the scenes and wouldn’t disclose his last name — started dreaming up ways to make the former horse motel into the scariest place in Douglas County.

Rather than fill the barn with 3,500 square feet of blood and gore, the duo opted for psychological scares. So far it seems to be working.

“We’ve had three confirmed peed pants and 17 people not make it through,” Ken said.

In the first two weeks the house was open, at least 50 cell phones had been lost in the 13 rooms and along the 16 corridors by people who were trying to use their phones’ screens as flashlights, Ken said.

More than 50 volunteers — some as young as 7 — are needed to run the show each night. The actors put on makeup, masks and costumes and transform from Douglas County residents into wolves, clowns and doctors who terrorize their visitors.

“I was told to bring extra panties because I might wet mine,” 16-year-old Jessica Case said before entering the haunted barn.

The Green teen and three of her friends prepared themselves for the worst before entering the barn on a recent Friday night, and still came out feeling a little jumpy (but with dry pants).

“I’m sleeping in my mom’s bed tonight,” 16-year-old Courtney Walton said.

Before entering the barn, the teens said they were most afraid of clowns, and once inside, their worst nightmares came true. The clown sitting alone in a room trying to find a playmate incited the shrillest shrieks from the four teens.

For the crew running the haunted barn, though, those shrieks are like music to their ears.

“We live off those screams,” Ken said. “... It’s like applause for actors.”

And so far, the creepy characters inside the barn have received a standing ovation — the screams from visitors to the barn can be heard from as far away as the parking lot.

When arriving at the barn, Hayes warns visitors to not be fooled by the cheesy plastic pumpkins and giant inflated spider that mark the entrance to the Metz Hill Haunted Barn. Because what waits inside is no laughing matter.

Elks Lodge Haunted House

The building has history.

The shadows and footsteps from an invisible source are proof, if you ask Wil Evenich.

At certain times of the day, while relaxing in the Roseburg Elks Lodge, he swears he’s heard footsteps upstairs.

“We have some residents,” he said in a deadpan voice.

And the basement is another story.

Evenich led the way to what he called “the real haunted house.”

Walking down the orange carpeted stairs into the dark basement to showcase its fearsome features, the Elks member mentioned a coffin.

“I don’t know what’s in it,” he said. “I’m not going to open it.”

Once in the dark underground room, the uneven floors and eerie silence mixed with a musty smell. Upstairs, the faint sounds from an imitation haunted house could be heard. Evenich said he thought the noise was keeping the “residents” away on this particular Thursday evening.

“We do have (them),” he said. “I swear. People have seen shadows.”

Cindi Corrie has heard the rumors, too.

“If we could use the basement, we wouldn’t have to do anything to it,” she said.

But because of safety precautions, the Roseburg Fright Club, to which Corrie belongs, was forced to settle with the mid-level of the Elks Lodge to build their terrorizing masterpiece.

The club has been scaring people since ’93. And for good cause. All the proceeds from their haunted houses go to kids in the community. For years, the members of the group were like freelance spooks. They intruded on empty warehouses and buildings around the community to host their ghoulish theatricals. Last year, the club found a more permanent home at the Elks Lodge.

The Elks sponsor the haunted house, and the proceeds go to scholarships and needy children. About 800 people visited the lodge last October.

Walking past plastic mice gnawing on a bloodied torso, Corrie explained that the group of 10 to 12 actors are simply people who enjoy costumes and helping children. And raising money by scaring them.

Her real profession: “I work in child protective services,” she said sheepishly and then joked, “In my spare time I do therapy for kids that go through the haunted house.”

With the help of local high school students and other volunteers, the crew of about 25 people man different sections of the charitable haunt.

In one, Jeffrey Dahmer, aka Bob Sutherland, stands behind a table, pretending to roast body parts on a miniature grill. This year, with a generous contribution from a local meat company (and from local pigs and sheep) three hearts, three tongues and a dozen eyeballs add to the effect. He brought them in Ziploc bags.

“Tastes like chicken,” he said, playing the part.

Sutherland said the entertainment value from scaring people is what’s behind his involvement.

“We’re getting them away from the TV,” he said. “We’re giving them 3-D.”

At 7 p.m., the actors scurried to their places, cut the lights and prepared for their first visitors of the year.

One was Madi Camarena, 8. The girl trembled with excitement. She had just visited the Metz Hill Haunted Barn a couple nights prior.

“Oh yeah,” she said, when asked if the experience had frightened her. And with each question, her voice rose higher and her hands shook even more.

Is she scared of the dark? “Oh yeah.”

Is she scared of ghosts? “Oh yeah!”

Corrie peeked through the entrance of the maze of horrors to welcome the first group of the year into the haunted house.

About 10 minutes later, Madi left the building — her hands crossed over her chest, eyes wide.

Did the Roseburg Fright Club frighten her?

Oh, yeah.

Local hauntings: ghosts or gossip? Betty Long Unruh Theatre: Executive Director Melody Mackintosh said she’s always wondered if there are theater ghosts. She’s heard doors shutting when she knows she’s the only person in the building. Jacoby Auditorium: Even creepier, said Mackintosh, is Jacoby Auditorium on the Umpqua Community College campus. At night, listen for people walking around in the rafters. The Riddle Masonic Lodge: Riddle locals insist the rumor that the Masonic Lodge is haunted is just that: a rumor. Umpqua Bank in downtown Roseburg: The Internet is haunted with claims that toilets flush on their own at the bank and that people can be heard running up and down the stairs. But bank employees insist that this spooky story is simply gossip. Applegate House: Volunteers at the Applegate House have scary stories about the house, and some members of the family have a few of their own. But one Applegate wouldn’t elaborate on spiritual sightings for fear of trivializing the historic value of the house. The truth to these stories remains a mystery. The Elks Lodge: Haunted by live-in “residents.” The Parrott House: Driving south on Old Highway 99, a large white house on the left is being renovated. The formerly pink residence, built circa 1890 by the Parrott family, was recently painted white. A local policeman said new owners frequently inhabit the house, but only last for a few years before moving out. Even the real estate agents tell people it’s haunted, he said. Metz Hill Barn: Rumor on the ranch is that the original owner of the property was a criminal on the run. When the law finally caught up to Willy Brown, he was hanged at the ranch. And when the hanging didn’t kill Brown, he was shot. A few years ago, excavation crews found Brown’s tombstone on the property, and a friend of the property’s new owner insists that old Willy Brown haunts the ranch, seeking revenge for his double execution.

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