Trail of Terror: I Lived to Share My Story

As a forewarning, I’m that overly dramatic annoying girl that’s scared of everything. Now that we got that out of the way…

It’s become a safe haven for me to check the shower for an impromptu Psycho killer every time I walk into the bathroom. When I’m getting into my car, I swipe my feet in quickly to avoid getting my achilles tendon slashed by a savvy serial killer. I don’t find fake blood, predictable scary movie story lines OR skinny children crawling up staircases to be amusing or entertaining. I never read Goosebumps as a child. And I would rather stare at a pile of fresh dog poop than see anyone work a chainsaw. The only reason I like Halloween is because there are Kit Kats everywhere.

So, I have no idea when I thought it was going to be a good idea to visit The Trail of Terror on a cool, fall night.

But I did, and I’m here to tell the tale of terror. Because in case you were confused, I SURVIVED. I survived the Trail of Terror. Sorry, that pun was intended and it was painful.

To ease my nerves, I forced my girlfriend’s to blast the first Backstreet Boys CD all the way to my real life nightmare. Nick Carter’s syrupy singing voice made me feel a little stronger. As we pulled up to the barren field of fear, I made two rules (to stay true to my values).

1. The first thing to be conquered was the $2 Grain Belt beer special. If anyone was going to encourage me walk around in a barren corn field, it was going to be in liquid form.


The Trail of Terror is a sight to see. I hadn’t visited the place since I forced myself to go in 8th grade with my crush and since then, they have made some serious improvements. First of all, the place looked like an abandoned carnival. That’s right, they have fair rides strategically placed near clusters of fog machines. And fair food. And (drum roll please) A BEER PONG TOURNAMENT TENT. Which, might I mention, also includes a 17-year-old DJ dressed in a cape, confused high school students, hay bales to sit on and a heater fan that totally makes you look like you’re in a Pussycat Doll video if you stand in front of it.

After cordially deciding the placed smelled and looked like a Hot Topic cult meeting venue (cue large fire pit, abnormally tall human beings dressed in capes and weird top hats, the smell of mysterious un-showered body parts), we took straight to the stage for beer. I’m serious. The bar was placed on top of a large platform with two stair cases on each end. I decided it was a little dramatic, but we were at the Trail of Terror. Not the Trail of soft lambs and cotton candy.

We decided to take to the hay ride first, to ease ourselves into the experience. I don’t know where “simple experience” came into 50 plus pre-tweens and a dark forest but I digress. I pushed a few kids over to get a spot in the middle, listened to the teenager with a white painted face on a power trip tell us to restrain from kicking the “terror talent” and we were well on our way. I mentally rehearsed my self defense moves in my head, just in case a serial killer was super smart and decided to attack a bunch of pre-mature idiots who thought it would be funny to take a tracker through a dark forest. Seriously–I can see the headlines now.

Anyway, from a scale of 1-Scary Movie, the hayride was a . . .romantic comedy. It just. . . wasn’t that scary. And this is coming from a girl who gets scared when a squirrel runs in my path unannounced. So as you can imagine, I jumped off that wagon feeling invincible. I was ready to conquer fear.

Feeling fresh and excited, we took to the Clown House. We made it through with a few mild screams. I was feeling very powerful-and had kept my eyes open the whole time! After another beer cider, we took to the karaoke stage with gusto (Scary-oke, in clever form). We sang “Wake Me Up” by Evanescence. In front of 50 middle schoolers who just finished Dora the Explorer before they got there. We made a $1 tip. They gave us a standing ovation. It still counts if they were standing the whole time.

After playing with fame and judging a bunch of smoking 18-year-olds, we opted out for the grand finale. The Warehouse. I ate my feelings in mini donuts as we waited in line. I will warn you–random mute people will sneak up and stand behind you as you wait. You will pee yourself for the first time in public. Or second, if you have bladder malfunctions or remember being an infant.

When it came our turn, we linked arms and waltzed into the trail. I was feeling pretty awesome until a clown dressed in a glowing polka dot dress started following us without asking. Between all of the matrix moves we were making so we wouldn’t brush against the creepy woman strangers dressed in gauzy white dresses, fake gremlins and dark corners, I thought my cute little charmed life was done for. I was in the face of death at least 10 times. And I’m not a cat. I have one life to live.

We poured out of the trail in a screaming, tangled hot mess. Luckily, the Trail of Terror had thought this out. The end of the Warehouse trail is in the BEER TOURNAMENT TENT (all caps, because I’m still blown away by that). We all giggled, sighed loudly and took to the bar for a relief cider.

In the end, The Trail of Terror was totally worth the trip (and the creepy 2 mile drive down a winding dirt road to get there). It’s a fabulous bonding experience for anyone who decides to link arms with you through the Clown tunnel. The beer is cheap. It’s fun to get some screams out. You will have a great time feeling cooler than all of the middle schoolers with a beer in your hand. And you will attain a brand new appreciation for life.

Just remember your Mariah Carey pipes, absorbable undergarments, extra cash to get your palm read by a lady troll and well…your best friends. Because I’m cliche like that.

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University of Saint Thomas graduate. Minnesota-bred and happy to talk about the weather any time you’d like! Strongly believes any situation can be bettered by a slice of generously buttered toast or Phil Dunphy. Would get arrested to touch Justin Timberlake’s face. Always trying to be a better person by not wishing horrible karma on people driving slow in the fast lane. Hear more: @twitter @instagram


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