Art of the scare

‘Would you ever try being a killer clown?”

This question came to me from my friend Lisa McMillan who, with her husband Chris, owns Killer Noob Escapes on Century Street. The escape rooms at KNE are immersive and narrative-driven and, oh yeah, horror-themed.

This seems like a good time to mention I don’t do horror. I hate clowns — who doesn’t? — and I don’t like being startled. I don’t visit haunted houses, mostly for the safety of others. My fight-or-flight reflex sometimes skews more fight, and I worry I’m a Fear Puncher.

But being on the other side of things? That, maybe, I could do. So I accepted Lisa’s challenge.

When I arrive at KNE on a Tuesday night in October (their busy season, as you might expect), I meet with manager/game master Justyn Chernak, who will be taking me into the Funhouse, one of the rooms in which participants encounter scare actors — in particular, the infamous Puddles the Clown. (You can also opt to do this room with no clown.)

Chernak, 23, has been at Killer Noob for four years and I don’t think anyone loves their job more than he does. He did some rooms when it first opened and, when a job was posted on Instagram, he jumped at it.

“I love escape rooms and always wanted to see the other side of the curtain, and here I am,” he says.

In addition to running rooms, intentionally scaring people as Puddles is part of the gig. The first time is stressful, he tells me.

“You don’t know how a room is going to react. You don’t know if they are going to be really scared, or if they’re going to point and laugh. There’s different reactions on every end of the coin there,” he says.

“But honestly, going in for a scare turns you into a different person — at least for me. When I put on the mask, I always drop my voice a bit and hunch over and just become a different person.”

Chernak takes me to the back area where in-progress rooms are monitored on CCTV by employees running the rooms. That way, they can see how participants are doing, if they need help solving a puzzle — or, if they are getting a little too comfy, need a li’l scare.

Sometimes a well-timed bang on the door is all it takes, which Chernak does: the screams dissolve into laughter. Clearly, people enjoy the thrill of being frightened in a controlled, safe environment.

“It’s exciting. It’s unexpected. With normal escape rooms without the scare factor, they’re just solving puzzles, so it’s an added experience. I’m not sure why they like being scared so much, but some people really, really love it,” Chernak says.

“I enjoy doing the scaring more than being the scared person.”

Chernak will be assuming the role of Puddles, so I opt for the moniker Giggles. I get to choose from a variety of truly upsetting clown masks, which I hate equally and viscerally.

I select a particularly menacing one with a mop of black hair. See you in your dreams!

My adrenaline is already pumping. My smartwatch issues me a Relax Reminder, which is hilarious because I have done zero scaring yet. It’s my first scaring rodeo and I’m the one who is scared.

Chernak gives me some pro tips.

“Don’t get too close to people. Don’t sprint at them either because they might do the same and run away and bump into a wall and break something. Safety is always the No. 1 thing here. We’ll be watching the group and seeing their mannerisms,” he says.

As for tonight’s group, Chernak grins: “I think they’ll be easy to scare.”

We do the first scare together. It’s dark and disorienting and my mask is digging into my eyes so I can’t really see, but I can hear, and a fully grown man yells: “There’s two f–ing clowns!”

It’s a major rush, though I have to actively suppress the urge to yell after them, “I am so sorry!”

The second scare I do on my own. This time, I have a prop: a clown bat. My assignment: bang on the wall a little and then chase them (slowly!) into the adjoining room.

Success! Making a group of large men run away from me in fear is not an experience I often have as a relatively small and unmenacing woman, and they could not get away from me faster.

Then, before I know it, it’s time for the final scare, which I feel I botch. I have switched masks — so now, technically, as far as the room is concerned, there are three f–ing clowns — and have swapped out the bat for a honka-honka clown horn.

The participants enter a door that positions them right in front me — so close, in fact, I could swear my clown nose is touching one of their backs.

I could get them real good in that moment but, for some reason, I freeze. I forget, for a second, what I am doing (not playing hide-and-seek) and what I look like (terrifying), so I mostly just stand there, breathing heavily.

Chernak, as Puddles, points at me and the participants turn around for what is ultimately a good reveal, but I still beat myself up a little for not immediately excelling at being a killer clown.

As it turns out, I am not a different person in the clown costume.

jen.zoratti@winnipegfreepress.com