Going Out for a Good Fright

Standing outside the darkened entrance to Knott’s Berry Farm, Tamara Franklin couldn’t decide what worried her most--the mobs of shrieking girls on the other side of the turnstiles, or the curling fog that seemed to shroud every corner of what she had always considered, up until this night, a family-friendly park.

“I don’t know why you have to do this,” Franklin, 42, grumbled, reluctantly pressing some spending money into her 17-year-old son’s outstretched hand. “Haven’t you seen enough scary stuff on TV these last few weeks? Real-life scary stuff?”

But her son, Jason, was already with his friends, slowly making his way to the front of the line.

“Does it look like people are holding back on Halloween this year?” Knott’s general manager Jack Falfas said as he watched the herd of visitors pour through the gates one recent weeknight. “It’s fantastic. Nothing can touch this.”

Halloween celebrations may be different in much of America this year, but at Knott’s--the pioneer of Southern California’s scare scene--it’s pretty much business as usual. Good business, in fact.

Although Knott’s tightened security to include metal detectors and made a couple of other minor changes since the terrorist attacks, the theme park never considered scaling back its Halloween Haunt, much less canceling it. So as it has for nearly three decades, the park transformed itself from a mild, Old West attraction with Snoopy rides for children into 160 acres of horror, crawling with more than 700 monsters bent on scaring the bejeebers out of anyone brave enough to enter.

Falfas said he was worried how the Halloween Haunt would hold up this fall, given the somber mood of the country. Even before real-life terror of Sept. 11, Knott’s and other theme parks’ attendance had been weaker that in previous years. Falfas would not reveal attendance figures, but says he’s been impressed and relieved by the numbers.

Halloween is an important event for Knott’s, more so than other theme parks. Six Flags, for example, does little more than set up a few mazes and stretch spider webs across bushes. Disneyland, a longtime holdout for Halloween extras, opened a retooled Haunted Mansion this month, based on a humorous Tim Burton theme.

“It seems to me that people have been holed up lately, and Halloween is a chance to get away from the everyday toils and bad news,” said Falfas, who has been known to don a menacing bulldog mask and roam the streets himself during Knott’s 21-night event. “It’s entertainment. People need it. The park really needs it.”

For many of Knott’s guests, who pay $40 each to watch their backs all night, the overwhelming attitude was one set on normalcy--or at least as normal as an 8-foot werewolf stalking a cluster of squealing girls can be.

Juan Suarez, 23, a grocery store stockman, said he returned to Knott’s for the fourth year because “life isn’t on hold.” He laughed as his crying girlfriend buried her face in his chest after being chased by a hissing cat.

“Why should they be able to take away Halloween?” Suarez said of the terrorists. “This is a release for us. The whole country should be doing this, letting off a little steam.”

His girlfriend, Tina Garcia, emphatically shook her head, glancing nervously at the dark walkway ahead. Convinced they were monster-free for the time being, she playfully punched Suarez in the arm.

“You call this letting off steam?” she said. “I’m going to have a heart attack.”

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