Editor’s Note: This is a work of satire. It should not be taken seriously or applied literally.
Any true Halloween enthusiast knows that the best thing about spooky season is going to haunted houses. I had the pleasure of visiting Raleigh’s newest haunted attraction, the 2025 House of Horrors, and it frightened me even more than backwoods haunted houses where scarers aren’t afraid to invade your personal space.
The scaring begins before you even step foot into the house. On the outside, it looks like a typical single-family home, but the terror set in when I was met by a realtor who told me I would never be able to afford the mortgage unless I had a six-figure career and at least two side hustles.
Once inside, I entered a grocery store-themed room. I was greeted by an employee who began scanning a dozen eggs and a gallon of milk. The total came out to $87.50. When I said I didn’t have enough, the cashier whipped out a scalpel and said, “That’s fine, we accept kidneys.”
After I escaped the terror of soaring food prices, I stepped into a heated room decorated with cacti, sand and other desert memorabilia. I was confused about how the Sahara Desert was considered scary until a man jumped out and screamed, “Welcome to North Carolina, 2035!”
Dripping in sweat with a sunburn forming on my shoulders, I stumbled into the next room, which had a scare actor at a podium dressed as a politician. I couldn’t make out what he was saying through the plexiglass barrier, but goosebumps covered my body when I saw his political aides trepidly scanning the room.
I left immediately once another actor dressed as a security guard began shouting at me for not having a clear bag.
The next room had a dystopian theme where a U.S. president communicated with the nation via social media in all-caps posts with occasional spelling mistakes. Citizens gripped their phones with suspense as they waited for the president’s daily status update on the fate of the country.
Even more Orwellian, TV networks were shut down one by one and replaced with politically correct media and reruns of American Idol seasons one through five. The president’s bantering and Simon Cowell’s bitter commentary were too much for me, so I rushed out of the room as quickly as I could.
I made my way into a room that looked like a scaled-down version of Carter-Finley Stadium, filled with rows of graduates dressed in caps and gowns. They all turned their heads toward me in unison and broke into a blood-curdling chant: “WE NEED JOBS! WE NEED JOBS!”
I was chased by the graduates after refusing to connect with them on LinkedIn, but then I finally made it to the end of the attraction — or so I thought.
The final room was modeled to look like NC State campus, and my only way of escaping was to find an exit that wasn’t blocked off for construction.
After about an hour in the escape room, I gave up searching and opted to climb a tree and jump over the edge to freedom. My friend who uses a wheelchair is still stuck in the room trying to find an accessible exit.
Needless to say, the attraction exceeded my expectations. If you’re looking for a spooktastic activity that will scare you more than seeing your boss on Glenwood Halloween night after you called out sick, look no further than the 2025 House of Horrors.
