Attractions
Kalamazoo's
only scream park
4 great attractions 1 location. We are the largest haunted attraction within an hour drive of Kalamazoo
After years of drifting from town to town, whispers of his name trailing behind him like smoke, the infamous Floyd Cranston finally landed his first steady job—at none other than the Briar Hollow Slaughterhouse.
The foreman figured a man with Floyd’s strength and steady hands would be perfect for the midnight shift, where the walls already groaned from years of suffering, and the screams of animals masked anything else. Floyd agreed without hesitation. He had always felt… at home among blood.
At first, he thought the work might cure the itch beneath his skin. Thought the endless buckets of crimson might silence the hunger gnawing inside him.
But it didn’t.
It only fed it.
By the third week, the line between carcass and customer blurred. The slaughterhouse, with its soundproof walls and constant hum of machinery, was no longer just his job. It was his hunting ground.
And when the foreman went missing, and the smell of iron grew too thick to ignore, the town of Briar Hollow learned what every other town before had come to know:
Floyd Cranston doesn’t leave a place until it’s empty.
The Birth of Floyd Cranston
Floyd wasn’t born a Cranston. The name was forced upon him like everything else in life when the state shipped him off to the Cranston Home for Boys—a place whispered about in schools and police stations as if speaking it too loudly might invite a curse.
The home was supposed to be a refuge. Instead, it was a rotting carcass of a building filled with screaming children, cigarette smoke, and staff who made cruelty their evening pastime. Here, the boys learned quickly: you were either predator or prey.
Floyd started as prey. Skinny, quiet, wide-eyed. The older boys broke him down, the staff ignored his bruises, and the walls echoed with laughter when he cried.
But something inside him snapped one cold winter night when the beating went too far. The next morning, one of the older boys didn’t wake up.
From then on, the others learned to leave Floyd alone.
By the time the state shut the place down years later, Floyd Cranston was no longer the scared boy who arrived. He was something else entirely—something the world should have left locked behind those iron doors.
And when he walked out carrying that name, the name Cranston, he carried its darkness too.
They say the laughter started in 1997. A chilling crescendo that echoed through the still night, punctuated by the screech of metal on metal. A circus train, a behemoth of color and joy, had derailed just beyond the old, imposing mansion that stood as a sentinel over the land.
The aftermath was a tableau of horror. Twisted metal, shattered dreams, and a macabre harvest of human suffering. Many of the clowns, the lifeblood of the circus, were claimed by the merciless earth. Their bodies, mangled beyond recognition, were swallowed by the wreckage.
Those who survived, a grotesque assembly of broken bones and shattered spirits, found refuge in the imposing mansion. It became their sanctuary, their prison, a grotesque carnival of the damned. Over the years, the line between the living and the dead blurred. The mansion became a haunted house, its halls echoing with the laughter of the damned, a macabre symphony that chilled to the bone.
Now, decades later, the mansion stands as a grim monument to tragedy. Its windows, like empty eyes, stare out into the night. Legends speak of eerie lights dancing within its depths, of laughter that turns to screams, and of shadows that move with a sinister purpose.
Those brave, or foolish, enough to venture inside find themselves in a world turned upside down. A world where joy is a mask for despair, where color is a shroud for death. The clowns, once purveyors of mirth, are now harbingers of terror. Some are living, their faces a grotesque patchwork of scars and skin grafts. Others are spectral, their forms flickering in and out of existence, their eyes burning with an otherworldly intensity.
Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of wind, is a potential threat. Every shadow, a lurking menace. And as the night deepens, the mansion’s grip tightens, drawing you deeper into its heart of darkness.
Will you escape the Clown Mansion alive? Or will you become just another haunting echo in its halls? The choice is yours, but remember, once inside, there may be no escape.
The summer of 1998 was a turning point for Camp Crystal Lake, a place that once echoed with laughter and the joy of childhood. That year, however, marked a dark chapter in the camp’s history, one that would forever cast a shadow over its idyllic image.
Five campers and two camp counselors vanished without a trace, leaving behind a trail of unanswered questions and a chilling silence that enveloped the camp. The authorities were baffled, and despite their best efforts, the case remained unsolved. The files from the police station were sealed, their contents shrouded in mystery, fueling rumors and speculation among the locals.
Years passed, and the camp lay dormant, its once vibrant spirit replaced by an eerie stillness. The overgrown vegetation and decaying structures created an atmosphere of decay and neglect, a stark contrast to the lively camp it once was.
Rumors swirled about the camp’s haunting, whispers of strange occurrences and unexplained phenomena. Some claimed to have heard the echoes of children’s laughter, while others spoke of shadowy figures lurking in the woods. These stories only added to the camp’s mystique, attracting a new breed of visitors – thrill-seekers and curious souls eager to unravel the mysteries of Willow Creek.
Among these visitors was a group of friends, drawn to the camp’s dark allure. They were determined to explore the abandoned camp, to uncover the secrets it held, and perhaps even find closure for the missing campers and counselors.
As they ventured deeper into the woods, the group’s excitement turned into apprehension. The once familiar trails were now overgrown and treacherous, and the dense foliage created a sense of isolation. The eerie silence was broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl.
As darkness fell, the group decided to set up camp for the night. They gathered around a campfire, sharing stories and trying to dispel the growing sense of unease. But as the night wore on, strange things began to happen. Unexplained noises echoed through the woods, and shadows seemed to move with a life of their own.
One by one, the group members began to disappear, their screams echoing through the night. The remaining survivors huddled together, their fear growing with each passing moment. They knew they were not alone in the woods; something sinister was watching them, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
As the first rays of dawn broke through the trees, the survivors realized they were trapped in a nightmare, a chilling echo of the events that had unfolded twenty years earlier. The camp’s dark secrets were about to be revealed, but at what cost? Will you survive your visit?