Behind the doors

Ten closed doors line a blood-streaked corridor. Behind each door is a ghoulish actor waiting silently to horrify the off-guard visitor.

Goosebumps form as high-pitched screams and terrorized wails echo in the black hallways of the Screamworks NW Haunted House in downtown Seattle.

Here is a look at what goes on behind the scenes to make these doorways of surprise so haunted.

Enter the dressing room

Eyeball-lined mirrors watch the dressing room as ordinary-looking humans are transformed into ghoulish nightmares of fake dripping blood and yellowed fangs.

"By the way, your eye got sliced open so I'm putting a scab there," says makeup artist Andrea Hays, applying brownish-red gunk across the whitened face of an actor.

Hays is one of 100 volunteers who works to put the haunted house together.

On this busy weekend night, the house is short of its usual 10 makeup artists, and those present work rapidly to apply gobs of fake blood -- called "fresh scab" -- to the faces of young high-school-aged volunteers.

"In fact, they sliced across your whole face," Hays says matter-of-factly, expanding the fake scar across the actor's entire face. "Sorry."

Makeup artists and actors have been hard at work for three hours prior to the haunted house's 7 p.m. opening.

With spiked hair tinged in neon green, Hays' fellow volunteer Adam Rosand applies a bluish tint to the face of 13-year-old Michael Mosley.

"I didn't know it was going to be fun," says Rosand, who became interested in volunteering through a friend. "I fell in love with the place immediately -- that first night."

The two wander out to a side door, past a makeshift chain-link room filled with racks of costumes: tattered wedding dresses, clown outfits and trousers.

Rosand sinisterly chooses his weapon of choice and aims it at Mosley's head. It is aerosol hairspray, and it goes on thick -- a creepy hairdo to last until the stroke of midnight, when the last guest leaves.

Master of the doors

The haunted house takes place at a brand-new location in the middle of an industrial park on Colorado Avenue South. It has taken six weeks for a crew of seven to convert the 8,000-square-foot warehouse into a night of fright.

Dave Cluett, referred to by staff members as the group's master builder, designed the house's 20 rooms. Cluett simply calls himself the "monster builder."

Near opening time, Cluett sheds his radio and dons a full-length black wig that conceals his face. He sticks out a green-rubber clawed hand.

"It's just Dave," he reassures.

The 10-foot walls are covered with black-light paint. When the lights are off, mural art featuring ghoulish figures and skeleton screamers illuminates the mazes -- the result of hours put in by local volunteer artists.

Hanging bodies and skulls are the work of donated resources, manual labor, sewing, time and creativity.

"Getting the house takes weeks -- it was an accomplishment," says Screamworks NW Manager Bob Garrison. "I think this year is one of our best."

Garrison should know a good house when he sees one -- he has been involved in haunted houses since 1968.

The result of imagination and hard work is a house designed to, as helper Phil Shannon says, "scare the crap out of people."

Behind the scenes

A large water cooler and a table full of plastic cups waits in the wings for thirsty actors in need of a break from howling. Two lounging couches sit in the center of the "green room" -- the lobby for volunteers taking a break.

Modeling an orange wig, a tall, imposing figure waltzes into the room, tugging at the hot-pink satin dress that adheres to his balloon-enhanced figure.

Joe Farrell is a "roamer" for the night, which means he is not assigned to any specific room, but instead walks among those waiting in line.

"I'm fun," says Farrell, putting his hand to his chest and batting mascara-thickened eyelashes. Walking away, he lowers his voice: "Well, maybe more scary than fun."

Roamers are not the only ones refraining from terrorizing guests, a large number make up security. In the main security room, three rows of TV sets flash black-and-white footage of the mayhem below.

Jared Hays, a senior staffer, warns that the darkness doesn't prevent others from seeing what's going on. Volunteers have caught affectionate couples, as well as a 35-year-old woman who urinated after being startled by an actor.

The chilling dread that an omnipresent force is watching is not far from the truth.

Portal to fright

After waiting in weaving lines, groups of six are sent to face a giant, wide-mouthed skull that arches over the haunted house's main entrance.

Volunteers elicit a practice scream out of the group before doors are pushed open. The group is left in blinding darkness, feeling its way blindly into witches and vampire brides who jump out from hidden corners.

Staff members agree that the "octopus room" is perhaps the greatest terror inducer.

"People get lost in here for 20 minutes," says Hays, motioning to a circular room with eight separate exits.

"This one's just creepy and wrong," Hays says, walking past a massacred living room, where party decorations are strewn and a devilish clown menaces from the floor. "Not a fun birthday party."

The house features both stomach-churning gore, in the bloodstained insane asylum, and more subtle horror, with a scene inspired by The Ring.

"You don't know which door gets you out," says Garrison. "That would be the scariest -- not knowing what's going to happen next."

Open doors

Exiting guests are still trembling when a face smiles from behind a table and coaxes them to look at brochures in exchange for a miniature candy bar.

"It's a great haunted house -- great for kids," says Barbara Pattison-Lehming, whipping up fluffy cotton candy. Pattison-Lehming is project facilitator for Variety, a non-profit organization committed to serving children at risk.

Aided by KISS 106.1 and Screamworks NW, all profits from the haunted house go toward Tent 46, the Pacific Northwest branch of Variety's Children's Charity.

In previous years, the haunted house has generated an average of $130,000 for Variety's programs, explains Hays.

Those who volunteer their time and artistic or theatric talents for a good cause are key to a successful donation.

"We're open to all ages, from 15 all up to 90," says Garrison. "Anybody who wants to, feel free to come and have some fun."

Regardless of talent or experience, the haunted-house door is always open to new volunteers who want to inflict Halloween horror -- and lend a helping hand.