A frightening haunted house. Frightening not because of superb effects and realistic horror scenarios but because it is operated by a registered sex offender.
Wikipedia for the man who killed Halloween. Thanks to this prick and the paranoia he caused, I did not have a Snickers bar until I was in junior high. My dad would “check” all of my candy post trick-or-treating and deem it safe for consumption. He would take all the Snickers bars out of my bag and say things like, “This one is no good, son. It is poisoned” or “You cannot eat this one. It looks like someone tampered with it.” These “tainted” candy bars then found their way into my Dad’s secret candy stash for him to enjoy periodically through out the year. Fuck you, Candyman.