Letter From Rockfordrnby Scott P. RichertrnFrom Here to Eternityrn”Weapons—guns, knives, brass knuckles,rncigarette lighters . . . ” The young man’srnvoice trails off. If he were not waving hisrnmetal-detector wand at us, I might thinkrnthat he was offering to sell us a gun or two,rnnot asking us if we were carrying any.rn”No, they’re all in the trimk,” Chronicles’rnassistant editor, Aaron Wolf, cracks, andrnour art director. Ward Sterett, and ArtrnJohnson, a friend of the magazine and localrnpolitical scrapper, laugh.rn”This is new,” I say to the securityrnguard. “Did you have problems last year?”rn”Oh, veah, we always do. Just last night,rna guy came in with a really cool pocketknife.rnIt’s mine now,” he says, a smilernbreaking across his face. “Go on in.”rnWe step through the entrance of thernold IGA supermarket in Roscoe, aboutrnten miles north of Rockford and a fewrnsouth of Wisconsin. Two high-schoolrngirls take our money —seven dollarsrnapiece—and hand us each a coupon for arndollar off admission to their sister establishment,rnin a barn outside of Belvidere.rn”After you’ve gone through both, you getrnto vote on which one was better.” Afterrnthe discount, the other one is only $4.50.rnI already know which way I woidd vote.rnWe walk down an unlit hallway withrnwalls of black-painted flakeboard, underrna ceiling of black plastic wrap. As thernlight from the entrance vanishes, thernhallway comes to an abrupt end. Therernseems to be no way out. “Seven dollarsrnwell spent, “iaron concludes.rn”There must be an exit,” the womanrnbehind us says. “Feel around down byrnthe floor. Maybe we have to crawl out.”rnSuddenly, to my left, the wall opens,rnand a tall, hooded figure appears, lit fromrnbehind. “Welcome to the House of Horrors,”rnhe intones, in the fake, monotonousrnBritish accent I remember from last year.rnThis is Aaron’s and my second timerntouring the House of Horrors; while werngot in very quickly tonight, we waited atrnleast 45 minutes to enter last year, when itrnwas held at an abandoned Logli’s grocer)-rnstore only a mile or two north of the city.rnThe lines were even longer the first twornyears, when the House of Horrors was locatedrnin an old brick building in downtownrnRockford. But that was before thernlocal Gannett paper ran its expose. ThernHouse of Horrors,, you see, is run by thernMaster’s Commission, the youth pastoraterntraining organizahon of Rockford’srnFirst Assembly of God. It is not a traditionalrnhaunted house but a variant on thern”Hell Houses” or “Judgment Houses”rnthat Christian youth groups across therncountr)’ have been running for almost arndecade. While there are plent}’ of tightrnspaces, a few snakes, a legion of demons,rnand —for some reason —an incrediblernnumber of insane clowns, the point ofrnthe scenes in these Christian haimtedrnhouses is to scare the customers straight.rnSo, for instance, this year as well as last,rnthe House of Horrors has several scenesrnon the dangers of drinking—not excessiverndrinking, mind you; just drinking. Inrnone, a demonic bartender (again, with arnBritish accent) entices his customers tornspend their last few dollars on more alcohol.rnPredictably, one barfly becomes violentrnand scuffles with the police officerrnwho is attempting to escort him from thernbar. The drunk throws the officer uprnagainst the wall, grabs his gun, and shotsrnring out, as our mysterious guide hurriesrnus out of the room into the next scene.rnHere, one of the other patrons of the barrnis standing in the middle of a relativelyrnclean garage, complaining that his wife isrntoo lazy to clean it up. As we move on tornthe next scene, he bursts into the kitchen,rnwhere his wife is cooking dinner whilerntheir child cowers in the corner. Afterrnthe father screams at his family, he raisesrnhis hand to strike his wife, the lights gornout, and we are hustled along to the nextrnscene. (Last year, the husband had notrneven had a drink —he beat his wife uprnsimply for refusing to bring him a beer.)rnThis year’s house is pretty tame. Thernfirst two years, the organizers were roundlyrncondemned for including a grisly abortionrnscene, a staple of Hell Houses acrossrnthe country. Even last year, they includedrna scene in an abortuary, where anrnabortionist gave a monologue in soothingrntones about the quick, painless procedurernthat would set everything right.rnNoticing that Aaron and I snickered whenrnhe inttoduced himself as “Dr. Huxtable,”rnhe called out to us, “You wouldn’t believernhow few people catch that,” as we madernour way to the next room, where a disttaughtrnteenaged girl bemoaned falling forrnthe doctor’s lies and frantically slit herrnwrists. While this year’s house includes arnsuicide scene, abortion is never mentionedrn—the girl is simply upset that nornone “understands” her.rn-After a Columbine scene (a tall, strappingrnyoung man complains about beingrnmistreated by his classmates, beforernkilling several of them) and a few more insanernclowns, we crawl into another longrnhallway and emerge, through a bottomlessrncoffin, into a rundown graveyard cumrnopen-air chapel, where two figuresrndressed like the ghost of Christmas pastrntell us we have “one final choice to make”rnand to “choose wisely.” They then dividernus into two groups (so much for choice)rnand send each group down a separaternhallway. Both hallways lead to the samernroom, where stands yet another hoodedrnfigure with a fake British accent, a bushyrngoatee, and huge eyebrows. In his house,rnhe tells us, there are no second chances.rn(So he’s Satan?) But through his longrnyears of experience, he has discoveredrnthat, while man is on Earth, he does havernsecond chances, so we should choosernwisely. (So he’s not Satan?) As we arernhustled out of the room into a long hallwayrnwith a pulsating light at the end, I askrnhim who he is supposed to be. He looksrnat me in bewilderment and walks away.rnThe light at the end of the timnel is justrnabove a door tiiat leads to a spacious roomrnwith a large projection screen. After 20 orrn30 seconds, a video starts, accompaniedrnby pounding music. Words like “confiision,”rn”anger,” and “despair” fly across thernscreen, before a fuzzy image of threerncrosses on a hilltop appears. Then thernvideo ends, and a young woman of aboutrn19 steps into the room. “I’m here to tellrnyou about Jesus Christ.”rn36/CHRONICLESrnrnrn