Copyright dailystar
I’d been anxiously counting down the days until the opening of Universal's Orlando's Halloween Horror Nights and finally, it had arrived. The air in the park felt electric - thick with fog, echoing with screams and a primal promise that tonight, my nightmares would come alive . Suddenly I didn't feel so brave as my heart jumped into my throat at the sound of chainsaws buzzing in the distance. Before I'd even reached the 10 haunted houses, I found myself in a hunting ground of blood-thirsty zombies as panicked victims urged me to run. But there was no turning back... I started with a childhood-unravelled - the eerie anamatronics of Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, and Foxy lurking at every turn of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. Jim Henson’s Creature Shop creations looked terrifyingly real, and when Freddy reached forward with his blazing eyes, I jolted. The flickering cameras, the dim corridors, it was like stepping into a haunted bedtime story that always ends badly. And just as I thought I was safe, a flicker of a poster caught my eye near the exit. The design didn’t quite fit—newer, sharper, like it was whispering about horrors still to come in a sequel I wasn’t ready for. If every other house had been pure terror, this one was theatrical dread, despite the fact that my WWE knowledge is limited to say the least. Entering, I passed through a twisted lantern-lit stage into a tunnel filled with the distorted faces of 27 WWE icons, including Bray Wyatt tributes. The surreal realm of Uncle Howdy, Mercy the Buzzard, Abby the Witch - it was like a haunted wrestling dreamscape laced with sorrow and nightmares. I felt both unnerved and strangely reverent. This house was surprisingly one of my favourites. Finally, a Norse-myth horror - ice, fjords, and ancient beasts stirring deep beneath a northern village. I raced through fjord fiends and a monstrous resurrection that felt like stepping into a brutal saga where survival was never guaranteed. My voice was hoarse from screaming and laughing hysterically at the same time. My group huddled tighter together, knowing the scares came harder when we split apart. This was raw, fiery chaos - an Old West torn apart by lava demons melting everything in sight. I dodged demonic assaults and swampy lava flows as bounty hunters hunted the chaos, while heat and horror raged around me. Try as I might, I couldn’t look away, even though behind every corner was a scare actor waiting to spring. My heart jumped into my throat, and I laughed nervously, realising this was just the beginning. 19th-century Spain never looked so menacing at this original concept house. I wandered into a country manor alive with bloody paintings, possessed by tortured spirits, where artist, Sergio Navarro's vision turned against him and dragged me into madness. Figures chanted in candlelight and I was swallowed by pitch-black hallways so disorienting I had to grope along the walls, certain something was right behind me (it was). The gothic atmosphere and the haunting visuals were beautiful and utterly terrifying. Suddenly, I was doll-sized, trapped in a nightmarish toy world as burnt, stitched, malformed dolls limped from shadows. A twisted little girl named Lyla giggled as I ran, chased by cursed playthings. The scenes were harrowing, and strangely childlike - a grotesque playroom with a dark twist. Dolls had been tortured in a way that made Sid from Toy Story look like Willy Wonka. Pure nightmare fuel. Next, I plunged into a decaying Vault 33 that opened into the blasted wasteland of post-apocalyptic Los Angeles. Rad-roaches scuttled by while Lucy’s voice echoed in my head. Raiders, The Ghoul, even Maximus in his T-60 power armour - every element pulled me deeper into survival terrain, like a living nightmare in the world of Fallout. I barely had time to steady my breath before I was dropped into my own funeral. In tight, cavernous tunnels, flesh-eating creatures pursued me relentlessly. The narrative being that flesh-eating zombies feast on our corpses when we die and drag our souls into a relentless world of horror. Panic, claustrophobia, the feeling of being buried alive - it was hell incarnate, and I crawled out trembling. Here’s where I felt my heart really start pounding. Walking through the haunted woods, past the creaking lodge and into the decaying cabins of Camp Crystal Lake - Jason stands silent, relentless, a gauntlet of killers from the Friday the 13th films from 1 to 8. It pulled me through scenes that felt cinematic, each room ratcheting up the dread, with Jason's mum even making an appearance. It wasn’t just nostalgia, it was being hunted. I bolted out, breathless and, somehow, triumphant that I’d survived what felt like endless corridors of hell - even though I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Terrifier pushed horror into the realm of the visceral with an intense sensory overload. Art the Clown’s gruesome funhouse assaulted my senses with blood-soaked corridors and a hacksaw kill recreated in sickening detail. Nauseating smells - faeces, bleach, salted flesh - clung to everything. With 35 bodies and six gallons of "blood" this is Universal's first "unrated" house. I wanted to look away, but the narrow corridors kept pushing me deeper. Victims can choose to take the 'dry path' or the 'blood bath' at the end of the maze. I chose the latter so the finale drenched me in warm, iron-scented water as I staggered out, sticky, unsettled with adrenaline crackling in my veins. By the time I stumbled out of the last maze, I thought I’d finally be able to breathe. But instead of relief, I was plunged into more horror. Neon lights from food stalls flickered, barely cutting through the haze. That’s when the sound hit me first—wet dragging footsteps, a low snarl, and then the unmistakable rattle of chains. Zombies appeared from nowhere, their skin mottled, their eyes glazed with hunger. One carried a dismembered leg on a plate as he shuffled toward me. Another creature, something less human - its body twisted and barnacle-covered like it had risen straight from the depths - lurched over my shoulder. Everywhere I turned, more figures emerged: a beautifully terrifying woman with teeth sharpened to jagged points, a gruesome gargoyle and frantic villages begging me to turn back. I forced myself forward, weaving between the monsters, my pulse hammering as one leaned close enough for me to feel its breath down my neck. And then - just as suddenly as it began - the creatures melted back into the fog, swallowed whole by shadows. I found myself shaking, my skin damp with sweat and mist, and I realised Halloween Horror Nights didn’t let you escape when you left a house. No, they followed me to by bed that evening where I relived the horrors all over again. But in that moment, standing there under the Florida sky, with the distant shrieks of other brave souls echoing around me, I realised I’d done it. Ten houses. Ten nightmares survived. My nerves were fried, my legs ached, but I couldn’t stop grinning. Halloween Horror Nights wasn’t just about the scares - it was about being fully alive in the middle of the madness.
