Skimp on Halloween? Horrors!

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Thursday, October 27, 2005

Skimp on Halloween? Horrors!

By CECELIA GOODNOW
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER REPORTER

With the house decorated and the holiday baking almost done, it won't be long before Frank Krhounek starts gearing up for next year's celebration.

Already, he's made inroads on a corpse in the basement.


		Grant M. Haller / P-I
	A red rubbery material on Frank Krhounek's front door on Capitol Hill has a message for Layla Craig.

"It probably won't be ready until next Halloween," Krhounek, 29, said regretfully, as if his modest Capitol Hill home -- a set piece of dangling bats, handcrafted corpses, walking-dead doll, fog machine and blood-spurting tombstone -- were missing that certain je ne sais quoi.

"I got a little bit of the latex on the skeleton, and that's it," he said, with good-natured resignation. "I spent the last weekend in the kitchen."

Like a growing number of young adults, Krhounek lavishes the same kind of money, time and creativity on Halloween that past generations devoted to Christmas.

A Starbucks manager at a nearby QFC, he figures he has spent $10,000 on Halloween decor and entertaining over the years -- from weekly horror-movie nights in October to a culminating party that attracts 200 people.

His sister Kaitlin, 18, is equally fanatical, in her own way. Like any girl before a big party, she's torn over what to wear. Should she go with scarred, bruised or a stake through the heart?

It's not an idle question to Kaitlin, who has a plastic tackle box full of horror makeup and longs to attend a $31,000-a-year Hollywood-effects makeup school.


		Grant M. Haller / P-I
	Krhounek, 29, figures he's spent $10,000 over the years on decor and costumes, and he's ready to shell out more.

Yes, the days are long gone when Halloween was the special province of tiny trick-or-treaters in princess costumes. The 18-plus crowd -- fun-lovers like the Krhouneks -- have embraced Halloween partying and decor with a vengeance, racheting the creepy season into a $3.3 billion industry.

"Halloween is no longer considered a children's holiday," says BIGresearch, which measured shifting patterns in a survey for the National Retail Federation.

It found that adults 18 to 24 are spending nearly a third more this Halloween than last year. Spending is up nearly 14 percent among people 25 to 34 years old, and more than 5 percent overall.

In Seattle, Champion Party Supplies and Display & Costume echo the upward trend.

Making sense of the rising fright factor, given today's already scary world, is tough.

"Because of what's happening with world events, you'd think it would be the opposite," said Scott Broad of Haunted Media Magazine, a year-round DVD "magazine" for "creative scaremasters."

"But in fact," Broad said, "people need a source of entertainment."


	Grant M. Haller / P-I
Frank Krhounek settles in during a Halloween party at his Capitol Hill home. During October, he sponsors weekly horror-film nights. His preparation will culminate in a party attracting 200 people.

It's not that Halloweenies necessarily grab any excuse for a party. Time and again, they say their Decembers are pretty staid.

"I don't so much like Christmas per se," said Woody Merkwan, 28, "because it's more about giving and receiving, but Halloween is more of a self-indulgence thing."

Merkwan, who lives in Mill Creek, supplements his casino job with a seasonal stint at Spirit Halloween Superstores in Redmond, where he likes to startle customers by hurling wind gusts their way with a $15 Airzooka. The techie clientele loves it.

"We're in Geek Capital U.S.A.," Merkwan crowed. "The Microsoft crowd is huge into it. It's like Toys "R" Us for adults here."

Merkwan, who's at the gonzo end of the spectrum, admits to spending $400 to $500 annually on Halloween attire. Last year he plunked down $1,200 for costume and decor -- including $150 for a Hollywood-quality makeup job by a film pro in Portland.

"I ended up buying eight or so different costumes and putting them together," Merkwan said.

He justifies his enthusiasm as a way to earn money in casino costume contests.

Since the top prize is $500, though, Merkwan is lucky if he breaks even. Faced with this financial truth, he replied with an easygoing chuckle.

"Money comes and goes," he said, "but having a good time is priceless."

Even a lot of sober-sided professionals let loose for fright night.

"It's always been our favorite holiday, Halloween," said Seattle chemist Brian Diaz, 34, who lives in Magnolia.

He channels his weekend creativity into helping brother Daniel, 29, erect haunted-house sets on his sprawling lawn near Gold Bar.

Daniel Diaz, who works at Office Depot in Everett, said his Halloween parties draw friends and friends of friends from Everett and Seattle.

"We might even have people come from Wyoming," he added cheerfully.

For weeks he's been transforming his third of an acre into a tableau of tombstones, haunted crypt, caged zombie and skeletons dangling from a gallows.

"I've been collecting for a long time," he said. "A lot of the props I made myself."

Even Daniel's girlfriend has been won over by the ghoulish decor.


		Grant M. Haller / P-I
	Krhounek's got some pretty realistic props in his house, but he's bummed that the corpse in the basement won't be ready this year.

"She keeps telling me, 'Why can't we keep the stuff up all year?' I say, 'No, I don't want people to think we're freaks or anything.' "

Off-the-shelf vinyl masks and tacky little pumpkin lights don't cut it with this crowd. Only Hollywood-style makeup and effects (or their homemade approximation) will do.

Merkwan said the ingredient he's looking for is "craftsman quality."

"Not to sound cheesy or anything," he added.

The result is a thriving, new industry for do-it-yourselfers eager to replicate that killer look at a bargain price.

"They're tired of the crap they sell in all the different stores -- the Kmarts and Wal-Marts. They want something that's unique," said haunted-house hobbyist Steve Hickman, who launched Terrorsyndicate.com to serve their needs.

"There's a whole community called haunters that just thrive on this," said Hickman, by day a Pittsburgh remodeling contractor. "It's year-round. I sell stuff in January, February, March, for people who are getting ready for next Halloween. It's like a whole different culture out there."

The Internet has made it easy to find high-quality supplies and instructional materials. Some die-hard hobbyists network at conventions called "haunt gatherings," where they trade how-to's and props, including carnival-style, animatronic figures.

"It costs so much to buy (them) from any kind of commercial supplier -- thousands of dollars for a decent commercial prop," Hickman said. "You can basically do it yourself for a few hundred dollars."

Krhounek, Capitol Hill's own Martha Stewart of horror, may not have animatronics, but he turns out very respectable corpses and zombies, thanks to how-to videos he got for his birthday.

He made some from plastic skeletons layered with cotton balls and latex for that moldering look. Another one, laid out in a wooden coffin in the living room, is a blackened symphony of Ace bandages.

Given the effort involved, Halloween is no longer just a day -- it's a month, a season. For Heidi and Riko Chock of Seattle, it's a lifetime.

Their Queen Anne apartment is decorated year-round with Halloween knickknacks, Heidi said, such as tabletop haunted mansions "and little skulls I've collected over the years."

Closer to the bone, Halloween is the night that bound her and Riko together in eternal love.

They exchanged wedding vows on Oct. 31, 2001, in front of 100 costumed guests at Belltown's Downunder nightclub, which aims for drop-dead Halloween decor.

"We thought it would be more laid-back and more fun than a stuffy ceremony," explained the bride, 29, a former assistant manager at Champion.

"I actually did buy a real wedding dress at a wedding store," she said. "I covered it with fake blood and I wore some fangs. I was a vampire. My husband was a zombie."

Their friend, a mail-order minister, performed the ceremony in high-top Doc Martens, white tank top, black shorts and angel wings.

"He actually came out of a coffin," Heidi said with quiet pride.

"It sure was a wonderful ceremony," agreed 37-year-old Riko.

If the nation's frightful preoccupation holds some deeper meaning, Merkwan probably sums it up best, in a life-is-like-Halloween sort of way.

"Remember that whole Gen X crowd? I was part of that," Merkwan mused. "The mood was, 'Uhhh, I hate life.' I guess I fell into that category. Now that I'm more adult, I know better. Like, life's not all that bad."

P-I reporter Cecelia Goodnow can be reached at 206-448-8353 or ceceliagoodnow@seattlepi.com.

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