I got my first look at The Haunted Mansion when I was 14-years old. In spite of the fact that I was completely enamored with classic horror at the time, I was still afraid to step inside that foreboding house at the end of the road. What was going to happen inside? Were people going to jump out at me (my biggest fear)? Was it going to be silly? Was it a show that we were going to watch from a little room? When the ride attendant stuffed us all into that little room, I got really worried and then crazy things began to happen. The room, wasn’t a room at all. It was an elevator. The magical paintings on the wall got increasingly creepy and then we were plunged into darkness. A hanging man. A scream. A crying baby and near panic, then the doors opened and I was led into an even more disorienting darkness. A long haul with windows that appeared to show a storm brewing outside. But how could they be windows if we were underground! Wait! We’re underground! (That thought freaked me out all by itself). Then we rounded the corner and saw the ride.