One of the best parts of working in haunted attractions is the freedom to step into different kinds of characters. Each role has its own way of getting under the audience’s skin. But for me, I’ve always gravitated toward the animalistic style of scaring – it’s raw, unpredictable, and deeply unsettling for guests who can’t quite make sense of what they’re seeing.
Here’s a breakdown of the core scare archetypes and the techniques I use to bring fear to life, with a little insight into how I personally approach them.
The Core Archetypes of Fear
1. The Aggressor
Aggressors thrive on anger and intimidation. These characters command attention through sharp body language and threatening facial expressions. It’s about taking up space, dominating the environment, and making guests feel like prey.
I remember one performance in a junkyard scene where I had the whole space to work with. Using teamwork, we covered every corner so guests felt completely surrounded. My movements were fast, sharp, and aggressive – sometimes hunching low to the ground to dart around unexpectedly. No one ever anticipates a smaller performer moving with that kind of speed, and it always caught them off guard.
2. The Animalistic (My Favourite)
This is where I come alive. The animalistic character sheds its humanity and moves in ways that are jagged, sudden, and alien. I love distorting my body and moving in bursts – fast, unpredictable, almost insect-like at times. Guests don’t know what to make of me, and that confusion alone is terrifying. It’s less about words and more about physical presence, noises, and movements that feel wrong in the best way possible.
3. The Victim
Victims bring horror through empathy. They’re not traditional monsters – they’re broken, wounded, and trapped, forcing guests to feel uneasy simply by witnessing them.
One of my most memorable victim roles was inside a prison cell. I played a character who had been isolated for years, someone who had never truly understood other people and was desperate to study them. Sitting slumped in the corner, I would remain still until guests entered, then slowly come to life – tracking their movements with unblinking attention. My whispers and shallow breaths weren’t cries for help, but curiosities, as though I was fascinated by these strangers who had stepped into my world.
The unsettling part was the intent: this prisoner didn’t want escape, freedom, or even rescue. They just wanted them. And in that silence, guests often realized they were being watched not with fear, but with a disturbing kind of hunger. That helplessness can be more haunting than any monster’s roar.
4. Impacts
Impact scares are those short, sharp shocks that jolt people to their core. Appear suddenly, create chaos, then disappear before they can recover. Even as an animalistic character, I’ll use impact moments like a predator striking and retreating.
Scaring Techniques I Swear By
• Anticipation: The best scares happen when guests don’t know when I’ll move. Silence and stillness make my sudden movements hit harder.
• Levels: I shift between stillness and explosive energy. If you’re erratic all the time, the effect wears off – you need contrast to keep guests on edge. In one prison scene, I would shadow the group with slow, deliberate movements, letting the tension build. But as soon as they reached the exit, I’d break into a sudden sprint toward them. That shift in pace always sent them screaming out of the attraction.
• Heights: Some of my most effective setups come from crouching low or contorting on the ground. Guests rarely expect a scare to come from below, and that unpredictability makes them vulnerable. For men, I’ll often target the lower body (genitals), for women, sudden movements toward the neck or chest can be just as startling. People walk in expecting threats at eye level – but when the scare comes from the floor, it completely throws them off.
• Stalking & Blind-Siding: I love letting guests feel my presence before they see me. A scrape, a hiss, a shuffle, banging the walls just out of sight – it primes their nerves for when I finally strike.
• Vocal Noises: Words don’t really fit my style – I rely more on guttural, distorted, or animal-like sounds. One of my go-tos is a harsh, witch-like cackle that instantly puts guests on edge. The less human I sound, the more unsettled they become, because it strips away any sense of familiarity and makes the encounter feel unnatural
• Improvisation: Even if I don’t speak much, I improvise through movement. Sometimes I’ll mimic a guest’s walk, or repeat their noises back in a distorted way – it unnerves them fast.
Every character has power – aggressors dominate, victims disturb, impacts shock but for me, the animalistic archetype hits the hardest. It lets me shed my humanity and become something uncanny, unpredictable, and primal. Guests don’t just see a performer – they see something they can’t understand, and that’s what truly terrifies them.
At the end of the night, it’s not the props, costumes, or special effects that guests remember most – it’s the performers who bring fear to life. And when I’m in animalistic mode, I make sure they’ll never forget me.
Freedom Wilson 