You deserve a better life. A life without constriction; without concern; without corruption. Only we can give you that life.
Join us. Be Reaped. Gather in the barn to receive our glorious gift…
But first, a message from our sponsors:
Though posted within our Reviews section, this entry will not include a Key Rating. As a team, we at Escape Authority feel the correct thing to do is disclose that I was the Designer of this attraction on behalf of Chris + Creative. While I am excited to share its final results with you, our readers, I cannot officially endorse it in order to remain neutral to other games we have and will continue to review around the world.
Each Halloween, I build an elaborate haunted attraction at my home for the neighborhood kids to enjoy while Trick-or-Treating. I call it “Peachstone Scream!“. For me, there’s only one rule: Each year must be bigger than the last.
In 2015, things took a turn from over-the-top décor to a full-fledged haunt for the first time. A long, enclosed passage lead from the driveway to the front door, full of several tricks (and effects) which more than made kids earn their treats that year. Appropriately, this big re-imagining of our neighborhood fun was under the demented Big Top dubbed The Circus of SLaughter.
The next logical step came in 2016, with detailed full scale facades and, for the first time, a bona fide escape game hidden within an 8′ x 8′ room literally erected on my front lawn. Featuring an entirely unique theme, The Krampus Beast came to town, and as one might expect when such a thing occurs, Christmas is Canceled.
Then, in 2017, the Big Top returned to town for an encore performance, and despite claims that The Circus is Canceled, it offered an all-new, full-fledged escape game – mixing traditional haunted house surprises with challenging puzzles and multiple talented actors encompassing both outside and inside the entire first floor of the house.
Now, the next evolution of Peachstone Scream! emerges from the fog, full of intimate immersive theater interactions, more surprises and more screams. Behold, The Harvest has arrived.
Over a century ago, Ample Valley Farm put this area on the map for its plentiful supplies of the sweetest peaches you ever did taste. But that was a century ago. Times were hard on the Farm, and its owners The Sampson Family. Between the Great Depression and several unseasonably cold winters, their harvests were anything but ample. What was a local symbol of prosperity and hope soon fell into disrepair, and the Sampsons were forced to sell off much of their land to a greedy housing developer for a mere fraction of its worth, just to make ends meet.
Old Maw & Paw Sampson’s famed peach orchards were long gone, with their grassy fields covered in the asphalt of what is now Peachstone Lane. Endless fields of crops gave way to tightly crammed houses, with only the old Ample Valley Barn left standing as a monument to what once was. Embraced by the community, for years the old Barn was a gathering place for seasonal celebrations, culminating each season with the grand Hallow’s Eve Hootenanny.
In recent years, however, lack of maintenance by the privately run Heritage Observance Association has led to the Barn’s remains being deemed unsafe, and ultimately to its condemnation. With no place to host the festivities, the Hallow’s Eve Hootenanny has been canceled.
However, condemning the old Barn has done little to protect the community. Without the funds needed to demolish it, it remains standing to this day – rotting away in the moonlight as an ominous reminder of a simpler time. Worse still, having an old, abandoned barn fenced off in the middle of a quiet neighborhood has turned it into the stuff of legend, attracting urban explorers from all over, as well as taunting local teenagers eager to take on a dare. Some say the Barn is haunted by the old caretaker who went missing some years ago; others point to the souls of a group of kids who wandered inside on the night of a full moon, never to be heard from again.
But as is often the case with local lure, the stories get more and more absurd with time. Some claim the very ground it stands on is cursed, which is why it’s the only remaining spot on Peachstone Lane that was never replaced by a house. Others whisper a much more nefarious tale of a mysterious cult some call “The Reapers.” They claim this group is not only responsible for all of the documented missing person cases, but as well for countless others that have gone unreported. Allegations of supposed supernatural ties go so far as to claim the victims were not simply killed, but their souls “harvested,” and their mortal remains “reaped” and repurposed into the scarecrows that guard the hallowed grounds.
Local legend, or just another silly ghost story? That’s for you to decide, but this much is known: the old Barn still sits condemned at the end of Peachstone Lane, and authorities urge all residents to heed their warning to keep out. Yet despite this decree, local radio advertisements have begun to promote Old Uncle Monty’s Halloween Hayride, a new attraction through what remains of the old Ample Valley Farm. Could this be the beginning of a fresh festive tradition? Or is it yet another pernicious ploy to trap the peaceful people of Peachstone Lane? Stay tuned!
Once a symbol of prominence, the large barn that still looms at the end of Peachstone Lane has clearly fallen deep into a state of disrepair. Its bright red boards are weathered and worn; their painted chipping off and falling like the autumn leaves of the overgrown trees and bushes that have consumed it. The space left from missing boards emits a powerful, peculiar green glow from within – a haunting aura amplified by clouds of fog billowing through the cracks of the barn’s exterior.
Capped proudly with a branded marquee, many letters have broken off – in part or entirely – from the AMPLE VALLEY FARM sign over the years. All that remains offers a chilling message to the peaceful people of Peachstone Lane: E V I L FARM.
The grounds are guarded by countless human-sized scarecrows. Some tied to large crosses, while others hang crudely by ropes, swaying in the breeze beneath the old magnolia tree. They’d be almost lifelike if it weren’t for the fact that each one of them is missing a face. Blank and void of emotion, yet they somehow still evoke the sense that they’re watching. It’s difficult to determine if these visages are intended to scare off the birds, or the neighbors.
A fresh field of fully grown cornstalks obstructs the fence surrounding the property. An odd detail to be found at a barn that’s been abandoned for years. An eerie glow emanates from behind them, casting shadows that dance in the crisp night air as their husk-like leaves blow gently in the breeze.
On the corner of the field, a crudely thrown together ticket booth advertises OLD UNCLE MONTY’S HAYRIDE – the same one being promoted on the local radio station. Tickets are only $3 – or, were, until it was canceled. Now, a sign nailed to the side is scribbled with the notice, “NO Hayrides Or Anything!!!”
A worn KEEP OUT sign hangs on the gate sealing a side path to the barn. Beyond it, an open air passage behind the massive cornfield leads to an enclosed tunnel. Tick marks tally out hundreds of sacrifices already made to The Reapers. It should be enough to make any explorer turn back – yet, curiosity draws us deeper. An ominous glow pierces the darkness further into the tunnel. Following it like moths to a flame transports urban explorers into another cornfield – but definitely not the one that sat outside the barn. This one is much larger, almost infinite, and completely encircles the space. A boarded up gate at its opposite end appears to be the only way out.
Beyond the gate, willing sacrifices are transported back in time. They find themselves standing in the yard outside the old Ample Valley Barn, but its considerably different than it was upon arrival. The grass under their feet is green and full. Trees hang overhead creating a canopy that barely allows the moonlight to pierce through. The barn itself looms ahead, flickering in the light of unseen flames. A massive crucifix stands in front of the structure, adorned with a scarecrow that appears to be moving.
The only way out is to venture further into the old barn. Inside its creaking door, crumbling rafters hang precariously overhead. Sharp, splintered wood juts out dangerously forming an almost primitive series of booby traps to protect the sacred secrets locked within. The interior glows red by the light of more mysteriously unseen flames, yet the smell of burning smoke sits rich in the air.
A crooked screen door leads up to the loft. Electrical wires hang knotted along the walls and ceiling of the space, all the way up the stairs and out of sight. It seems clear this barn must be used to power something sinister… but what? Stopping to ponder their purpose leads to immediate danger; multiple floor level holes in the old barnboards make for the perfect hiding spaces inside the walls, allowing disembodied hands to abruptly reach through and grab at the feet of unsuspecting urban explorers. In a space so narrow, backing away from one merely puts you in better reach of another.
Those foolish enough to enter the walls themselves will find a pitch black world of darkness and fear, but it is the only way to gain access to their own salvation.
The gift of Harvest begins at the Ticket Booth, where willing sacrifices are once more greeted by The Bitch. As always, while presenting the evening’s rules, she’s the very antithesis of customer service, rudely chastising them, stopping only to chomp on a large, dripping pickle. She does, however, aggressively attempt to up sell add-ons to the experience, such as corn cobs (available both toxic or non, for a premium, of course), outhouse access (billed by the minute) and, oddly, the rental of an old cassette player for just $8.97. She also remembers that a package bearing your name was delivered just before you arrived. Inside it is a cassette tape labeled PLAY ME… and exactly $8.97, cash, mostly in coins. It’s enough to play the tape…
And sure enough, just as that mysterious stranger warned on the recording, one member of the group is indeed… missing. They must have been quietly taken early in the check-in process. The mood has quickly shifted from a defiant explanation of the condemned old barn to one of a desperate rescue mission.
Scattered hay bales hold the secret to opening the gate, but that’s the easy part. Courage is put to the test as the cornfield full of Reapers envelopes explorers, leaving their only hope of surviving to break in.
Arriving in the yard offers no respite; It is here that would-be sacrifices have their first encounter with the wicked Miss Bunny, a demented psychopath in a tattered burlap rabbit mask. She giggles with euphoric delight as she announces the arrival of the leader of this supernatural cult, His Greatness, The Provider, Bringer of Harvest.
Hidden behind the pointed beak of a vintage plague mask, The Provider is revealed in the loft of the old barn, directly above a squirming scarecrow tied to the large crucifix.
That scarecrow, dressed appropriately in overalls and a flannel shirt, head shrouded by a faceless sack, is none other than your missing friend who was taken in an attempt to indoctrinate – and brainwash – into joining The Reapers.
Getting into the barn offers the only slight hope of escape for sacrifices. Multiple locked doors separate several distinctly different places within – and danger quite literally lurks behind each and every wall.
Mysterious jars labeled “SACRIFICE” leave little doubt that The Reapers are here to offer us anything but a better life. Gathering them, identifying them and properly returning them where they belong will pay respect to those lost, and possibly aid in your own progress.
Tangled wires flow with live electricity – and despite their inherent danger, their knotted maze must be followed and reconnected to gain access to the only remaining door inside the barn.
Through it, a small, tightly cramped coop is surrounded by chicken wire. On the other side, silhouetted in the darkness is a giant, feathered, human-sized rooster. And though by definition he is technically a cock, this Chicken is a complete dick. Acting as a sort of comic relief to lighten the otherwise intense mood, captives must must play against the creature to maneuver his freshly laid egg through a chicken wire maze, up and down, back and forth, all while he quite literally cock blocks your path, squawking and clucking with delight.
Cracking open the egg gains a key, but what it unlocks is the stuff of nightmares. A pitch black void awaits on the other side, with a single dim, flickering light hanging above a blood-stained rag. Stuck with a magnet, it leads to an elaborate pipe maze that twists and turns through narrow, claustrophobic spaces with clearances sometimes as tight as just 18” – all in total darkness. A slow, steady hand is required to feel the path, but sometimes, the very walls themselves grab back.
The final small room is a dead end. It’s walls are graffitied over and over with the same chilling message: “ONE MUSt GIVE SO OtHERS MAY LIVE.” A wooden door labeled SALVAtION – written in blood – is tightly locked by two cross-crossing chains.
Standing before it waits The Provider, back turned to his captives. “I offered you a better life. A life without construction. Without concern. Without corruption. But you turned down my gift. It’s not too late though. Salvation lies just beyond that door… for three of you.” The sudden realization that you arrived as a group of four is chilling. “But first, one must give, so others may live.”
The door of an old wooden coffin magically swings open on its own, and without hesitation, The Provider grabs one of his willing sacrifices and physically shoves them inside the narrow, cramped wooden box. He thanks them for “their gift” of Harvest, and, handing them a single red rose, reminds the the others, “We aren’t monsters, after all.” Slamming the coffin lid shut, with a member of the group trapped inside, The Provider leaves the remaining three to panic as the gothic chanting of a sinister spell gets louder and louder, echoing through the small space.
And then, with a mighty thunderclap, silence. The coffin lid swings open, again all on its own, and inside, where a fourth member of the group once stood hangs a decayed skeleton, still tightly clasping a wilted rose in its boney hand. Beneath its feet, a tin trough is full of deep red blood, and three empty golden chalices.
It becomes instantly apparently that what one (of the group) must give is their own blood in order for the others to live. Reaching into the warm blood with the chalices, cup by cup is poured into a tall box labeled simply “tHEIR GIFt IS tHE KEY.” With persistence, a key, soaked in the blood of your lost friend, floats to the surface, opening the door to your ultimate salvation.
The Harvest was designed to take the concept of home haunts to a whole other level, deeply infusing it with intimate immersive theater interactions dripping with psychological terror. This isn’t about cliché “boo” scares; to the contrary, every moment of The Harvest evokes a genuine fear of “that could have been me.”
That phobia is well-placed, because at several key points throughout The Harvest groups are separated – often abruptly and forcefully (but with care, of course.) The safety blanket that comes from big corporate haunts knowing that the actors cannot touch you absolutely does not apply here.
Naturally, being Halloween, the reward for bravely achieving this mission is a giant mother-lode of candy, presented in a themed, burlap sack. Inside it, packed within the sweets is a special keepsake from The Reapers; a parting gift, as it were: a small vile of blood.
The Harvest was also created to play off a time where our world is divided, with some promising a greatness that will ultimately never come, and in truth, only serves to fuel their own power and control. It plays off a notion of divisiveness, casting doubt in who can and cannot be trusted, even among your own closest friends. It plays off a devotion to faith taken to the extreme, even becoming sacrilegious in its own right at times to expose a truth we hoped never to acknowledge.
Through it all, The Harvest becomes instantly relatable, playing on the subconscious fears we each face day after day, but typically manage to compartmentalize. And as a result, the self-righteous spirit of The Provider lives on long after The Harvest has reached its conclusion, offering a haunting realization that we can control our own destinies, but oftentimes choose instead to follow blindly. Happy Harvest.
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Creator: Chris +
Number of Games: 24
GAME SPECIFIC INFORMATION:
Duration: 60 minutes
Designed Capacity: Can be scaled to suit each installation; recommended 4-6 people
More Photos: -> click here <-
Chris + exclusively owns the intellectual property rights to The Harvest attraction.
To inquire about its availability for your venue, email Chris@Chris.plus.