Dallas Newcomb works as a sales clerk by day. But at night, she becomes Head Priestess of a witch’s castle, sizing up incoming guests to select as her next human sacrifice. Draped in a sinister black cloak, wearing blood-red nails and a grotesquely deformed mask, she embodies a living nightmare.
Newcomb, 32, has spent seven years as a scare actor and is now in her third year playing a witch for the Orchard Trials Haunted House in Middlefield, Connecticut. Her upbringing exposed her to “horror culture,” as she grew up in Monroeville, Pennsylvania, near Pittsburgh, which she describes as the “home of the zombie movie genre.” The area is famously attributed to filmmaker George Romero, whose iconic zombie films, such as Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead, helped define the genre. Later, after moving to Maryland, Newcomb became immersed in the high school theater scene. She performed in productions ranging from Alice in Wonderland to Twelfth Night, as she learned to project her voice and inhabit different characters.
“I never had any huge parts, but I didn’t care,” she said. “I was just having fun.”
Newcomb also sang in choir for nine years, where she cultivated a booming voice that has since earned her three recognition badges as the haunted house’s loudest performer.
She admitted, “I have been heard across the show at times, or across the field.”
For Newcomb, scare acting offered a way to continue performing long after high school productions ended.
My own horror awakening came around age seven, thanks to Henry Selick’s children’s movie (which really shouldn’t be described as such), Coraline. Since then, I’ve become the kind of person who shamelessly watches horror movies alone and drags my friends to haunted houses every fall. If I had an ounce of theatrical talent, I’d probably want to be a scare actor myself. Interviewing one was the next best thing.
Newcomb described scare acting as an art form like theater, but one that begins long before the actors ever encounter their audience. At Orchard Trials, Newcomb also works as a makeup artist, helping transform herself and her peers into the truly grotesque and unnerving characters that populate the haunted house.
In her first year of scaring, for example, her makeup blurred the line between human and insect as a “mad scientist” specializing in cockroaches. Using prosthetics, fake blood, liquid latex, cotton, and paint, she resembled something utterly inhuman, becoming the subject of her own experiments.
Her high school theater experience gave her a head start in this regard. Students often did their own hair and makeup, she explained, so she learned how to adorn actors for the stage. Haunted house makeup, however, presented a new challenge.
“It’s darker,” she said. “You have to account for the dark lighting and being close in person as opposed to on a stage where you’re further out, and you have a bright light.”
Beyond makeup, the performance is the culmination of months of work crafting sets, costumes, and props to bring the haunted world to life visually. Newcomb has inhabited several of its characters over the years, including a witch, a mad scientist in a bug-experiment room, a clown, and a 1950s mother presiding over a progressively unhinged kitchen scene. Each role requires its own look, atmosphere, and personality.
“I’ll ask them, what’s the story? What is the vibe we’re going for? What’s the scenery? And I try to go from there as much as possible,” she said. Whether she’s buying costumes, pulling inspiration straight from her own closet, or researching the appropriate makeup styles, it’s all part of her creative process.
What was more unexpected to me, however, was the physical method involved in scaring. Looking frightening makes the performance possible, but the actor ultimately brings their character to life.
As a witch, Newcomb typically uses her vocal skills to become immersed in her character, often chanting their “rituals.” Sometimes, she added, she might start at a normal volume before “progressively getting louder and crazier” to create tension.
It is tempting to imagine scare acting simply as a job built on screaming, violent thrashing, and erratic posturing. Newcomb, however, described a more subtle craft that actually relies on restraint.
“You don’t always have to use your voice to get people scared,” she said. “You can just as easily be unsettling doing something creepy and quiet, and even slow-paced.”
Sometimes, actors pose as mannequins; they remain still, blending into background scenery and prompting guests to ask themselves whether the figure in front of them is actually a person. Newcomb says that with techniques like this, the smallest movement is satisfactory.
“I have gotten people with just my eyes,” she said of one such performance. “All I did was move my eyes, and that was enough.”
Still, even the most carefully crafted character needs to know its audience. Newcomb hinted that part of the performance involves studying groups, anticipating their reactions, and yes, identifying the “weak links.”
The most obvious targets, she says, are those who talk incessantly.
“Easy ones to target are the ones that don’t shut up,” she said, describing guests who nervously warn their friends: “‘Oh my god guys, there’s something there! Oh my god, someone’s around the corner, aren’t they?’”
When approaching groups, Newcomb generally waits until the third person enters the room, ensuring that at least half of the group is present for the scare. “You want to get the people in the middle because it surprises most of the group, and the people in the middle are the ones who are scared and trying to hide.”
Regardless, no amount of preparation can account for everything a visitor might do. The unpredictability is part of what Newcomb enjoys about her creative roles that involve conversation and audience participation.
As Head Priestess, she presides over an interaction in which visitors become their next potential sacrifices, and she decides whom to reap. Her performance depends on both delivering a rehearsed scene and responding to the people standing in front of her.
At the entrance to the witch’s castle, where she sometimes has to keep groups occupied while they wait, Newcomb invites visitors to tell her a “secret.” One child admitted that he still slept with his “blankie.” One adult confessed, “I’m not naturally bald.”
Such exchanges can completely upend a scene, shifting it in directions an actor could never script in advance. Sometimes, she says, humor can have this effect, but she suggested that laughing with visitors over a genuinely funny moment isn’t actually frowned upon.
“Yes, it’s a haunted house, but the whole point is entertainment,” she said, adding that she tries to lean into the funny moments while remaining in character. She recalled, for instance, multiple scenarios where she laughed with guests, but then subverted their expectations by promptly following with something like, “I’m going to gut you from top to bottom right now.”
Meanwhile, even a scare that goes exactly as intended can produce a surprising result. Newcomb said she gets a particular kick out of watching visitors who seem immune to fear (the tall, muscled, tattooed, bearded visitors) prove to be the easiest to frighten.
“It’s funny when the person you least expect gets scared the most, like the big burly man,” she said, laughing.
For Newcomb, that mix of performance and spontaneity is central to the fun of her job: the chance to disappear into a role, to dress up elaborately, to make a grown man squeal, or to coax a stranger’s most embarrassing secret out of them. Few hobbies offer such opportunities to terrorize strangers with impunity, and be applauded for it, too.
