HVRTING: The Skin Collector 1.5

-Temple City, CA-

"Hello? I found this phone, this number was in it. Is anyone there? Please. Please I need help."

With one text the mystery wormed its way into my skull. Who was this person? What kind of trouble was he in? Should I trust him? How could I help him? My first extreme haunt had begun.

Less than twenty-four hours later I found myself guided by a strange woman named Rebecca to the door of an ordinary house in an ordinary neighborhood. On any other day it would have been a pleasant evening to walk these streets. Tonight, I was terrified. After all, Nathan, the man from the texts, had warned me to be careful. Rebecca might not be as nice as she seemed.

As she opened the door and invited me to take off my shoes, my heart pounded in my chest. Answers were here, but I wasn't sure I'd like what I found.

Moments later, strapped to a bed and unable to call for help, two things became clear: I had fallen headfirst into a trap and I was going to die.

My hosts were kind enough to give me a few minutes alone to collect my thoughts as I lay on that bed, a strange red glow barely illuminating the room.

At least, I thought I was alone.

A black gloved hand creeped out of the shadows from behind a closet door, slowly pulling it open. A dark figure wearing an expressionless white mask stared into my eyes, watching to see how I might respond.

I felt exposed. Seen. Observed like a cell under a microscope.

Without uttering a word, the spectre approached the bed, never breaking eye contact. At last, he lifted his mask, revealing the smug face of someone who had successfully duped me. Nathan, the very man I came here to rescue, was in on it. He chided me for my foolish choices. He had warned me to be careful with Rebecca after all. Yet, here I was.

Rebecca returned, sending her partner in crime out of the room. Pulling on gloves, she informed me that “he” wasn’t ready for me yet. Rebecca never explained who “he” was, but apparently he was very interested in my skin. Like a hygienist cleaning the teeth before showing the patient off to the dentist, Rebecca began to prep my skin. She aggressively tenderized some patches with a small metal tool and thinned out overly hairy spots with a generous amount of liquid latex and duct tape.

My skin had to be perfect. “He” would accept nothing less.

The bizarre spa treatment came to an end and I was once again left alone with my imagination.

The bedroom door creaked open as a man wearing some sort of skin mask peered in. His eyes locked with mine and I could feel him sizing me up. This was the man Rebecca spoke of. This was the Skin Collector.

The moments after that initial introduction are all a blur. One moment, the tip of a large knife was being led down the inside of my thigh. In another, I was being told the horrifying story of an old woman who met an untimely death at the Skin Collector’s hands. No matter what the Skin Collector did or said, he had my full attention. His presence demanded attention. To be fair, it’s hard not to pay attention to a man that has his hands expertly positioned around my throat or over my nose and mouth to restrict my ability to breathe.

He paused, stopping the assault long enough to ask, "Are you thirsty, David?"

How hospitable! I was quite thirsty at that moment, but knew he was not actually offering me a refreshing glass of water. I knew exactly what he had in mind and felt a pit in my stomach. I briefly contemplated saying no, but instead decided to put on a brave face and offer a defiant yes.

The masked killer began by gently drizzling water over my face.

This isn't too bad. I can do this.

Water began to enter my nose and I sputtered. The moment I began to gasp for breath, the Skin Collector's hand came down and pressed tightly over my breathing holes once again as he continued to pour water. I coughed and spat up water into the gloved hand, silently begging to be allowed to breathe again. At the exact moment I considered using the safe word that would end it all, breath entered my lungs once again. After several rounds of this, I was left alone, wet and shivering on the bed.

A woman entered without any hint of aggression. In fact, she looked scared, paranoid even. "I'm going to try to get you out of here, but you have to help me get out too."

I nodded, still trying to catch my breath before asking, "How long have you been here?"

"Six months," she answered as she began to unstrap me from the bed. The unnamed woman held up a leather hood with an apologetic look in her eye. "I'm going to get you out of here, but for now you need to play along. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to hood you."

I let her slip the hood over my head and tighten it a bit. The darkness was complete.

The woman led me down the hall to a closet, sitting me down in a cold metal chair. I felt around in the dark wondering how much space I had to move. My hand closed in on a person’s knee. I was not alone.

Despite my initial disappointment at having prematurely ruined a perfectly good jump scare, my discovery led to a new type of anxiety. I became more aware of my breathing, knowing that the unseen figure would also be paying attention. I sounded scared and I knew it.

We sat in silence, neither acknowledging what had just happened as HVRTING's favorite cheery tune “Easy Street” began to echo down the hall outside. I suppressed a laugh, refusing to let my guard down too much. The calm couldn’t last forever. Sure enough, not long after the song ended, the unseen person lunged forward, arm around my throat and hand over my mouth and nose.

As I fought to stay calm, struggling with the lack of oxygen, my tormentor spoke. I recognized Nathan’s voice as he began to cry.

“If you had listened to my warnings and stayed away, I wouldn’t have to do this. I hate that you’re making me do this. It’s time for you to die. I’m so sorry.”

Before he could finish the terrible task, I was rescued and led back to the bedroom to be tenderized one last time before being taken down the hall to the finale. Like all good meat, I had to marinade.

Shoved down into a large barrel and still hooded, I listened as the Skin Collector menacingly whispered in my ear, “You’ve done well so far, but this is where I think you are going to fail.” My resolve thickened. I would survive this.

I remember the barrel like moments from a half-remembered nightmare. I sat curled up in the bottom of the barrel as hot water poured down from above. The wet hood clung to my face with every breath I tried to take as the water rose higher and higher. Hands pressed the cloth tightly against my face as the water continued to pour. Surely this must be what drowning feels like.

When the water rose to my mouth, my tormentors at last removed my hood. A lid slammed down, sealing me within my watery tomb with only a few inches of space between the lid and the surface of the water. I twisted my head up until at last I found a position that allowed me to breathe comfortably. I have no idea how long I sat curled up in that barrel, but eventually I was rescued and rushed out the back door by the helpful woman from earlier.

As we both made a break for it, a masked figure emerged from the bushes, pulling the woman back toward the house.

“Go on without me. Run!” she pleaded.

I ran into the night, breathing in the warm evening air. I had escaped.

My time with Hvrting and the Skin Collector was undeniably thrilling and by far the most extreme show I've experienced. It was intense, but I will say that I felt safe throughout the entire hour and forty-five minute runtime. I was never tortured. It was frightening and occasionally mildly painful, but the Hvrting crew wanted me to succeed. I could sense them silently cheering me on as I faced my fears, and I emerged at the end of the evening with an assurance that I have more strength than I thought. It's not an experience for everyone, and it definitely is not the place to start exploring the world of immersive theater. However, for those looking to push themselves and face their fears in a safe environment, I highly recommend Hvrting. Just make sure you know what you're getting into.