The second we handed over our tickets, we were handcuffed together like the prisoners that… The second we handed over our tickets, we were handcuffed together like the prisoners that were once sentenced on these very grounds: the West Virginia State Penitentiary, which is rumored to be haunted.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ Through a dark tunnel and into the penitentiary confines we were ordered to go.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ One by one we were released and shoved into a 6-foot by 3-foot dungeon-smelling jail cell by ourselves.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ As fast as I could turn around, the cell door was slamming shut behind me.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ When another girl shrieked, afraid of what was to happen next, we were instructed not to make a sound.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ Guards paced back and forth shining their flashlights into each cell.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘You okay?’ one asked me.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ I replied ‘Yeah, just cold.’

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ Big mistake!

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘Hey cell number seven is cold. Send someone down to keep her company,’ he told another guard.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ A large man dressed as Jason casually walked down the row of cells as my door slowly opened. He entered and the cell door slammed shut once again.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ The image of being captive in a blood-covered jail cell with a man dressed as Jason hovering over me scared me so much that I clung onto the cell bars so tight my knuckles turned white.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ The worst thing was his voice.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ My dear friend Elliot kindly told the guide my name so, ‘Christineeee’ was heard from every nook and cranny in the dungeon.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ The Jason-looking character was over a foot taller than me and 200 pounds heavier. There was nowhere to run.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ He kept repeating my name over and over, very slowly.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ The eerie, yet soothing, sound of this creature’s voice, which resembled that of Tony Todd from the 1992 horror flick ‘Candyman,’ left me feeling like I was 10 years old again, huddled in a corner trying to escape the voice coming from the television. Only this time, he was breathing down my neck.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ Jason only loomed over me for about five minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ A guard yelled, ‘Open cells,’ and all jail cell doors slowly opened — except for my door and number 14.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ We were held back as the group left, and no one was allowed to wait. After two or three minutes, we too were released and lead toward the rest of the group.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ A musty smell wafted into my nostrils and a smoky haze clouded my vision as we were guided — as a group this time –into the Dungeon of Horrors. Escaped prisoners and insane inmates popped up around every corner as the walls around us shook with their every thump.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ Although filled with some stereotypical haunted house antics — chainsaw-chasing killers; the loose, bloody limbs of those murdered here before dangling from the ceiling; men lurking around every corner wearing ghost-face masks; and shrieking voices — I never did fully recover from being locked in the cell, so even simple tactics made me cling to those around me for dear life.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ We were led through the dungeon by our prison guard until we reached the outer edges of the prison walls and black iron-clad bars.

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ As soon as I thought I was free and safe on the solid, un-haunted soils of West Virginia earth, I heard my name called again, ‘Christineee.’

‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ And two hands grabbed my shoulders in an attempt to pull me back in to the dungeon of horrors for another sentence.