Three Haunts. One Nightmare!

The Butcherbone Family

They don’t take kindly to trespassers… and they’re always hungry.

Deep in the backwoods, where the roads rot into mud and the screams don’t echo back, the Butcherbone Family carves out their twisted legacy. What started as an old meat-processing farm has become a blood-soaked haven for this inbred clan of cannibalistic killers.

They don’t buy their meat — they hunt it.

From the moment you step onto their land, the smell of death creeps into your lungs. Chainsaws rumble in the distance. Hooks hang from trees. Bone fragments crunch underfoot. You’re not just walking through a haunt — you’re trespassing on sacred, butchered ground.

Inside their ramshackle barn and slaughterhouse, they’re waiting. Snorting, snarling, and smiling. And once the Butcherbones catch your scent, there’s no getting out clean.

This ain’t a haunted house… it’s a harvest.

Midnight Feed

Even the Butcherbones won’t go in there…

As you stumble out of the Butcherbone slaughterhouse, blood on your boots and breath in your throat, you think it’s over. You think you’ve escaped.

You haven’t.

You've just crossed into the woods where they wait — creatures born of darkness, twisted things that even the Butcherbone Family fears. Out here, there’s no light. No path. Just whispers, snapping twigs, and the feeling that you're being hunted by something not quite human.

These aren't actors in masks. They don't creak the floorboards or slam the doors. They stalk. They crawl. They breathe down your neck without a sound. And when they feed… it's not quick.

There’s no safe word. No exit signs. Only the cold, black unknown.

Welcome to the Midnight Feed. You're not the hunter here. You're the offering.

Funhouse Massacre

Where the circus came to die... and came back hungry.

Step into a twisted carnival built from rusted 55-gallon barrels — a maze of madness echoing with the screech of air horns and the haunting chime of broken jack-in-the-boxes. This is no laughing matter.

Blood-drenched clowns prowl the shadows, armed with rusted blades, meat hooks, and other toys they’ve lovingly repurposed from past victims. They don’t just want to scare you… they want to play with you.

Every turn brings chaos: flashing lights, shrill circus music, and the sudden slam of barrels that rattle your bones. The scent of decay mixes with stale popcorn in the air. You're not walking through a haunted house — you’re trapped inside a clown’s nightmare.

Run. Scream. But whatever you do... don’t laugh. They hate that.