I Visit a Christian Hell House

Hi,

When I was a kid I believed that Hell was a real place. And when I say “kid”, I mean up until I was about 22.

I’m not entirely sure where this belief came from, but I imagine it was absorbed like a sponge from all over the place – churches, teachers, family, books, trusted mentors – fueled by an eager imagination that could easily conjure up whatever I wanted.

When I say Hell was a “real place”, I mean that I believed that when I died there was a real risk that I would be sent to a place of eternal conscious torment. When I say “eternal conscious torment” I mean a sort of underground lair; very hot, very smelly – where demons would poke at me with long sticks and tear bits of my skin off. They would rip out fingernails and teeth, and chop off fingers and toes. My eyes would be pulled out and shoved back in, then pulled out again. Forever. When I say “demons” I mean little red guys with horns and big, evil grins. When I say “forever” I mean for infinity.

The torture would never end.

I got really obsessed with the idea of infinity, too. I would sit, close my eyes, and imagine what infinity would be like. What it would feel like. Mostly, just when I felt like I was getting close, it would slip out of focus – like a maths problem I couldn't quite push my brain to solve. But a few times in my life – when I was 10, 15, 20 – it would hit me like a freight train. For a brief moment – a second, maybe just half a second – I could feel infinity. And it felt awful. It felt like Hell. 

There was some solace my brain would escape to. Mainly, I knew I was a Christian (I had prayed to Jesus when I was a kid, telling him I knew he was the Son of God, and had invited him into my heart) so I would be ascending to the opposite of Hell: Heaven. 

Heaven was also a real place and lasted for all eternity, too, but it was the opposite of Hell. But the weird thing is – thinking back now – I don’t really remember ever imagining Heaven in any great detail, because I didn’t spend all that much time focussed on it. Most of my time I spent thinking about the afterlife I spent thinking about Hell.

Hell burrowed its way deep into my mind, and while I didn’t realise it at the time (it was just normal) it dictated a lot of my behaviour. There’s this other teaching in Christianity: that kids are born sinners; broken and fucked up and in need of fixing. It’s OK, because Jesus is there to fix you, but every baby that comes kicking and screaming into this world is evil.

And so knowing that, you’re deeply aware that you need to avoid sin – because that means you might be going to Hell. Sinning means maybe you don’t believe in Jesus anymore, because if you believed in Jesus you wouldn’t have sinned in the first place. Pretty quickly I discovered “not sinning” was next to impossible, especially when I realised you can sin by thinking the wrong thing. Suddenly my brain became a powerful weapon, a single thought potentially sending me to an eternity in Hell. 

There was a period in my life where you’d see me mumbling under my breath, desperately praying to undo the bad thoughts. 

To Be Clear: Hell Doesn't Exist

I don’t believe in Hell anymore. I met this Jewish girl at journalism school who seemed pretty great, and I realised that she was going to Hell for all eternity. At the same time, I realised that didn’t make any fucking sense.

Something in my brain cracked. It had taken 23 years, but that crack rippled out over an ice sheet of rigid belief, and by the time I was 30 (seven years later; I’ve never claimed to be a quick mover) it had mostly disintegrated. 

It was pretty annoying how long it lasted. I still ran things through the “sin” filter. During university I sold my entire collection of Nine Inch Nails records, convinced that they’d destined me to Hell afterall. Early relationships turned into an internal game of what was sin and what was not – which is not the best way to run a relationship. Shame ruled my life. I didn't even begin to know how to explain what I was scared of to another human being.

But we got there.

Hell was no longer a real destination for me, and life opened up. 

And so imagine my delight when I realised a Church near me was attempting to recreate Hell here on earth. And not just some sappy Hell, but the real Hell I imagined from that other time in my life: Fire and brimstone, torture and eternal torment; Devils and demons. Satan. 

I had no other option but to go to Hell.

Night of Terror

I first heard about “Night of Terror” on Reddit, where someone had asked about a Halloween haunt being put on by a local church. One of the replies had me curious:

It was at this moment I realised they were talking about a Hell House. 

Hell Houses were first popularized by American televangelist Jerry Falwell in the 1970s. At the time, many Christians were terrified of Halloween, afraid it was a conduit for real demons. Falwell suggested something else – a Christian alternative. Instead of creating a haunted house with witches and ghosts, the Christian leader spread the idea of creating scary scenes depicting Hell, a reminder to sinful teens of what was waiting for them if they didn’t accept Jesus. During the 90s the idea spread, churches creating elaborate sets that rivaled secular haunted houses. They added other “rooms” beyond Hell to illustrate perceived human sins: The dangers of drinking, smoking, sex and pornography.

Jerry Falwell’s Liberty University, a private Evangelical University with assets in the billions, ended up running one of America’s biggest Hell Houses, "Scaremare", in Virginia.

I’d thought that was the last Hell House standing – but it turns out there was a giant one just an hour’s drive from me.

Freedom City 

I arrive at 7.30pm in Whittier, a small city located between the city of Los Angeles and Orange County. My destination is Freedom City Church, a church with a pretty similar set of beliefs to the likes of City Impact, Hillsong and Arise.

The pastors are exactly what you'd expect: they live in a multi-million dollar home and wear designer shoes and hoodies – and I imagine the allegations in this Reddit thread are pretty spot on:

This "church" needs to be destroyed. It's a cult that prey on those down on their luck or on the not so smart. The pastor in charge is a con artist and scumbag. My friend got suckered into this and is now completely brainwashed. I mean the way they completely strip these people of any independent thought is quite astonishing.

An usher with a vest and a glowstick quickly ushers me around the side of the church, where I’m greeted by a sign that says “Night of Terror”. It doesn’t strike me as particularly Christ-like, but then I remind myself of why I’m here.

Hell.

I join a line and head through a metal detector – not particularly unusual for a busy event in Los Angeles. And to be clear: this is busy. There are food trucks and church merch on hand for purchase, and groups of teens and families waiting to get in. I scan my ticket ($17.85) and join a line of about 150 people ready to experience a Hell House. 

Giant skeletons all feel very secular-Halloween, but the crashed car and police cruiser with its lights on hints at what’s to come.

I wait about 30 minutes to get in – half a dozen security guards patrolling the line, making it very clear that there was to be no photography – and what happens inside is sort of a blur. 

I’m going purely on memory of a 10 minute walk through various corridors and about 12 rooms, moving at a fast pace. If you’ve done a haunted house at Universal Studios, or any kind of branded haunted house with a tonne of people moving through, you get the idea.

Help Me I Am In Hell

After entering the church building, you discover it’s been transformed into a very dark, very slick haunted house. Props, lighting, fog machines and an incredibly loud soundtrack pummels your senses as you walk through.

The first corridor and room feels exactly like a regular haunted house, as I’m lunged at by actors playing zombies and ghouls holding knives.

Then things shift.

I walk into a club where I’m hit with strobes, dry ice and techno music. There’s a bar to my right lined with people drinking and making out. As I walk across the dance floor, club-goers gesture at me provocatively, inviting me in to dance. Someone holds out a drink and someone else offers a smoke. Quickly we’re marched into the next room, where a car has busted in through the wall. There’s a kid on the ground covered in blood, screaming, as a paramedic tries to save him. To the left there’s a news crew with a broadcaster camera, the reporter saying how there’s been a terrible drunk driving accident.

We head into the next room – a locker room of some kind with a teenage girl tied up in chains, screaming at me. She is half naked and covered in bruises and blood.

We walk through another corridor lined with women who I guess are meant to be strippers, dancing and thrusting. At the end of the hall you get a glimpse into a bedroom marked with “OnlyFans” in neon, a strung out looking girl touching herself in front of a laptop on her bed.

Next we’re in a lounge as five people shoot up heroin on a couch, a big latino guy grabbing a woman in the corner and smashing her head into the wall. There’s another corridor, a line of large men in gang regalia gripping handguns and AK47s. A series of women are chained up, apparently ready to be trafficked. There’s a guy slumped on the floor, a rubber band wrapped tight around his arm and a needle in his hand. He looks dead.

There’s a suicide room next, a woman lying prone in a bath, her wrists sliced open by some glass. Another person has a gun to their head, ready to pull the trigger.

Things are blurring together. It’s loud, overwhelming and aggressively bleak. 

We walk through a classroom set with chairs, lockers and school bags as a kid marches around with an AK47 mowing down five students in the room. It's so loud I cover my ears. The next room is the funeral, a slideshow of the kid’s Instagram playing next to the coffin, a room of mourners crying and screaming.

From what I can tell, the scenarios that play out emphasise an assortment of “sins” (ranging from drinking and pre-marital sex, to trafficking children and murdering people), and also seem to emphasise the various ways a human body can die.

From here, we pass through a corridor of demons who yell and grab, until we get the main event: Hell. To the church’s credit, it’s psychologically well executed. Until now, we’ve been in claustrophobic corridors and smaller rooms – but Hell is a huge space. And it looks just like I imagined.

It’s underground and rocky and red. It’s smokey and hot, and it reeks like old meat. There are people screaming and crying in cages being poked and prodded by a variety of red horned demons, and up to the side, on an outcrop of rock, the main troublemaker himself: Satan. He’s giant and horned and grinning ear to ear, just like 8-year-old me knew he would be.

The Death Show

We exit into a church auditorium and we're ushered to take a seat.

For me, what just happened was a strange experience. In many ways, it was no different to any slick haunted house I’ve attended: Actors in costumes and makeup parading around immaculately detailed and grisly sets, trying to make you jump.

But something about this did feel very different. The effect of the real-life scenarios on your psyche can’t be denied. I’m not going to go into my own stuff, but seeing car crashes, suicides and school shootings gave me a pretty strong ick.

And while Hell was a laughable thing in theory, the kid inside me – hell, the 20-year-old inside me – kicked and stirred a little.

And of course it wasn’t over. The lights and giant screen in the auditorium came to life, and for 15 minutes we’re shown news footage and YouTube clips of people dying. Real people, with families and loved ones, meeting their end.

There were cars running people over, people being shot in the head, and teenagers jumping off bridges. Loud music and booming graphics displayed various crime statistics, demonstrating that death was coming for us all. 

It still wasn’t over.

Three different scenarios then played out on stage with actors, each of showing a different way of dying – by drunk driving, by overdose, and by suicide. Each saw the actor arriving at the gates of Heaven, confused at first, where a booming voice told them they’d ignored Jesus while they were alive. Each begged to enter Heaven, but the big voice boomed “I have no choice but to condemn you to eternity in Hell”, at which point a team of demons came on and dragged them off to hell.

Someone being dragged away to hell

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The music got louder. The sound effects got more abrupt.

I could hear someone behind me crying.

"5... 4... 3... 2... 1"

And then out pops Freedom City Church’s Jason Lazano, thanking everyone for coming. He talks for about 10 minutes, hitting certain words in a way only charismatic preachers can.

He reiterates that Hell is very real, we could die at any moment, and the only way to avoid an eternity of torment is to commit your life to Jesus. Emotive music swells, and for the first time I notice the live church band off to the side.

He asks for a show of hands of those who want to be saved from Hell. Some hands shoot up. He says it’s not too late, but you have to act now. He starts to count. "Five seconds." Some other hands go up. "Four seconds." More hands. Three seconds, two seconds. Some more reminders of mortality and Hell. Eternity is at stake. "One second."

In a room of 150 people, I count around 60 going up the front to be “saved”. Pastor Jason gets them to repeat the Sinners Prayer line by line; a magic set of words that gets you into Heaven.

There’s a lot of crying at this point.

Lozano tells them they’re going to Heaven, but there’s one more step. They must follow the church ushers off to the side, where they will give their addresses and phone numbers to Freedom City Church. “Fuck me”, I thought. Those 60 people (a few plants in the mix, I'm sure) all scared into joining a cult. It fucking worked. The fear of Hell still works.

As I’m leaving, I ask an usher what the age restriction is on the Hell House and the afterparty where you watch footage of real people dying. 

“12,” they reply, beaming. Of course, in their mind they’re saving souls. When eternity is at stake, what’s wrong with a little fear?

I said at the beginning that I don’t believe in Hell anymore. That’s not entirely true.

Sometimes, just before I slip off to sleep – or when my mind is lazily attempting to grasp onto reality as I emerge from a nap – that feeling of infinity hits me out of the blue. It’s short – half a second, tops – but it’s always the same feeling. I grasp infinity, and it’s Hell, and for a brief moment it’s all very, very real and I am going there. And, embarrassingly, what I see is very similar to what I saw represented in the Hell House.

I realise now that when you believe in Hell as a kid, it’s a stain that will never go away. A child bitten by a dog will always flinch a little at a dog. Not always; but sometimes. 

For me, these moments pass in a flash. I'm glad for that. I can hear the birds outside and feel the breeze coming in from the window. And I just try to focus on the birds.

PS: They wanted feedback on the event. I went with "bad" and "not worth it".