Thrills & Chills

For designers, primarily engineers for coasters and theatrical artists for haunted houses, turning fear into fun depends on illusion. No matter how precarious a roller coaster or alarming a haunted house may appear, it must be totally safe. "We always try to make them look and feel more dangerous than they really are," says Michael Boodley, president of Great Coasters International, Inc. of Santa Cruz, California.

Though the experience offered by roller coasters and haunted houses diverges dramatically--it's the difference between pushing a wagon over a steep hill versus telling campfire ghost stories--the attractions are constructed of common elements. Both draw on all our senses, both rely on surprise for their shocks and both quote heavily from the movies (coasters replicate action-adventure perils, a la Indiana Jones and Star Wars, and haunted houses feature quasi-Frankensteins and Friday the 13th Jasons).

But the biggest common denominator is that the two feed on the same basic fear: loss of control. Once a coaster takes off, passengers can do nothing but sit or, on some rides stand, and scream. "The closest thing to compare it to is driving with an idiot," observes Boodley. Lynton Harris, director of Madison Scare Garden, an annual fright fest in New York City, also uses an auto analogy for haunted houses. "It's a hundred degrees outside, and you'd expect to get in a car and have air conditioning, and all of a sudden the heater gets turned on," he says. "Then the doors lock. Cocky as you are, you realize you're not in charge."

With roller coasters, the psychological games start before customers even get into the train. Boodley purposely makes his wooden coasters as diabolical looking as possible. "It's kind of like a black widow spider web," he explains. "It's a very, very pretty thing, but when the black widow gets you..." Queueing customers at Outer Limits: Flights of Fear, one of 12 coasters at Kings Island, are treated to dim lights, alien noises and a video of a space station in the grip of a mysterious force. "Even after having ridden that ride probably close to a hundred times, I sit there anticipating the start, and my palms still sweat," says Outer Limits designer Jim Seay, president of Premier Rides of Millersville, Maryland.

Whether the traditional chain-driven wooden or steel clackers or the newer linear induction motor (LIM) rides that harness electromagnetic force to blast off trains, all roller coasters play on two related--and universal--terrors: fear of heights and fear of falling. "The loops and elements, they come and go, but the coaster always has to have the big drop," says Focke of Kings Island.

Traditional coasters provide an ex-cruciatingly slow buildup to the plunge. "There's a lot of self-abuse on that chain lift," says Boodley. "Your own mind puts you in a state of paralysis." (Wooden coasters also creak, rumble and clickity-clack naturally as they flex, but riders get a queasy feeling that the structure is about to collapse. "That's probably one of the funniest things we as designers get to appreciate," says Boodley.) LIMs, on the other hand, rocket you into terror with trains that go from 0 to 60 mph in under four seconds. The big drops are actually shorter on LIMs, but the sense of speed sets hearts pounding.

Most coasters travel below 70 miles an hour, slower than many people drive, but designers heighten the sense of speed and danger with close flybys of terrain, buildings, people, even other trains. At Busch Gardens Tampa Bay, Montu dives riders into five trenches, one of which emerges through the patio of an ersatz Egyptian temple. "Not knowing exactly where the bottom is or where you come out is important," says Mark Rose, the park's vice president of design and engineering. "If you could see the whole thing, then you could kind of play it out in your mind." Some coasters, like Outer Limits and Disney World's Space Mountain, intensify the fear and suspense by keeping passengers in the dark for the entire ride.