Escape the Feed: A House of Horrors Inspired by the Best (Worst) of the Internet

Escape The Feed Header
  • Text Sinead Chang
  • Design Fiona Ye

In the spirit of Halloween, I took a trip to the “Escape the Feed” haunted house over the weekend. Admittedly, I’m a bit of a scaredy-cat. But, this experience was inspired by the best of the internet, and how scary can the internet really be?

Last Friday, I was seized by the sudden impulse to buy a ticket. Perhaps the unskippable Instagram Story ads had something to do with it. I waited behind 342,021 people in the virtual queue, and with dynamic pricing, my ticket cost $35,000. (Don’t worry! I expensed it!)

And then it was Saturday afternoon. I was greeted outside a nondescript door by a tired-looking teen wearing leopard print jeans as Addison Rae’s scream from the “Von Dutch” remix played on repeat. “Your safe word, if you need to leave the experience, is ‘skibidi,’” she said. I pulled on a pair of mandatory MSCHF Flipped Flops — I’ll be nimble in these, I thought. A timed fog machine in the corner went off abruptly. Is that… an industrial grade Blue Razz Ice Elf Bar?

ELF BAR

After handing over my phone (the irony of this isn’t lost on me), I walked through the first door into a clean, minimalist kitchen. I felt queasy with anticipation. (Or, was it too much Blue Razz?) Then, Nara Smith popped up from underneath the kitchen counter. With a soft smile, she said: “I’m going to make a chainsaw from scratch.” We locked eyes.

In horror, I flew through the door to my left and crashed straight into a metal barricade.

“Hey, watch out!” I mumbled an apology as I rubbed my knee — I could feel a bruise forming already. A line of people stretched endlessly in front of me. I tried to walk towards the front to see what everyone was waiting for, but a group of tween boys stopped me. “No cutting!” They said in unison, and in shame I walked back to the end of the line, which seemed to have grown even longer.

Room 1 Nara Smith

Three hours later, I was finally at the front. “Next!” An employee in a black hat and white apron waved me forward. “I’m just trying to get to the next room,” I said, exasperated. “Well, the door’s right there. Can I help you with anything else? We have some great flavors this week.” My hand was already turning the doorknob, but I turned back. “Flavors? Where am I?”

“Oh, this is a Crumbl.” I walked through the door.

Exhausted from standing, I decided to sit for a minute before moving forward. As I reached down to adjust my Flipped Flops, now slippery with sweat, a hand holding a tiny mic entered my field of view. “Excuse me, can I ask you a question?” I looked up to find myself face to face with an iPhone camera. Confused, I ignored this and scanned the room for the exit.

Room 2 Crumbl Line

Over the tops of heads I could just make out a door. I started making my way there, but immediately tripped over a pair of shoes. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” I said. “No worries!” A cheery woman said. “I’m actually filming a video right now, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” I shook my head and kept walking. “Hi! I’m filming a video for…” “No,” I said, before the man could finish his sentence.

More and more people turned towards me, armed with mics and cameras, getting more and more aggressive with their requests. “I’m sorry!” I screamed. “I don’t want to be in your video!” They looked offended at my outburst. Another hand — mic attached to it — slowly extended towards my face. I slapped it out of the way and sprinted for the exit.

Room 3 Mini Mic

… And I immediately skidded to a stop, finding myself on the edge of a pool. Across from me, I thought I could just make out Barry Keoghan, who saluted me and walked out the door into the cool October breeze. Freedom from this haunted house from hell was within reach. I just had this final obstacle.

“Million Dollar Baby” played in my head as I took off my sweater in preparation to swim. I just had to make it across. I dipped one toe in, then another, suspicious about what surprises it could have in store for me. The water was warm — like leftover bathwater — and a bit cloudy. Willing myself not to think too hard about it, I dived in and swam with all my strength. It felt like my life depended on it… or at the very least my sanity.

Room 4 Saltburn Bathwater

A cover of “Espresso” sung by RFK Jr. played as my phone was returned to me by Chappell Roan. I wanted to ask for a photo — my friends would never believe me otherwise — but she looked like she was in a bad mood. Instead, I stood there starstruck as she shoved an Erewhon x ExxonMobile smoothie into my hands. “Want a hit of Galaxy Gas? It’s free with your ticket.” I declined.

Safely on the subway headed home, I wondered if it was all a terrible dream. “Better not think too hard about it,” I thought, and pulled up TikTok. And then, I really didn’t have to think about anything at all.

EREWHON SMOOTHI Ex Exxonmobil