X-Entertainment's Tribute to CASTLE DRACULA in Wildwood, NJ.

I was going to save this for Halloween, but it can't wait. Longtime readers know of my fascination and love for a small but substantial beach/boardwalk community called Wildwood, located in as South Jersey as South Jersey gets. It's a magical place that I've been to with family and friends, year after year since I was literally just a baby. Sadly, I haven't been there for a few years now, either because I'm too old or because it's gotten too expensive or because it's changed so much, the excuses rotating from season to season. Sure, it ain't what it used to be, but even if it's half of what it used to be, I really should go back. It's always been my home away from home.

Still, there's a more genuine reason why I've been reluctant to return. There's this "Castle Dracula" amusement ride, which had been there for decades, and if you count older versions of the ride where it wasn't so Dracula-themed, parts of it had been standing for nearly a century. I loved Castle Dracula so, so much. In 2002, a couple of teenagers snuck into the thing during Wildwood's off-season (where it's a comparable ghost town), somehow managing to set the place ablaze using crude torches. Whether they meant to do it or not, I think it's pretty clear that somehow, someday, I'm going to have to find these kids and destroy them. The end result was a positively ruined and unsalvageable Castle Dracula that had its remnants smashed and cleared away by a wrecking crew, never to return. I don't know if I want to ever see the spot where it once stood. It'll hurt me much more than any missing amusement ride should.

In lieu of driving two hours to hold a candlelight vigil, I'll pay my respects with this article. Most of you have not seen Castle Dracula, much less heard about it outside of a couple of references in very old X-E articles. Bear with me on this, please. Sometimes, I gotta do one just for me.

Wildwood was important to me as an adult, but as a child, my entire year revolved around it. Actually, the cornerstones of each year were Christmas and our family's annual trip to Wildwood. This seedy little community, filled with as many lights and sights as Vegas, provided all kinds of happinesses (yeah) in every possible direction. Sometimes I'd go just with my parents; other times, my older brothers and sisters would join in. Occasionally, even an uncle/aunt tandem would tag along, bringing a bunch of my more age-relatable cousins for the ride. By the time I was in junior high school, I was even allowed to bring a neighborhood friend or two. To be honest, it never mattered who came. As long as I was there, I was happy. As long as I got some of the world's best fries from Curley's, some of the world's worst toys from a slew of 99-cent stores and went on some stomach-exploding spinning ride from Hell, I was happy. As long as we stayed at some overpriced but somehow charmed hotel, with its overpowering hybrid scent of tanning lotion and air conditioner juice, I was happy.

By day, it was all about beaches, pools and soda machines. I'd sit out on the sun decks with the people closest in age to me, scarfing down junk food and gazing down the long, long avenue for a glimpse of the entirely too-far-away boardwalk. I'd keep looking down that avenue throughout the day, as if I was in charge of making sure nothing happened to my beautiful boardwalk. I'd count the minutes and hours until the sun went down, waiting for my family to dust themselves off for dinner -- and it wasn't because I was hungry, it was because dinner was always the prelude to our trip to the boardwalk.

I'm not going to tell you everything there is to know about the Wildwood boardwalk, because we'd be here forever. I knew it and know it like the back of my hand; I loved every inch of its 2.5 miles worth of crusty wooden planks. A mash of games, rides, shops, stores, restaurants and more from years before and years to come, it was -- to me -- the brightest shining star on our entire filthy planet. And of those attractions....hundreds upon hundreds of attractions...nothing warmed my soul quite like the giant, gray-bricked monstrosity known as Castle Dracula.

Second only to the boardwalk's giant Ferris Wheel, Castle Dracula was the granddaddy of 'em all. It really was a castle -- a huge, dark castle. Located on what I always considered to be the smallest and least significant of the amusement piers (and let's say there were five or six of those, total), Castle Dracula was really the only reason to even go there -- but it's not like anyone was looking for another reason.

I assume you've been to a boardwalk, or a carnival, or something that reminds you of Wildwood. You know these places -- they're well lit, bright, full of happy sounds and happy sights. Picture a giant, morbid castle in the middle of all that. Castle Dracula was a sight to behold. During my youth, it intrigued me, yes, but it also scared the living shit out of me.

I was practically a teenager when I first "rode" it. Before that, it was just something I looked at with positively stifling curiosity. I had no idea what went on inside, but it had to be creepy. Two stories tall, the top floor of the castle had all of these ominous, red-lit windows. Whenever we'd walk past, I'd get goofy, stare up and wait to see some monster peek out, confident that he'd only peek out to fuck my shit up. Keep in mind, speakers all over the ride blasted out Tocatta and Fugue in D Minor at volumes that penetrated the entire boardwalk. (Well, almost.) I could hear Castle Dracula long before it was in sight. Sometimes, I'd sit with my mother on a bench near it, never outright saying I was afraid, but nevertheless shivering my ass off. We'd be sitting there eating cotton candy or trying to get our tickets in order, and while she happily smoked her "break cigarette," I'd stare in the complete opposite direction of Castle Dracula, terribly afraid of what would happen if I dared turn around. And yet, I needed to do this on every Wildwood trip. It was part of the experience, and no matter how much the place freaked me out, it was always the first thing I drew whenever doodling the boardwalk in the weeks leading up to our next trip. It intrigued me. As a kid, it wasn't a damn ride -- it was truly a supernatural place where people probably died, where monsters probably ran wild and where children gone astray probably got eaten. God, I loved Castle Dracula.

I totally remember the first time I mustered up the courage to go inside. With two of my female cousins -- one a year younger, one a year older -- and our respective mothers, we bought our tickets and spent a good fifteen minutes figuring out if we were actually brave enough to use them. The spooky music was always loud, but of course, it was much, much louder to anyone standing just outside the Castle -- which we were. We were close enough to notice that it wasn't "just" a ride. There were at least a dozen hired hands walking about, dressed as scary freaks and absolutely living their parts. And, as Castle Dracula is both a walk-through ride and a boat ride, smoky mist rose from its entrance. So we had smoke, monsters and scary music being thrown at us. That was scary enough -- did we really have to go inside?

My cousins were a little less apprehensive about it than I was, probably because they hadn't had the pleasure going to Wildwood for ten years and letting the legend completely sink their brains with fear. Those fools. Me? I was so ready to bail. I mean, I was really ready to bail. I didn't know what a panic attack was, but that's what was going on. Worst of all, I had to keep it all internalized, because hey, my cousins were girls. If they went in and I didn't, word would travel back to my neighborhood buddies ten times faster than my heart was racing. "Shiiiiiiit," I thought. "Saying shiiiiiiit is so funny, even in my head."

We entered the gate, and there stood a long line of people who'd already been waiting to get inside. See, Castle Dracula -- the walk-through version -- was a premeditated show, hosted by someone from ghoulishly-clad staff. You didn't just go in and go about your business unattended -- they weren't going to give you that kind of control, not at Castle Dracula. Free to torment visitors for as long as they chose, the staff took delight in anyone who was showing signs of real fright. Sure, there were hecklers and older folks who'd been on the ride a hundred times already. The staff didn't bother with them. They smelled around for fear, and once found, wouldn't stop pushing until the ride was over or someone died.

So, it shouldn't surprise you to learn that I was one of the staff's prime targets on this particular night. While I knew they weren't really monsters, I must admit that it didn't make one fucking difference. They were loud, they were big, and God damn -- they had their parts down pat. Some slowly lumbered back and forth like a line-walker choosing its sacrificial lamb, others screaming and making as much noise as possible. White face paint did a heck of a lot more for these guys than for once-promising pro-wrestler Hakushi's manager, Shinja. I'm pretty sure thirteen people were let inside at a time, and sure enough, lines for thirteen-person rides go a lot quicker than most others. God damn, no, no no, it was time to go in.

Looking back onto the world perhaps for the last time, I spotted two of my brothers, leaning over a rail and taking great pleasure in seeing me so frightened. This was no time to spite them back: "Tell Daddy I love him," I yelled. "Tell Daddy I forgive him for not winning me the giant stuffed All-Star Snork on the Prize Wheel!"

What went on inside is the stuff of legend, and I dare not give you a complete play-by-play. We will survive on only half of a play-by-play: You start off in this big, dimly lit lobby area. Only one light illuminated the room, and soon enough, it was focused on this hideous painting on an old man named or created by "Gaspare," with the freaks directing you to stare at the painting as the lights flicked and electronic thunder boomed. They'd keep you waiting long enough to get your guards down, and sure enough, another freak hops out at you from behind the painting. This set the tone, and it only got worse from there.

Room by room, you'd meet different themes and different monsters. There was one room where you'd see someone beheaded, another where a man in a chainsaw (a real working chainsaw, turned on, albeit with the cutting-things removed) hopped out and gave people heart attacks. It was madness, complete and total madness. I cannot say with any confidence that Castle Dracula would pass a safety inspection if it still stood today. There were parts where you had to climb crude stairs in complete darkness, parts where you had to make your way through pitch black halls littered with obstructing black foam things throughout. It was pure, 100% Hell. Wasn't as bad as I imagined from all those Wildwood nights of staring at the red-lit windows, but pissing myself was definitely not out of the question.

One of the coolest bits was the "closing walls" room. They'd pile everyone in the group into this room, close the doors, change the lighting and have the walls slowly begin to close in from all sides. This wasn't lame, I promise you -- they closed those walls in as much as they possibly could without risking legal action. It wasn't even scary when it started -- you knew what you were up against, and walls that moved a little weren't all that scary. But next thing you knew, they were pushing your face into a stranger's ass, making you think something malfunctioned on the controls. Like all the T-shirts in the boardwalk gift shops had spray-painted on them, this was nucking futs.

Finally, it was over. You'd been inside a twisted science lab, you'd seen someone get electrocuted, and you'd had at least three Castle Dracula workers hop out at you from corners you couldn't see. It was scary, but I never regretted it. Those who made it through -- and surely I've seen a few get inside and make enough of a scene to be escorted out -- were even given a reward: We got to walk outside the castle, on a hidden second floor deck on our way back to the boardwalk. I'd been staring at this place all my life, and this was the first time I'd ever truly seen its innards. Noticing that the parts of Castle Dracula not seen during the ride or from the boardwalk were far less creepy than those that were, I chuckled to myself, proud to have overcome this fear and become a true Stetson man.

At least, until I had to go on the boat ride version. God dammit...

The Dungeon Boat Ride was, for all intents, completely different than the walk-through version. Nothing was the same. It didn't go through the same rooms -- it wasn't even on the same floor. Instead, you seemingly went underneath the castle, seated with one or two other poor souls on these rickety old boats with grim reaper statues clinging to the backs. When given the signal, a ghoul pulled the lever, and off you went. The entrance did not provide any faith that this ride would even slightly resemble a tunnel of love: Your boat flowed into the mouth of a ten foot skull, its smoke-filled throat lit by red bulbs. It wasn't as lively as the walk-through, no, but it was much, much scarier. No matter what was about to happen, you were trapped in that boat.

So you'd glide through curved tunnels of water, your eyes privy to an endless array of gruesome sights. Now, if what I saw down there amounted to only the basics -- Freddy Krueger statues and dragon masks slopped over bloodied mannequins, it wouldn't have had such an effect on me. It wasn't like that at all -- you didn't have to make what you saw down there "real" to be frightened. The images were scary enough. Very misshapen, old statues told stories of everything from torture to cannibalism to execution and beyond. It was absolutely terrifying. Lit much like a gold mine, it didn't matter that you could (barely) see the mechanics that made all of the figures move -- this could've just as well been a doodle on a cocktail napkin, and we still would've freaked.

The sights weren't just scary -- they were outright sick. I took those sights home with me for sure. Think back to times when you watched horror movies you probably shouldn't have during your youth. You were scared, but it still was kinda thrilling. I was scared to death during the boat ride, but when it was finally over, I felt like I had something over all the other kids on the boardwalk -- the ones who were TOO AFRAID. For a kid who couldn't throw a ball more than four feet and who thought a "double header" referred to the coin toss that determined which team batted first, I needed all the bragging rights I could get.

Fortunately/unfortunately, the Dungeon Boat Ride packed more frights than just a few dozen animatronics of torturers and torturees. Another troop of face-painted workers hopped out at you, again from corners you could never see. Sometimes, you'd spot an opening that was perfect for one of them to hide in, amp yourself for it and get nailed from an entirely different direction. There was even a short portion of the ride that took the boats outside, with live ghouls in wait.

I've gone on the walk-through version of Castle Dracula many times, and yeah, it did lose much of its power with each passing visit. Generally speaking, I knew what to expect. I'd even grown familiar with the location of the hidden obstacles, sidestepping them like I was straight up Van Helsing. The Dungeon Boat Ride was different: I never got used to that. It was always on my mind for days afterward. When I turn to murder, I'll know why.

During my more recent trips to Wildwood, I barely ever went inside Castle Dracula. We'd outgrown most of the rides, my friends and I instead using the trips for its even more popular purpose: Getting very wasted and making oooga-blah sounds at every funny thing on the boardwalk. Still, I'd always find time to at least look at it for a few minutes, seeking out the very same bench my mother and I shared cotton candy on years back. I'd listen to that awful music and -- in the years before a friend identified it -- pondered how much it would cost to get the staff to give me a copy on cassette. I'd stare up at it and imagine doing the same twenty years later.

Of course, I'll never have that chance. Castle Dracula is gone forever. Too expensive and too difficult to rebuild, it's now just a memory -- but a memory for many. I get so sad and angry when I think about it. More sad than angry, I guess. Sad that I'll never see it, that I'll never be able to show it to someone else and that I was too green when I started the site to properly pay tribute. I wish I had a couple of leftover Castle Dracula bricks to prop up a bent table leg. I wish I had something more to hold onto than an MP3 and an old, clown-haired picture of myself standing in front of it. We'll miss you, Castle Dracula. Wildwood hasn't been the same without you.

...but it's still pretty okay.

I'd like to thank the folks at Dark In The Park for so graciously letting me use most of the photos seen in this article. If Castle Dracula has piqued your interest, check out their site for virtually everything you could possibly want to know about it, right down to the friggin' floor plans. It's a terrific site and they're doing a great service by keeping the memory of the little ride that could alive. You can even view video footage of Castle Dracula in its glory days -- great stuff.

And oh, by the way -- I realize this article may not have been of particular interest for some of you. Sorry. Could've been worse, though. Originally, I'd planned to write a steaming mad essay on how annoyed I was when both Nute Gunray and Padme spoke the phrase "you assume too much" during The Phantom Menace. Be thankful for the Castle.

-- Matt (7/24/05)