I’m sure all or most of you have heard about hell houses. Come Halloween, some of the crazier Christian churches throughout the United States borrow the concept of the classic haunted house and twist it into one of the sickest evangelical tools since the Inquisition. Instead of ghosts and goblins, hell houses depict graphic scenes of sin and damnation, focusing on such topics as abortion, homosexuality, fornication and the occult. Generally speaking, hell houses end with a vision of heaven, and the visitor is given a choice of whether or not to accept Christ into his life. In honor of All Hallows Eve, Samhain or whatever else you want to call it, I thought it might be fun to take you on a little tour of an atheist version. I give you… Heaven House! Muah ha ha haaa!

As you approach from the outside, spooky organ music plays on unseen speakers. A person in an angel costume stands at the admission booth. You plunk down your $7, sign the disclaimer and enter under a sign that reads “Lasciate Ogni Speranza.”

The first room is very dark. There are stained glass windows on either side of you. A single spotlight illuminates the golden labarum (chi rho) above the gothic double doors in front of you. Faint choral music fills the air. After a moment, another spotlight switches on, showing the Catholic priest who has been hiding in the corner. His pants are down, and he is walking toward you with outstretched arms. The door to the next room opens, and you flee.

You find yourself in a brightly lit courtroom. Eight judges (six white men, one white woman and a black man) sit across the front of the room, and one chair remains empty. “She starts today,” says one. “She should be here by now,” says another. A door in the corner opens and Ann Coulter enters the room in a judicial robe. (OK, this one’s a few hours out of date.) Your heart pounds. There must be some mistake. She takes the empty seat, and the doors to the next room open.

The average American living room is before you. Two 10-year-old girls are sitting on the floor, with legs folded, facing one another. A Ouija board is across their laps. One says aloud “Does Timmy McGee like me?” They both close their eyes and put their hands on the pointer. At that moment three police officers with crosses on their badges burst through the front door. Two of them draw knives, and cut the girls’ throats, spattering the closest visitors with theatrical blood. As the children bleed out on the carpet, making gurgling sounds, one of the officers remarks “Sometimes I really hate this job.” Another responds, “I know how you feel, Carl, but ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’ We have no choice.” You move on.

In this vignette, a pharmacist in a lab coat stands behind the counter at a typical drug store. A woman approaches and hands him a prescription. “We don’t fill this prescription,” he says, “Birth control is a sin against God’s plan” “But this was the last place I could get them,” she pleads, “I need them. I have endometriosis.” “Well, maybe a little more prayer and a little less promiscuous sex will clear that up. Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior?” You continue to the next room.

You are now in a classroom, but it’s no ordinary classroom. There are bars over the windows and the students are all men (ranging from 15 to 60 years old) in pink jumpsuits with serial numbers on their backs. The instructor enters, carrying a Bible. “OK, class. Some of you have been here a very long time now. Remember, the only way out is through god. It is the responsibility of the government of the Sacred States of America to see to it that you are saved. Now, please turn to Leviticus 20:13 and repeat after me. ‘I am an abomination.’” The lights switch off, and the next door opens.

This room looks like a partially finished basement. One wall is cinderblock, and there are exposed air ducts overhead. There is an examination table in the middle of the room, and a man with a bloody chef’s apron and a carpenter’s particle mask stands near it. A young woman, no more than 18 years old, comes down the staircase to your right. She is crying. The man directs her to the table, where she lays down. He straightens out a wire coat hanger. “I’m sorry,” he says, “this is going to hurt, but it’s the best I can do since the law changed.” He lifts her skirt and sticks the hanger underneath. The girl begins to scream in pain as the lights fall, and the next door opens.

An outdoor scene has been painted on the walls of this room. A middle-aged woman is tied to a stake in front of a crowd. She has a large, red letter A pinned to her sweater. A minister steps forth to address the crowd. “Marge Johnson, who is before you today, has been tried and convicted of adultery. Under section 17a of the penal code of the Sovereign Christian Kingdom of South Carolina, she has been sentenced to death by stoning. Since our lord and savior, Jesus Christ, taught us that he who is without sin should cast the first stone, I will.” The minister picks up a realistic looking styrofoam rock and throws it at the woman’s head. The rest of the mob follows suit. You move ahead.

A boisterous group of fourth graders awaits you in the next room. Two adults stand between them and a diorama that depicts a man and a woman, each with strategically-placed fig leaves. The woman is holding an apple. The teacher says, “OK children. Settle down. This is a museum, so you have to be quiet.” The museum tour guide says, “I’m Mr. Jacobs, and I’m going to teach you about the origin of man. Up until recently, we had believed that man evolved from monkeys, but we now know that’s not true because we’ve studied pocket watches. Here we see the real story. 6,000 years ago, god made everything…” The actors freeze, and the next door opens.

This room is an office. A man in a suit sits behind the desk. A placard reads “Arthur Christensen, CSW.” A woman sits across from him, holding an infant. “Was your husband unable to join us today,” asks the man. “I’m not married,” she responds. “That’s fine. Let me just make a photocopy of your gestational certificate for your file.” “But I don’t have one,” she says. “Then you’re not qualified to be a mother in the state of Indiana. I’m sorry.” The man pushes a button on the desk, and two large men in matching black suits with cross pins in their lapels enter the room and seize the baby. The next room opens.

This final room has black walls and is empty except for a podium in the center. A spotlight shines on the man at the podium, and two others shine on the two doors behind him. “Now you must make a choice,” says the man. The door to my left leads to the church next door. If what you have seen tonight appeals to you, you should go through that door. If you have been frightened, horrified or angered by our presentation, you should choose the door to my right. It will return you to the parking lot, which is located in the real word. The choice is yours.” The center spotlight on the podium goes dark.

Go ahead. Pick a door.

Happy Halloween, everyone.

~I AM~