Bryan S., a local graphic designer with the nerves of a rock, recently strolled through the state’s most terrifying haunted house without breaking a sweat. While others were busy screaming, clutching friends, and maybe even wetting themselves a little, Bryan walked through as if he was just picking up groceries. His trick? Nothing in the haunted house could rival the horrors of his own apartment.
“We’ve had plenty of tough customers, but this guy is something else,” said Alex B., the haunted house manager. “He actually high-fived one of our zombies and asked another for cleaning tips. Our guy with the chainsaw? Still in therapy.”
Bryan’s apartment is less “cozy bachelor pad” and more “post-apocalyptic disaster zone.” A tour of the place reveals piles of laundry—some potentially sentient—scattered across the floor and furniture like relics from a failed laundry experiment. Take-out containers, that seem to be from a long-forgotten era, balance precariously on every surface.
Friends who have dared to enter Bryan’s apartment have their own horror stories. “I walked in once and saw a mountain of laundry, and I’m pretty sure there was a family of mice living inside it,” said Tom H., a close friend. “I didn’t ask questions; I just backed away slowly.”
The kitchen, however, is where things get truly terrifying. Pots and pans, caked with remnants of meals long forgotten, are piled high in the sink. A suspicious odor wafts from the refrigerator—part science experiment, part crime scene. Neighbors speculate that whatever’s growing in there should probably be paying rent by now.
When asked about his fearlessness during the haunted house tour, Bryan was unfazed. “Look, when your apartment looks like a crime scene, it takes more than some fake blood and jump scares to rattle you,” he said. “At least the haunted house is organized. My place? Total chaos.”
Neighbors have started calling Bryan’s place “The Real House of Horrors,” and urban legends about strange noises and foul smells have begun to circulate. The truth, however, is much simpler—Bryan is probably just tripping over pizza boxes or trying to locate his TV remote under a pile of clothes.
Despite the overwhelming disaster zone he lives in, Bryan couldn’t care less. “Sure, it looks bad, but it keeps people out who shouldn’t be here,” he said with a smirk. He even joked that if a burglar ever broke in, they’d need therapy afterward. “They’d take one look around and realize nothing in here is worth more than the counseling they’d need to recover.”
Back at the haunted house, the staff is still recovering from Bryan’s visit. “He asked our vampire actor where he could get a cape like that to cover up some stains on his couch,” said Tony D., one of the performers. “It’s like nothing here even registered as scary to him.”
Alex B. is now rethinking the haunted house’s approach. “If Bryan wasn’t fazed by our current setup, we might need to up the ante,” she said. “We’re seriously considering a new exhibit: ‘Bryan’s Apartment.’ But honestly, I’m not sure our insurance covers that level of horror.”
For those feeling brave enough to face their own mess, Bryan has some advice. “Don’t let it pile up,” he said. “But if it does, just invest in a good air freshener and accept your fate. Or, you know, maybe burn everything and start fresh.”
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