I stand in an empty playground parking lot in the rural outskirts of Saginaw, Michigan – an unlikely town for the type of experience I am about to endure. Coming from Chicago, the first thing I notice is the silence of the country. And the cold – the Michigan wind whips around my inadequately layered winter apparel as I wait – for what, I’m not entirely sure. PRVT PRVT PRVT PRVT PRVT
…and a minivan pulls up. Blayne Adams, the creator of STAG, waves me into the car to begin my private show (PRVT), the company’s fifth. Once I’m in and my seatbelt is buckled, she hands me a waiver to sign. She introduces her brother in the back seat. I say hello – no response – maybe he’s just a dick? With my pen’s ink still drying, the car heads back to the highway. Blayne makes small talk with me and reveals some very personal information about her life. I engage and give appropriate condolences as we speed down the highway. PRVT
Suddenly, her brother comes to life and grabs me by the neck from behind – there it is. “Drive! I’ll tell you were to go. Don’t make any sudden moves,” he barks.
I’m unsure why her brother has turned on us, and what was happening before I was picked up, but I do as I’m told in these situations. I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough. We arrive in a seedy motel parking lot – the kind you’re likely to see in fake snuff films on YouTube. Blayne runs from the car and I’m instructed to wait with the man who I’m not entirely sure is really her brother.
I’m forced to walk with the man, smile, look natural, and enter Room 40, where I’m placed in a corner and told to keep quiet. Chipping paint, framed pictures from the Dollar Store, and cheap wood laminate walls adorn the room. My view is slightly blocked by the fridge indicating that I’m a voyeur here, and – to the unaware couple ready to make good use of the hotel room bed – unwelcome. I’m slammed against a wall, as one would expect to be if caught being a peeping Tom, thrown out of the room, and quickly moved to another, identical motel room a few yards away. Has Blayne’s brother had time to concoct a plan for me? I have little time to spot him before the blindfold comes down and I’m pushed into another corner with what sounds like a record left spinning on dead wax filling the room. PRVT PRVT
“Everyone dies two deaths. The first is when your heart stops beating and you take your last breath. The second is when someone says your name for the last time,” an almost sweet voice tells me from the darkness.
Several characters enter and exit the room, telling me stories of death – the afterlife of an animal corpse in the hands of an extremely educated roadside collector, a moving recollection of a husband’s suicide, and a lingering question of the last time your name leaves a living person’s lips. I’m so utterly moved by these stories that I momentarily forget that this is an extreme show – the self-reflection can’t last much longer.
“Get up, follow me.” A young woman, barely dressed, moves me to the bed, lays me down, and removes my shoes. Her gentleness with me is a stark contrast from the man who brought me in here. She’s not interested in hurting me, for now. She encourages me to watch as she pleasures herself with a sex toy, and never breaks eye contact with me… until the device malfunctions and she goes lifeless. Shit – this isn’t good. The door bursts open and a panicked woman wearing a T-shirt and jeans enters, screaming at me while two masked figures hang back like dark angels observing just another mess these wretched humans have created for themselves. PRVT
“Help me get her off the bed!”
We move the corpse of the young woman who loved her sex toy too much to the floor and begin washing her for an extended period of time. The moment of silence for the young woman I barely knew is interrupted by the observing angels. They roar to life, zip-tying my appendages and carrying me to the bathtub. The bathroom door slams shut and I’m alone in darkness once again, fearing ice cold water is my next test – until I hear yet another woman scream.
She bursts through the bathroom door in fear for her life. She’s dressed plainly like all the others – jeans and a T-shirt – but looks much younger, and much more innocent. I’m sure my preconceived notions will be deceived. I’m more focused on her hand hitting the tub’s faucet than what she’s saying, so I only gather that she’s in trouble, and, in my current restrained position, so am I. PRVT
“Will you protect me? He’s going to kill me when he finds you here.”
“I’ll do my best,” I respond a little too honestly for someone in my current state of capture. She produces a pair of scissors to cut me loose. Okay, maybe we have a chance… Nope.
What seems like the biggest man I’ve ever seen in my life kicks the door open, and he’s not happy with what he sees. The woman pushes past him and runs into the motel room. I join her moments later by way of the giant effortlessly lifting me out of the tub and slamming me into the corner wall. I can’t see what unfolds behind me – a crescendo of anger and violence from a relationship that should not exist in the first place ends with his voice fading away.
“He’s dead,” she states in a calm but saddened tone. I hold the woman in my arms for a moment – she needs it much more than I do right now. As quickly as she came into my life, she disappears. I’m alone again, waiting for this room to haunt me with another tragic story. Though it feels like I’ve dodged a bullet with the big guy going down so easily, I’m not dumb enough to believe STAG hasn’t reloaded.
BOOM!!
The door flies open again with a young, manic and paranoid man. He’s looking for something and forces me to look with him. I don’t fully trust we will find what he is searching for. I dig around drawers and under the bed, where I find some straps that I fear are for me later in the evening as well as two images of people very close to me. I doubt I will find out the reason for them being in this room. Before I can think too long on the subject, a man and woman claiming to be a doctor and nurse from a local mental health facility enter to subdue the man. As is becoming the theme of this evening, they need my help.
I hold the man down on the bed while the doctor injects him with a sedative. The man’s convincingly emotional outburst whimpers away as the sedative takes hold. Of all the dramatic moments of the night, this one hits me the hardest and deepest. The doctor interrupts my focus on the sedated man. “Unfortunately, this man is contagious and you need to be vaccinated,” he tells me.
On one hand, I’m joyous that this show hasn’t joined the anti-vaxxer movement, but, on the other, I’m concerned when I’m told to remove most of my clothing. And it looks like I’m about to find out what the straps under the bed are for. Thankfully, I’ve avoided any major medical emergencies in my life, but I’m certain this doctor is not following routine procedure. At least he was friendly about the whole ordeal.
I’m left alone, restrained, and finally reaching the “what the fuck am I doing with my life” moment I have at least once in every extreme haunt I’ve ever entered. Another young woman – one I recognize from STAG’s 2018 summer show, Addiction – enters the room. If her performance in that show is any indication of what is about to unfold, I am concerned. Based off her demeanor and the tools she begins lining up along the bed, this is the only moment in the show that I can predict – my concern is warranted. She’s not happy, she’s not friendly, and she most certainly isn’t here to protect me from communicable diseases. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.
In a haze of cigarette smoke blown in my face, I’m educated on how she likes to hurt to people; I am her test subject and student. Prodding, pulling, scratching, screaming. And we haven’t even started with the tools. I come out of this scene with little doubt that she enjoys inflicting pain, and she knows precisely how to do it. Due to the intensity of her torturous curriculum, I’m a little foggy going into the next scene. I am now blindfolded and a tight pair of pants are hoisted on me. I’m sure I didn’t wear those here.
If one were to consider STAG’s strengths, it’s how easily they transition from one seemingly unconnected scene to the next that stands out. Though the tone may shift wildly, it always feels like I make it to the next space organically. Never has that been more apparent to me than now, as I kneel before a giant pentagram on the bed, surrounded by masked figures. We worship together, we fail at an incantation together, and we bring the dead young woman from earlier in the night back to life together. And then everything goes black again.
When my vision is restored, I’m presumably surrounded by the same people, but the pentagram is gone. Now, what appears to be a workout instructor wearing yoga gear stands on the bed, telling me and the rest of the crew to reach for the sky. The dark angels next to me stretch and hit yoga poses, ones I’m not nearly flexible enough to perform properly. One of them has a special interest in grabbing and tickling me as I try my best to stand like a tree.
Yes, you read that correctly. We are doing yoga. No pain, no horror. Yoga. I finally have a moment to look down at the clothing placed on me earlier – yoga pants. How fitting – and, damn, I look good in these! I know this isn’t going to last long, so I try to enjoy the moment. But, indeed, the moment is fleeting.
It’s not long before I’m barefoot in the freezing parking lot being led to yet another motel room. The bed is covered in tools and weaponry; the heavy implication being I will be meeting the end of a few rusty blades. The young woman I helped revive is here and friendlier than ever – until she blindfolds me and moves me to a chair I hadn’t noticed upon entering.
I’m given a scenario reminiscent of HVRTING’s infamous card game, but with a blackjack twist – win three rounds and the show is over. But for every round that I lose, I take a black card to my right and endure the consequences displayed on it. I think it’s about the right time to admit that blackjack is a game I’ve lost a significant amount of times in my life, so I’m sure this is not going to go well. It doesn’t. I pull four black cards before I win my freedom from the horrors of the motel. I’m curious how many hands other participants played before getting free.
I walk away from PRVT with the rancid memories that this structure has sucked into its walls over the decades. In two hours, I imagine I’ve only gotten a taste of what it has seen in its lifetime, and I’m intrigued as to what STAG has in store for their next descent into terror in July’s Occult.
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STAG will be making its return this summer with a new show entitled Occult that will be running from July 11th through the 14th. Tickets for Occult can be purchased here.
To keep updated on all things STAG: An Immersive Horror Experiment, follow their Facebook and Instagram. And be sure to check our Events Guide for more upcoming immersive and horror experiences.
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