Vault of Souls: The most glamorous nightmare ever

As I've said — repeatedly, loudly, and, when forced to endure a haunted house that "wasn't all that scary, we promise", violently — I am not a haunted house type of gal. Never have been, although I did once visit Terror on Church Street (RIP). It's not that I don't enjoy getting scared; I do, but not by things jumping out at me. It feels cheap, like closing time sex in a nightclub bathroom. I've heard.

Now, psychological fear? That's my bag, baby. Put it this way: I didn't care for Kubrick's version of The Shining, but the televised version of it kept me awake for nights. I find it telling that Stephen King said he preferred that version as well.

Franklin Street's Vault of Souls appeals to me for the same reason: psychological fear, and it's as scary as you want.

In all honesty, this didn't terrify me, so if you're looking for that sort of experience (people jumping out at you, chasing through the woods with knives, that sort of thing), your money's better spent at Scream-a-Geddon or Chamber of Terror. They're both fine attractions. I mean, I hear. I'm too much of a wuss to do either. But Vault of Souls? Totally different story.

Here's how it works: You show your invite to a sexy version of Lurch — he goes by the Reverend — and you enter the former bank lobby. It's a cavernous space and the actors mingling around you do a fine job of convincing you they're haunted but don't know it. The drinks don't hurt, either — I try a Vault Ventilator, because drinks with dry ice are to me what frozen daiquiris are to sorority girls. The gin does not disappoint. 

After a fashion, they call our names — I'm with a group of five others and they only take people down to the basement in groups of six. There's a long wait and it's an hour past the 8:30 appointment when they call us, but I get it — once you're down in the basement, you can take your time (and you should, but more on that in a minute), and they can't rush people out. The dancers and music and, yes, the drinks (at this point I'm thrilled I have a designated driver) make the waiting not at all unpleasant.

Before you go downstairs, you don a plain white mask and get a stern talking-to from the not-so-sexy-when-he's-scolding-the-drunk-girl-next-to-you (shout out to my 8:15 Vault buddy!) before you enter the basement, where you can't talk. And yes, they mean business on this. The only time you may speak is to say the code word that will take you away from the scary parts, but once you're out, you can't go back.

The buildup to the basement scares me more than anything I see down there, and it's supposed to — as one of the, uh, ghosts explains to me, you can make your time down there as scary as you'd like, and once down there I understand what he means — you can sort of individualize your terror experience. This is last chance they have to terrify you en masse and, for those seeking a truly psychologically damaging experience, it's a well-crafted jumping-off point, and for those of us not wanting to soil ourselves, it primes the pump just enough for what we'll see downstairs.

I'm not going to tell you what happened down there because, well, what happens at the Vault stays in the Vault, but suffice to say, I could have spent twice as long down there as I did (and don't do the same dumb-ass thing I did and not wear my glasses, because I missed out on every single one of the clues and awesome sub plot — at least, I heard it was awesome. I couldn't read any of the clues). The different rooms have different experiences, and you can participate in them as much — or as little — as you'd like. My big mistake (after the glasses thing) was not getting into the experience enough. If you're going to spend the money, go whole hog and suck in all the gripping fear they have on offer. 

We leave the basement for the Gin Joint, essentially a lounge where we can finally talk again and share stories. This is when I figured out I missed the bulk of the subplot and also that I hadn't seen all of the Vault. Our night ended with a trip to the fortune tellers where I a lovely woman read my tarot and, to be honest, she did a hell of a job and gave me a far more specific reading than I expected.

If you go, learn from my heartbreaking mistakes: Take your glasses and take your time. When they tell you you can touch anything but the spirits, they mean it, and there's a reason: aside from the fear factor, there's a hell of a story down there. It's your job to find it.

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If you go:

• Don't arrive drunk (or get that way before you get called downstairs) — they will not let you go through the experience.

• Don't speak downstairs — it's a one-way ticket out

• Don't rush the experience; once you leave, you can't go back

• Get more info and make reservations here.

This article appears in Oct 20-27, 2016.