It’s not as if Blood Manor can just transform into an office after Halloween.
Subleasing is difficult for the business, which has occupied the same building since 2018, because most tenants don’t need, say, an indoor graveyard or a demonic morgue. Both would be costly to deconstruct and resurrect.
So Mr. Lorenzo is stuck renting the space year-round.
“The only thing we do the rest of the year is spend money,” he said.
To try to make the most of its space, the business hosts pop-up horror events, like “My Bloody Valentine” in February and a Krampus-themed Christmas in December, but they don’t cover the bills, Mr. Lorenzo said.
For Halloween, the business has cut back on performances in its 21st year, from five to four hours a night, to reduce costs.
Still, ticket sales for these businesses has been brisk nationwide since the peak of the coronavirus pandemic, experts in the industry said, attributing it in part to people seeking some escapism.
In the United States, there are about 3,000 professional haunts, or locations set up to scare guests, said Brett Molitor, a board member of the Haunted Attraction Association, and the owner of the “Hysterium” attraction in Fort Wayne, Ind. Attendance is up despite tickets typically costing about $30 or more, he said, but attractions often shut down after a few years, with many costs rising faster.
At the beginning of this season, Mr. Lorenzo said, Blood Manor expected to sell between 18,000 to 23,000 tickets, close to 1,000 a night. Admission started at $30, $10 less than in 2019, in the hopes of spurring sales.
But the task is daunting. Producing the 20-minute show several times a night requires 60 to 75 actors, about 12 makeup and wardrobe artists, and up to a dozen security guards. On the nights closest to Halloween — or “Hell Week” — two teams of actors work in shifts.
“My thing is the element of surprise,” said Monica Ghee, 74, who runs a carnival game on Coney Island, but moonlights as a killer clown. She chases guests with a prop stun gun and yells threats through a voice-changing device.
To stay fresh, the business bought about 100 new costumes last year for around $25,000, including three handmade butcher aprons for $800 each, said Tracee Greene, the costume director.
Over the years, the business has spent more than $150,000 on over 25 animatronic statues currently in use, including coffins, aliens and a werewolf. Part of their marketing, Mr. Lorenzo said, includes a claim that the building, built circa 1852, is haunted by a 19th-century photographer.
Attention to detail pays off. Nick Piccolo, the show’s director, buys novelty scents at two ounces for $24 — including a urine-like one, which smells “really close to the real thing,” he said.
Other expenses are less obvious. Their insurance could reach $30,000 this year, up from $9,000 last year, Mr. Lorenzo said. He attributed the increase to settling a slip-and-fall lawsuit a guest filed in 2021.
Mr. Lorenzo said the electric bill could climb to $40,000 this year, even though the business uses most of its power in the fall, partly because of how he said the utility company assesses some charges year-round.
The show has come a long way since Mr. Lorenzo, who used to run events for nightclubs, got the idea for it over 20 years ago. The production has moved three times since.
But when Halloween ends, and the manor is once again dormant, the team has discussed filling its dreaded halls with something new: laser tag. Maybe.
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