Behind the screams

Jeanette Koklamanis
Makeup maven, Dungeon of Doom
“I have absolutely no theater background whatsoever,” Koklamanis says of how she landed the head makeup artist spot at Dungeon of Doom. “I wouldn’t even consider myself a creative person, so actually it was kind of forced upon me.” Forced is a little strong, but she’s right: She married into the business. In the ’80s her stepfather ran the haunted house; when the space’s lease was up and the haunt closed, her husband and brother-in-law decided to revive it in a new location. “It was like, Can you help us out, can you take over the makeup? And I just have that attitude to just do it and get it done,” she says.

IN THE FLESH Makeup artist Jeanette Koklamanis puts the finishing touches on Taylor Klingamen so he can go scare the life out of some kids.

That was 11 years ago, and after flying solo for a while, Koklamanis now has a team of six other artists. Using 3-D wax (a latex mold used to make horns or other terrifying appendages), blood gel, airbrushing, and other products, the team creates the effect of someone who’s been skinned alive, whose face is bludgeoned and other torture-related looks. Dungeon of Doom spends about $2,000 annually on makeup alone, and some characters take up to an hour to make up every night. Sounds exhausting, but it’s the little comforts that keep her going: “I love doing ‘burn victim,’ where the whole side of the face is just burned,” she says. Lake County Fairgrounds, 50 U.S. Hwy 45, Grayslake (262-553-9003, dungeonofdoom.com). $14. Through Wed 31.

Ken Spriggs
Stink thinker, Dream Reapers
Dead corpses. Burned flesh. Rotted wood. Urine. These are a few examples of the kinds of putrid “flavors” offered by Sinister Scents, a Melrose Park company that concocts ghastly smells for haunted houses throughout the country—including the local Dream Reapers, a nightmare-themed haunt—and any place that requires the aroma of a freshly dug grave or a gunshot.

When a client makes a request, Spriggs and his team go to work on combining ingredients to concoct the scented oil (for, say, a burning body scent, they mix oils that smell like rotten eggs and barbecue), pack the oil into tiny beads and put the beads in a mesh bag. Then, when air passes through the bag—via an air compressor or by placing the bag in the ventilation system—you’re hit with a ferocious smell. 

But not all of the scents are of the prisoner-getting-electrocuted variety. The team has created the smell of stale beer, cigars and cigarettes for a ’50s-themed soiree, and even a hay scent for a kids’ barn party. But, seriously—urine? “There’s an outhouse for a haunted house [in Orlando that] basically explodes,” Spriggs says. And when it explodes, the air cannon inside releases the scent. That’s right, Orlando: You have to pay for a urine smell, but we get to experience it for free on the CTA. Dream Reapers, 1945 Cornell Ave, Melrose Park (708-344-2084, dreamreapers.com). $15. Through Wed 31.