You know you're in for a special post when I draw up a custom introductory image!

The New York Aquarium in Brooklyn (which I actually reviewed long ago, if you dare to track down the article), ain't the first place I'd name as a Halloween hot spot, but lo and behold, they're giving it a shot.

The official website was rather vague when describing the aquarium's spooky activities. They sort of hinted at what was going on, but I really had no idea.

To say that I wasn't expecting what I found there would be an understatement on the level of, "I didn't expect that pretzel to come alive, grab my keys and steal my car." We visited the aquarium on Sunday morning, and I'm only just now able to confess my findings without shaking.

In we went, darting past the walruses and jellyfish to find this sign. Indeed, the NY Aquarium's focal point of Halloweenness is its Haunted Sea-Fari. ("Sea-Fari" isn't hyphenated like that on the sign shown above, but it is on the official site. Given that the sign seems to have been crafted by a first grader with one arm, I'm trusting the site.)

Now, you hear "Haunted Sea-Fari," and the mind races. There are a lot of ways to construe the term "Haunted Sea-Fari." My original assumption was that they'd just add a bunch of fake spider webs and other spooky decorations to one of their "scary fish" exhibits. It wouldn't have been magic, but it would've worked well enough.

In truth, the aquarium went so insanely beyond that. Opinions will differ on how successful they were in this endeavor, but make no mistake: When it comes to Halloween, the New York Aquarium isn't fucking around.

We climbed the steps and debated the final approach, lulled into a false sense of security by the friendly aquarium staffer, who encouraged us to take pictures.

For some reason, every time that I've tried to take pictures at some kind of "haunted" amusement thing, I've been told not to. It's as if total strangers don't want to be deconstructed in photos on public websites. This clear approval to photograph my perilous journey was enough for me to put aside my fears and step through the haunted doorway.

Narrowly avoiding the dangers of Ye Bearded Curtain, we carefully negotiated our way through the opening fog. My pictures don't convey it, but there was a lot of fog. Probably more than they meant to create.

My pictures also aren't conveying the number of small children who ran in and out of the Haunted Sea-Fari by the dozens. When you mix that much fog with that many kids, your secret parts tend to get bumped into a lot. By the time I exited the Haunted Sea-Fari, I expected to go to prison.

Incredibly, this wasn't just some ragtag room filled with random creepy junk. Okay, it kind of was. But more accurately, it was a tried and true haunted walk-through -- the same kind that you'd normally enjoy at places that more closely fit the description of an "amusement park" than the New York Aquarium. For those who live near Shamu, allow me to confirm: Most aquariums just have fish, popcorn and a gift shop. Not rides.

There were a few displays like the one shown above, mainly reflecting a hybrid pirate/death theme. The skeleton replicas are only nominally frightening, but those weird pirate mannequins are horrible. They're just so creepy and soulless, and they seem prepped to do the "I'm really ALIVE" eye movement at any given moment. Or at least, that's how they'll appear if you get blunted in the aquarium's parking lot beforehand.

Obviously, this Haunted Sea-Fari is meant for small children. The random obstacles, like the cheap curtains cut to look like ocean waves shown above, only graze the tops of kids' heads as they steamroll through the place. For me and my hard-nosed posse, with our immense and adult heights, these faux waves were a bit more burdensome. By the time we clawed out way out from the many folds of fabric, half of the NY Aquarium's Haunted Sea-Fari laid battered on the floor.

Of course, you're more interested in those weird lumps seen on the ground, right? Who cares about wave-shaped fabric when there are suspicious blue lumps all over the floor? Okay, I'll talk.

The big, blue rubber lumps are meant to represent poisonous jellyfish, and you're supposed to hop around them to avoid being "stung." Of course, everyone who walks through the Sea-Fari can't resist kicking them, expecting the phony jellyfish to shake or light-up when touched. But they don't. They don't do anything. They're just random rubber lumps.
Shame on the New York Aquarium. Shame on them for assuming that we'd take their shitty painted warning sign at face value, and not give into our primal and base need to kick rubber lumps whenever we see them. We know the truth, New York Aquarium. These jellyfish were totally half-assed.

By the time we got to this exhibit, featuring fish-themed versions of the classic "funhouse mirror" gag, I began to worry that the seventeen dollar admission fee wasn't really worth a few pictures of rubber lumps and fish mirrors. Fortunately, the pace picked up as soon as we turned the next corner...

Indeed, the Haunted Sea-Fari features LIVE ACTORS! A bunch of them, too! Some were dressed as random and totally not-sea-themed vampires, while others weren't in any sort of costume at all. But of course, the real star of the show was the man shown above, who got to play dead in a cardboard coffin for the brunt of an eight-hour shift.

From time to time, he'd "awaken" and attempt to startle you, but for whatever reason, he wouldn't say anything when he did. He didn't scream, he didn't yell, and heck, he didn't even pop up from the coffin with much vigor. He just sort of groggily leaned forward, rubbed his eyes, and laid back down. It was honestly one of the strangest things I've ever seen, and that's coming from someone who has a collection of years-old Shamrock Shakes in his freezer.

I wasn't able to get photos of the other live actors (they retreated behind the "staff only" curtains too quickly), but there were at least four or five of them, and they really put the Sea-Fari over the top. Especially odd were the ones who dressed as "regular" reapers and vampires, because what in God's name were they doing in a sea-themed haunted house? At least the coffin dude was in pirate garb. Why string together all of this fabulous continuity only to ruin it with a cloaked seventeen-year-old in white face paint? So Matt would have something to write about, that's why.

Reverting back to frills and fabric, the next section of the Sea-Fari challenged us to match wits with a ferocious "giant octopus."

The hanging tubes and cloth strands were meant to be its tentacles. By this point, I'd grown weary of walking through arts and crafts. On the other hand, Man Laying Down In Cardboard Coffin isn't an easy act to follow.

As the final act, we have this weird skeleton/pirate mannequin, kinda Jack Sparrow-themed. The mannequin's job is to protect a trunk of plastic gold coins, because fake pirates should be in charge of fake money.

As this was situated directly next to the exit, it stood to reason that each visitor would be allowed to take one of the plastic gold coins home, as a memento. NOT SO, said the girl who was hired to sit next to the plastic coins and yell at anyone who tried to take one.

Instead of plastic coins, the girl gave everyone a small roll of Smarties candies. I'm not a big fan of Smarties, but I am an ENORMOUS fan of being handed random candy as I exit Haunted Sea-Faris. If my visit to the aquarium needed one last bit of nonsensical nuance to truly be worth writing about, it was that.

Dazed and confused, we wandered around the rest of the park, staring blankly at sharks, seahorses and other creatures that I own plastic versions of. Any other day, I would've been completely fascinated and unflinching. I'd stare at those wondrous animals and lose myself in their gentle sways.

Not last Sunday, though. Like I said, Man Laying Down In Cardboard Coffin is a tough act to follow. We left a few minutes later, drove home in silence, and haven't spoken about the trip since.

In closing: Aquariums are among my favorite places on the planet, but when an aquarium features a spooky Halloween walk-through with fog and strobe lights and guys in parachute pants hiding in fake caskets? Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?