In February, when the only holiday on the calendar is Valentine's Day, Scott Simmons is thinking about Halloween. He has only nine months left to get ready for it.

Nine months preparation, or 211 days, or 5,064 hours, from Feb. 1 till opening day Oct. 2 is what it takes to get your haunted house ranked 13th nationally and keep it intensely, nerve-jangling, throat-hurts-from-screaming, cling-to-your-friends-strangers-anyone scary.

"I think people sort of assume it's just black walls and strobe lights," Simmons, 38, of Ross said.

Let's just nip that assumption in the bud. The Scarehouse in Etna is not "just" anything. It's 1,400 feet of elaborate props, 65 actors waiting in dark corners, scenes with scents dispersed (like mothballs), and custom-made monsters, costumes and sets. Simmons, a freelance video producer, often works from 7 p.m. till 4 or 5 a.m. at the Scarehouse. There are giant skeletons to build, things to paint, cobwebs to string up, headless dolls to prop, lights to wire, costumes to sew, chains to hang, whole rooms to construct. But all that's hard to appreciate when a guy with a chainsaw is after you and you become a track star.

Until this season, the Scarehouse comprised two haunts, the Hall of Nightmares and Screamatorium. The first, and longest of the sections, is classically creepy.

"Hall of Nightmares is influenced a lot by 'Tales From the Crypt,' " said Simmons, who described it as "colorful" and "over the top." He describes Screamatorium as "dark" and compares it to movies such as "Saw."

"Dark" and "over the top" are gross understatements. (Scarehouse is not recommended for kids under 13.) And "Tales From the Crypt" was never this freaky. Simmons, his wife and father, all owners of the Scarehouse, have months to brainstorm scary sets, plan, build, tweak, and then do it all again the next year. They're masters at this.

Descriptions of haunted houses look silly on paper. A couple of skeletons reaching out for you, an old farmhouse living room with a kid sitting way too close to a burnt-out TV, clothes hanging in a hallway, deformed mannequins lying on an operating table, an enormous switchboard with orange lights flashing, leering clowns, a dentist -- no, this does not seem particularly freaky (except maybe the clowns ... and the dentist). But add it all up, turn off the lights, turn on some sound effects, throw in some actors and let the screaming begin.

But getting people to run out the doors must've gotten boring because this year the Simmonses and their team built an entirely new haunt -- Delirium. It's 3-D.

Set in between Hall of Nightmares and Screamatorium, Delirium is something of a break from the usual haunted house stuff.

"The hardest part of interviews and PR is trying to describe it," said Simmons. The best description he'd heard was from a worker who said, "It doesn't make any sense, and that's sort of the point."

I think it's like going through Andy Warhol's brain. Bright flecks of neon paint pop out and haunt-goers will have to navigate a spinning tunnel. Actors are in costumes inspired by cyberpunk (do the Google) and Japanese anime.

"Delirium is a character, and this is sort of a trip through her brain. When you put the glasses on, you sort of see the world the way she does. Her character is completely random. Like everything is the best thing ever. You're going through this party in her head," said Simmons.

Of course, since this is a haunted house, much of the painting on the walls are demons and monsters that pop out at you. But save your energy for the Screamatorium -- that's where a sprint will come in handy.

"People that run are by far my favorite," said Dejah Harnish, 24, of the North Side. "You scare them and," she snaps her fingers, "they're gone. They might run past the next three scares before they finally slow down."

Sprinters are anticipated, though, and precautions are taken, like putting an actor near a wall "to bounce them in the other direction," said Harnish.

"We pad our corners for a reason," said Christopher Gilgour, 28, of Troy Hill.

Harnish and Gilgour work two nights a week and all day Saturdays designing and building sets. They also make costumes, help with makeup and act. Harnish has been at this since 2003, Gilgour since last year. Making scary props and scaring the snot out of people is "stress relief" from their "real jobs." Harnish is in marketing research, and Gilgour is a content-manager for a computer network.

"They're very boring desk jobs, and then we get to come here and have fun," said Harnish, who will play a machine gun-toting nurse who screams, "Order must be maintained!" when the haunted house opens.

Part of the fun is figuring out how to turn ordinary stuff into props. A round snow sled becomes the door to a furnace. Window insulation becomes bloody guts on a fence. A lot of time is spent poking around Construction Junction and yard sales.

All the time spent around creepy things leaks into their dreams, sometimes.

"It's never scary, it's just work," said Gilgour.

And the work is never done. They joke hammering is still going on and paint drying when the first haunt-goers start through the place. When the sets are finally, or mostly, complete, there are still costumes to don, makeup to apply and scaring to do. Between groups, Simmons' father dashes through with water and cough drops for the actors.

But it's also plenty of fun.

Brandon Heselbach, 24, of Shaler, guns his chain saw right at the perfect second. "That gets people to the floor," he said.

Sometimes, when he has downtime between groups, he'll run out into the lobby, screaming and revving the chain saw.

"You've cost us a couple sales," Simmons tells him.

They've all seen their share of freaked-out faces. Haunt-goers occasionally run out the door only to get back in line and do it all over again. Others run all the way to their car.

"People just love to get scared. It's the whole adrenaline thing. That's what makes you feel like you're alive," speculated Harnish. "And to know you're walking through a haunted house where you feel like you're in danger, but it's a controlled situation so you know that you're not -- you can't get that anywhere else other than a haunted house."

They admit they also get scared in their own haunted house.

"I'm just as jumpy as the next," said Gilgour.

Simmons, who often hangs out in the lobby and gets to see the reaction of haunt-goers, said, "It brings people together. They'll come out and they'll be like this," he hunched behind Harnish with his hands on her shoulders, "and then they'll say, 'Oh, it was nice meeting you!' and shake hands."

"I always think a really good haunted house is where you come out, you're out of breath, but you kind of laugh as well. That's my favorite reaction from people -- to be scared, but laugh. It's a high."