Ironically, the element that attracts most viewers to Terror in the Haunted House is the very thing they’ll care the least about: its “Psycho-Rama” gimmick of subliminal images. There’s a devil head here, a snake or skull there, but nothing worth writing tweets about. Instead, the story supplants cheap novelty and pulls you in, whereas we’d expect the opposite.
Life is ever so keen for the just-married Sheila (Cathy O’Donnell, Detective Story), if not for the fact that she is plagued by nightmares of an old house to which she swears she’s never been. She always awakes before she reaches the attic, where she’s certain “death in its most hideous form” awaits; in Switzerland, her shrink (Barry Bernard, Return of the Fly) believes her subconscious is shielding her from some heinous act in her past that she cannot remember.
Oh, well, so much for that breakthrough, because it’s off to Florida with hubby Philip (Gerald Mohr, The Angry Red Planet)! “I’ve got everything,” Sheila says, “tickets, passports, money, smallpox certificates.” Arriving in the Sunshine State, Philip drives up to their new rental home and … wait for it … it’s the one from Sheila’s dreams! Let the family curses and falling chandeliers begin.
O’Donnell has the part of the Meek and Subservient Newly Mashed Cherry down pat enough to carry us through an hour and some change. She does more for Terror in the Haunted House (aka My World Dies Screaming) than the flat direction from Harold Daniels (Roadblock). The script by Robert C. Dennis (The Amazing Captain Nemo) contains some nifty twists, but the exposition-filled end makes Psycho‘s look like the definition of brevity.
As for those subliminal frames, flashing messages such as “GET READY TO SCREAM!” and “SCREAM BLOODY MURDER!” kind of kills any intended shock effect. Luckily, Terror‘s power source is rooted in the psychological. —Rod Lott