To face my fears, I played a ghoul in Markoff’s Haunted Forest. The scariest part wasn’t staged.

I’m a scaredy-cat. I’m not afraid to admit it.

Growing up in Montgomery County, Markoff’s Haunted Forest was synonymous with Halloween. My friends were among the scores of locals who made the trek to Calleva Farm in Dickerson every October for a mile-long, fright-filled trek through the woods. I was always way too creeped out to tag along.

That changed last weekend, when I sought to finally conquer my fears of haunted attractions by actually becoming a Markoff’s scare actor for the evening, donning spooky makeup, learning scare tactics and putting them to the test on the roughly 2,000 patrons in attendance Friday night.

My look behind the creepy curtain sated my curiosity about haunted attractions and made me appreciate the designers, carpenters, makeup artists, actors and others who work to make these places fun. It also offered a candid lesson about humanity’s complicated relationship with fear.

Getting ready: Fake blood and mismatched Crocs

In preparation for my one-night-only scare-acting stint, I did my research. I reached out to some Markoff’s alums and scoured the internet for tips ranging from practical (take the makeup off as soon as you’re done to avoid skin breakouts) to sadistic (aim to terrify the person in the middle of the pack — they’re usually the most scared).

When I arrived at Markoff’s, the dichotomy between the vibe behind the scenes and what we were getting ready to do was amusing.

I was handed maroon robes and a matching hood, then joined other costumed actors waiting in line for makeup. A guy in a devil mask, carrying a suspiciously body-shaped trash bag, squeezed by us while saying “excuse me” in a friendly, chipper tone. A young girl dressed as a bloody clown — the daughter of a staffer — walked by in mismatched Crocs.

I gabbed with makeup artist Becca Hammersla about her day job as a pilot and flight instructor as she airbrushed my face to make it look pale and gaunt before dripping fake blood from my eye and nose.

It was scaring time.

On the trail

Markoff’s leaders assigned me to the church scene, one of about two dozen scene assignments on the trail. Of the nearly 150 scare actors working that night, I joined Jeremy Megargee — in his third year at Markoff’s, he plays a demonic cult leader — and two other performers.

We trekked along a path lined with tombstones to a surprisingly detailed chapel featuring pews filled with skeletons, stained glass windows that light up like lightning with thunderous sound effects at the press of a button, and a lectern with a secret lift at the bottom to give the spooky appearance of a person levitating.

My scene partners were pros at improvising, startling guests with sudden jump scares and creepy lines about sacrificing the souls of those who dared enter our chapel.

Sitting motionless in the front pew closest to the exit, I aimed to catch guests by surprise. As they were focused on the cult leader’s theatrics, I silently stood up behind them: a ghoulish figure between them and their only avenue of escape.

I’m not going to lie, eliciting more than a few fear-induced expletives from grown men felt surprisingly good. So did hearing feedback from a childhood friend in attendance, who told me I was so creepy that she wasn’t even sure it was me. And I won’t forget the moment an adolescent boy complimented my scaring ability moments after pulling a “6-7″ move on the cult leader.

A scare I wasn’t expecting

While in line for makeup earlier, I met a young woman drinking a Starbucks strawberry açaí refresher who matter-of-factly told me that a scared 12-year-old girl punched her in the face last weekend.

Haunted attractions, I learned, occasionally face actual scary moments — ones that weren’t manufactured for entertainment.

Then, a few hours into the evening, after a group of patrons exited the church, a performer I had been working with told us she had just been hit by a patron. She said he had walked past her, then turned around and slapped her in the face. As she described the incident, it seemed intentional — and not a reaction to a scare.

Megargee checked that the performer wasn’t in immediate need of care before he walkie-talkied Markoff’s managers — as the staff handbook instructs — to let them know what had happened.

The medical and security teams arrived just minutes later, checking her for signs of concussion, bleeding or serious injury. She was OK and comfortable staying through the end of the night.

The Markoff’s team has a policy of documenting unacceptable behavior, including attacks on staff and scenery and obvious inebriation. Several incidents the night I was there resulted in reports, and some patrons were escorted out, but it was unclear whether the customer who slapped my teammate was one of them.

Through it all, she and Megargee continued to spring in and out of character as patrons filtered through our scene. They shouted out spooky lines about sacrifices and repentance at patrons. In between, they discussed the customer who had hit her and how she was faring in the aftermath.

It felt a little silly to be afraid of fake blood or actors lurking in the fog machine shadows after that.

Why do we choose to be frightened?

My biggest worry at the onset of the evening — aside from the haunted forest itself — was the idea of scaring other people. It sounds counterintuitive to the concept of the experience, but as someone who was always terrified of others spooking me, I was wary of inflicting that fear on others.

In the time it took me to clean 11 face wipes’ worth of ghoulish makeup off my face and hands, I thought about how the evening changed my relationship with scary Halloween attractions.

There are two types of fear: the fun, contained kind that prompts someone to spend $50 to run screaming through a curated forest, and the unwelcome, dangerous kind that occurs when an innocent person faces pain or serious threats.

I learned quickly not to worry about causing the first kind of fear. I actually had fun provoking it, knowing that a successful jump scare was ultimately the experience patrons were hoping for.

And it’s a lot harder to be afraid of a supposed demonic cult leader after you’ve spent some time talking about his hobbies, or to fear an evil clown after you’ve overheard her chatting about her upcoming homecoming dance.

Psychological research suggests that people love scary movies and haunted houses because it’s a safe way to experience the adrenaline spike of fear and the accompanying relief after overcoming it.

There are plenty of real-life horrors to be eager to forget — including the slapping incident that night. The camaraderie of pretend fear is a welcome escape.