After nearly ten years of building Lake Bluff’s Haunted Forest, Mark Rickmeier is turning in his mask
The best scare in this year’s Haunted Forest began with a man doing nothing. Wearing the same Pigman mask he had worn for three years, Brett England stood perfectly still as children edged past him. Most assumed he was a prop, until his head slowly turned to follow them.
“‘Oh my God - he’s real!’ they screamed,” recalled Rickmeier, the forest’s longtime creative force. “Sometimes the best scares are subtle - no jumps or loud noises. And he played it to perfection.”
After nearly a decade spent producing such moments, Rickmeier has completed his final year in the woods. He first volunteered about ten years ago, when his own children were still young. A lifelong Halloween enthusiast, he was drawn to the way Lake Bluff embraces its small-town traditions. He donated skeletons and decorations from his own house, then watched local parents transform an ordinary patch of woods. “I had no idea the scale of it or just how much work went into making that experience,” he said.
By 2018, Rickmeier was helping design the trail, props and experience. The following year, he became its primary architect. When fallen trees left the path too open, volunteers constructed tunnels from bamboo poles and duct tape. “We had no idea what we were doing,” he admitted.
The improvised tunnels worked, forcing visitors through confined spaces without revealing what waited at the other end. That year, Rickmeier also invited local children to paint plain baby-doll masks with glow-in-the-dark paint. “I always figured they wanted to walk through as guests and be scared,” he said. “For the first time, I realized how much the older kids wanted to help create the design and the props.”
The pandemic interrupted that momentum. With no trail in 2020, 2021 or 2022, Rickmeier feared the tradition might disappear. Instead, the PTO revived it in 2023. Greenhouse kits became sturdier tunnels, while new animatronics, speakers, projectors and jump scares made the forest more ambitious than ever. The children’s role grew, too. Under middle-school theater teacher Mr. Ingrim, students now perform as actors, paint masks and signs, and even present a dance routine for younger children waiting in line.
“The whole event has evolved from a small trail to entertain kids into a much larger endeavor, but one the kids help co-create,” Rickmeier said.
His signature attraction remains the singing pumpkins that entertain families outside the forest. His favorite recent addition is a large animatronic ghoul that lunges at approaching visitors, which was “a huge pain to assemble,” he said, but worth the reaction.
For Rickmeier, the 2026 forest was the best yet. The team doubled its size and complexity, and he believes Pumpkin Bash broke its previous fundraising records.
“Is it wrong to say that I am proud we had so many screams back there this year?” he asked. “Probably.”
His departure was always part of the plan. Rickmeier promised his youngest daughter, Katie, that he would continue building the forest until she finished eighth grade. Now, as she prepares for high school, the children who once entered his “not-so-scary” trail are old enough to help build it for younger students. “Ten years later, it is time for me to turn in my mask and let the next generation of parents have their turn with the fun,” he said. He hopes that future includes a Haunted Forest float in the Fourth of July parade, complete with “Thriller” playing. Rickmeier credits the Village and this year’s crew for making the forest possible. But his clearest legacy may already be visible: the children he once frightened are returning to keep the tradition alive.