ARRIVING at the London Dungeon, I had a pretty good idea of the frights that lay in store. Or so I thought. Little did I realise I was going to be part of the attraction myself — by going behind the scenes for 30 minutes of make-up that turned me into the Plague Doctor.
Nothing prepared me for the shock of seeing myself in the mirror. With zombie-like eyes and yellow crusted boils all over my face, part of me wondered if I was patient zero for the next pandemic. At least I looked the part for the horrors that awaited on my tour through London’s dark and depraved past.
After a terrifying drop into dimly lit, plague-infested streets, I suddenly found myself immersed in a plot to kill the King . . .
axe and all. Things soon turned even more sour. We got caged in the torture chamber, chains and manacles clinking on the wall.
I was then strapped to a chair while the dungeon’s chief torturer brandished all sorts of mean-looking iron instruments. This was a man who clearly loved his job. Later, we came face to face with a doctor who seemed to prefer her patients more dead than alive.
Then there was the haunting encounter with a witch that left us a little pale. Finally, after a chilling run-in with Jack the Ripper, I was more than ready for a drink in the tavern at the end. But keeping the glass steady while my hands were still shaking wasn’t easy.
Richard Quincey, the attraction’s head of performance, told me: “Each year we know our guests expect more scares than before.
