SCARE for a CURE
Aliens, missions, fake blood and one very memorable night with my oldest son—all in support of a great cause.
A tradition older than our marriage
SCARE for a CURE has been an annual tradition for me since well before Jen and I were married. Jen does not particularly enjoy scary things—or being scared—so through the years I have usually gone with friends.
But the roots go back even further. I first experienced this kind of event as a child with my parents, when Austin’s legendary Britannia Manor opened its doors for an elaborate home haunt. Over the decades, that tradition evolved into something much larger, more physical and far more immersive.
Last year marked a new chapter: for the first time, I brought my oldest son. What had begun as a childhood memory became a parent–child tradition of our own.
The story begins before you arrive
A pre-arrival email gives you background on that year’s story and mission. Read it together before making the drive—it is not just routine event information. It sets the scene, introduces the world you are about to enter and makes the first interaction feel like the next chapter rather than the beginning.
This is not a traditional haunted house
You do not simply walk through dark hallways while actors jump out at you. SCARE for a CURE is a complete, story-driven, live-action adventure. You are given a mission, pulled into the plot and asked to help save the world—or at least survive long enough to try.
Our 2025 mission involved aliens that felt a little like body snatchers, taking over people around us. We interacted with what felt like 30 or 40 different performers as the story built, each one pushing us toward the next objective.
You may crawl, crouch, run and navigate effects and explosions. Fake blood gets sprayed liberally. You are not watching the story from a safe distance; you are inside it.
The best part was getting to share something I loved as a kid with my oldest son—and watching him become part of the mission right beside me.
Dress to get messy—and bring canned goods
One tip makes the night much more fun: plan on getting dirty. The mess is part of the experience, so prepare for it instead of trying to avoid it.
SCARE for a CURE’s volunteers have collected thousands of pounds of canned goods and pet food for local shelters over the years, so the donation adds another good cause to an already meaningful night.
Make dinner part of the night
Food and drinks are available at the event, but I recommend eating before you arrive. The drive to Manor is long enough that dinner makes a natural first stop.
Last year we ate at Maxine’s Gumbo House before heading out. The Cajun food was delicious, high quality and substantial enough to fuel a night of running from aliens.
Go for the scare. Feel good about the cause.
The event is built, performed and operated by volunteers. That is part of what makes it special: an enormous amount of creativity and work goes into creating a one-of-a-kind adventure, while the proceeds support the Breast Cancer Resource Center and other Central Texas charities.
According to the organization, SCARE for a CURE has raised more than $500,000 for the Breast Cancer Resource Center since 2007, along with scholarships and donations to Manor ISD and other local causes.
Tickets can sell out quickly, especially for prime Friday and Saturday times. If this sounds like your kind of parent–child night, start checking in September for October availability. Additional times may appear, but I would not count on waiting until the last minute.
Event format, age guidance, history and charitable impact were checked against the official SCARE for a CURE website. Schedules, themes and ticket availability change each season.
The next chapter
This year, I plan to return with my two oldest sons. The official 2026 adventure is called TerrorToys, but the fun is not knowing exactly what is waiting once the mission begins.
What started with my parents, continued through years of visits with friends and now carries on with my sons has become more than a Halloween outing. It is a family story still being written—one messy white shirt at a time.