They say you can’t go home again, but they clearly haven’t been to Frontier City, have they?
Like a legacy sequel long past its due date, I found myself back at the hometown theme park of my youth: the Old West-themed Frontier City. It had been 25 years since my last visit, but there I stood, facing that rustic monument to teenage adventure.
Growing up in Oklahoma City, entertainment options were about as thrilling as a dried-up creek bed. We had the mall, church, and, if you were feeling particularly rebellious, some mild afterschool fondling, dry humping, and heavy petting in the shadowy corners of suburbia. But every so often, a shining beacon of excitement would break through the monotony, calling all hormone-fueled teens to the Rhythm Pit at Frontier City.
From unsupervised youngsters exploring newfound freedom to awkward faux-dates with church groups, and even budget-friendly concerts included with park admission at the Starlight Amphitheater—here’s looking at you, Blue Oyster Cult!—it was a time of growth, maturity, and low-rent partying, all soundtracked by KJ103.
But that was a different time and century.
As I pulled into the parking lot on a late Saturday afternoon for Fright Fest—the park’s Halloween-themed October event—I wasn’t sure what to expect. Would it be the same Frontier City from my memories or an updated, capitalistic imposter? When I had to fork over $30 for parking, I was pretty sure I had my answer.
After parking in my apparently very valuable spot, I made my way through the front gates. “It seemed so much bigger in my memories…” I thought.
As I walked inside, I felt like a black-and-white Dorothy Gale stepping into the Technicolor Oz dreamland. Past a spookily decorated causeway and gift shop eagerly awaiting all those dollars, there I was, in the sudden deeps of the Frontier City proper.
As the crowd was gathering for another play shootout among bearded rivals in these cow-town streets, and with a few minutes before sundown, I went through the tyke-friendly Timbertown, with its well-meaning sojourn to kid-friendly times. It was fine, but not my bag, baby.
So, instead, I took in a magic show by the grand cafeteria. I thought it would at least kill an hour, but it only lasted about 20 minutes. I have never seen the stage magic of Frontier City’s most creative illusionists, and I have to say I was pretty enthralled!
I decided to have a bite to eat there, but my wallet forcibly retracted as I noticed the truthfully high prices on snack foods. Though I thought about a $20 frybread taco, instead I purchased the $20 refillable cup that, thankfully, was slashed to only $10 because the 2024 season was ending at the park. Go me?
As dusk was rapidly approaching, the Old West player-piano vibe dissipated.
The hollowed grounds shook as the lights started their monotonous buzzing, the rides started spinning faster and faster, and the living dead came up from their disparate graves, or, more likely if I’m honest, a Spirit costume shop. The park was crawling with spooks, specters, and, of course, homemade superhero outfits that would make most trademark lawyers blush.
Unlike my whistful youth, I didn’t participate in any rides for this return trip.
Sorry, but the lines were far too long and, sadly, my brain can’t take another bleed. Instead, I sat on a bench and looked at all the phantasms as a stone-faced OKC police officer was parallel to me, keeping all the lines orderly and neat.
Besides, I wanted one thing to do anyway: tour the most horrific part of the whole park – Medusa’s Garden – where bloodcurdling scares awaited.
Through the billowing cloth of torn curtains, the dark entrance beckoned me…
As the dense fog enveloped me beyond the ghoulish entrance, a flurry of faceless arms shot out, delivering perfectly timed scares. I couldn’t tell if they belonged to part-time holiday park actors hoping for extra credit or terrified guests desperately searching for an escape. Within seconds, I was in the midst of a full-blown freakout.
And yes, even though I knew it was all a fake-out—it was a fake-out, right?—I came out of the disturbing clouds of fake fog into a clean, bright atmosphere of the surrounding highways…but, I have to admit, my heartbeat was still racing.
Even though I didn’t get on the Diamondback or the Wildcat or whatever the new roller-coaster is, that was all the itemized fear I could muster on this nostalgic trip…but on the way to the exit, a bloodstained woman in a dirty wedding dress brandished a chainsaw towards me.
You got me, Frontier City…you got me good.
As I made my way back to the parking lot, still shaking off the final adrenaline jolt from the chainsaw-wielding bride, I couldn’t help but smile. Frontier City might have its modern quirks and capitalistic tweaks, but the essence of my teenage haunt remains intact.
Sure, the scares were spine-tingling, but let’s be honest—the real horror story was the $30 parking fee, but still – the overpriced snacks, heart-pounding frights, and eerie thrills offered a perfect blend of nostalgia and fun.
They say you can’t go home again, but Frontier City will always find a way to remind you that sometimes, the past and present can collide in the most delightfully haunting ways.
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Follow Louis Fowler on Instagram at @louisfowler78.
