Haunted House, the psychotronic movie club I used to run with my friends Honk, Buck, Werner, Empe and Björne 1993-1998, was one of those things that was an unproportionally big fixture in my life. Towards the end, it waned, but for quite a few years it was a not-gentlemen’s club that we used to force our idea of good (or at least interesting) movies to the interested populace of the city. In all fairness, they were few, but true, and for many years after we folded the whole shebang we were still asked if we were planning on starting it once again. But we declined. None of as had time, and the gusto was no longer there. Still, for more than five years tuesdays meant revelry and egg on the face of so-called good taste. Now, with MPAA and whatnot prowling the streets like a Stasi agent with a bludgeon, it would probably have been a legally risky behaviour. At the time, though, THE LAW WAS ON OUR FUCKING SIDE!