10/15/2025
Michigan’s Best Haunted House Is Just a Guy’s House in Northville
The Haunted Backyard doesn’t charge admission and offers an unbelievable spectacle
By Jay Murray
Northville — Tucked away in an affluent upper-middle-class subdivision in Northville is a house for those looking for a fright.
It has no official name, though many on social media have taken to calling it “The Haunted Backyard.” But even that moniker doesn’t accurately describe the breathtaking effort of converting a two-story colonial home into one of the best haunted houses in Michigan.
Located at 15443 Robinwood Drive, the home is only a short walk north of Five Mile Road; however, every October weekend night, between 7:30 p.m. and 10:30 p.m., the surrounding streets become a parking lot.
It all started with little forethought, a whim of a Redford man named Otto, who purchased and moved into the home 17 years ago. He saw few trick or treaters that first Halloween, mainly because the neighborhood’s main egress was Five Mile Road, which doesn’t have paved sidewalks. His neighbors told him, “That’s just how it is here.”
So Otto decided to bring Halloween to the street. He began his haunted house project 16 years ago and, according to him, has modified, improved, and expanded it every year.
It includes a seemingly endless maze, both exterior and interior, and covers the entire span of his lot, including his garage. Every turn brings a scare or a laugh.
I walked through a shed and was confronted by the Xenomorph from the movie Alien. Exited a tunnel and saw Pennywise glaring at me with burning eyes, and, just when I thought I had seen all, a 10-foot-tall Demogorgon from Stranger Things loomed above me.
Otto has spared no expense, and get this: He doesn’t charge a penny.
Anyone can experience all of this for free, but that doesn’t stop many from trying to pay him in the form of donations, which he uses to continue upgrading and enlarging the event. To him, this is a nonprofit endeavor, and many of his family, friends, and even neighbors volunteer to help.
The last part stunned even me. According to Otto, not only are his neighbors fine with this frightful event, they enjoy it. At least one neighbor was dressed up as the Grim Reaper.
His neighbors are so cooperative that a neighbor with an adjoining backyard is planning to build a corn-maze on his property to connect to Otto’s yard, hopefully in time for next Halloween.
The Haunted Backyard is safe. Otto has volunteers dressed up as various ghouls and goblins, as a means to humorously scare, guide, and help if necessary. There is an air of joy and excitement. Those entering are sent through in their social groups, and they keep a pace, as it won’t get too crowded; however, due to the surging popularity, crowds line up down the street.
The increasing popularity, according to Otto, is the result of social media. Though Otto feared the pandemic might be the end of his annual event, people came roaring back the next October.
I had to press Otto a bit. I found it hard to believe—dare I say, nearly impossible to fathom—that there isn’t at least one neighbor on the street who isn’t down with hundreds of people and rows of cars along the street. Otto finally relented, “The lady living down the street hates the hearse parked in the driveway.”
This struck me as ironic, given the four dragons on the roof, the family of 15-foot-tall skeletons in the front yard, and the Bates Motel sign on the front of the home. I stood on the front yard of Otto’s house, watching hordes of people taking pictures of the home in amazement. I laughed to myself, knowing that somewhere on Robinwood Drive is a misanthrope, looking past all the commotion to fixate on such a minor detail.
I thought of Chevy Chase in “Christmas Vacation,” lighting up his house for the holidays like the burning sun, only for his father-in-law to complain, “The little lights are not twinkling.“
