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| Hugzee the Clown at Texas Frightmare Weekend |
by Tara Adams
Writer, Haunt Hunters App
IRVING, Texas – Amid a packed Irving Convention Center, a creature on stilts with a rotted face, towering over the crowd, stepped aside to let a family with children pass.
The air inside carried a distinct hum. It was the unmistakable buzz from an energetic and excited crowd full of monster fans.
This is Texas Frightmare Weekend 2026, where the line between the nightmare realm and casual weekend commerce evaporates.
In its 20th year, for first-timers and veterans alike, the convention isn’t just a place to buy memorabilia. It’s a temporary sanctuary for the beautifully bizarre.
"Headache Music" and Walmart Pajamas
If Texas Frightmare had a house band this year, it would've been God In A Machine. Hailing from Oklahoma and attending for the first time, the industrial metal outfit brought a chaotic energy that felt right at home among the slashers and ghouls.
Frontman (4) was quick to shut down any polite misconceptions about their sound.
"Oh, we play country … No, we don’t," he said, deadpan. "We’re industrial metal. If you like to have headaches, that’s what we make. We make headache music."
When asked why someone chooses to spend their life creating sonic violence, (4) laughed, joking that he didn't like the music he creates.
"Oh, I don’t [enjoy it]. At all," he said. "It gives me a headache to do it. So I actually go home, pop some ibuprofen, relax in a nice little bubbly bathtub with some candles lit after a show, and I question my life choices."
It’s all in good fun. When asked whether the band’s ultimate goal is to pass those headaches onto the audience, he didn't miss a beat.
"Yes. Yes, because I don’t like people," he joked. "We just enjoy jumping around, screaming, having a good time on stage. So, you know, we make loud music for everybody."
Alongside bassist Toad No One, the band spent the weekend blurring the lines between performer and fan. Despite their distressed clothes and intimidating masks, (4) insisted there was no stage persona involved.
"What costumes?" he said, gesturing to his gear. "These are my pajamas. I rolled out of bed this morning. I was on my way to Walmart, and I saw something happening here, and I was like, ‘What’s going on over there?’ I’m gonna check it out."
Therapy in Paint
The band wasn't the only group pulling eyeballs. A trio of clown cosplayers, Billy Bloodstain; Mr. Crowley; and Knockout the Clown, were frequently asked for photos.
All three are professional haunt actors who made their first trek to Frightmare.
Billy Bloodstain traveled from Creepy Hollow Haunted House in Rosharon, just south of Houston, while Knockout and Mr. Crowley represent Imminent Doom Haunted House in Kilgore. They all made their own original costumes from scratch, balancing menacing aesthetics with surprisingly warm dispositions.
"I look evil, but I'm a really sweet clown," Billy said.
For him, the makeup is a bridge to the community.
"I get to scare people for fun, but also, I get to give a good influence to people who want to get into this but sometimes feel afraid to do it. It's amazing because I get to meet so many people."
While they love the thrill of a good scare, the trio views the convention floor, and the haunt industry as a whole, as an essential release valve.
"It's a creative outlet as well. You get to support people who do art on their own time," Knockout said.
"It's a good stress reliever," Mr. Crowley added, which prompted Billy to chime in: "It's good therapy."
Ultimately, the goal behind the blood splatters and face paint is surprisingly wholesome.
"I just love making people smile," Mr. Crowley said, noting that he hopes the character gives people a brief moment to forget about whatever real-life stress they left at the convention doors.
"It's been a great convention. I loved everything that we saw today,”he said. “So many pictures with everybody. Come out and check it out next year."
"It's a fun time for the whole family," Billy said.
Knockout offered a simpler parting directive: "Stay scary!"
If the trio brought the high energy, another performer named Hugzee the Clown occupied the opposite end of the spectrum.
Clad in a worn, heavily stained suit, Hugzee didn't utter a single word, maintaining a permanently melancholic demeanor that somehow had the inverse effect of cheering up everyone he met.
Waving at passing crowds with a fake, severed hand, the somber clown carried a cardboard sign offering attendees a menu of quick interactions: free hugs, the handclap game, a staring contest, rock-paper-scissors, Tic-Tac-Toe, thumb wars, or an "overly dramatic high five."
It was a quiet hit on a loud floor, turning simple childhood games into performance art.
Monsters on the Mic
That sense of camaraderie extended far beyond the exhibition floor. When darkness fell on Saturday night, the convention transformed into something resembling a localized, supernatural block party for "Scaryoke."
Under the pulsing glow of dance party lights, the room filled with a thick fog that carried the distinct, sweet-and-musty scent of a classic haunted house.
Cosplayers in full makeup and attendees rubbed elbows, taking turns on the microphone.
But there was no gatekeeping or stage fright here. The crowd rallied behind everyone who stepped up to sing, cheering and losing their minds as if they were witnessing the greatest performer on earth.
It wasn't about vocal perfection; it was a pure show of community support, where a room full of misfits made sure nobody felt like an outsider.
Coffins, Creatures, and Conversation
Back in the main aisles, the sonic assault of the convention floor gave way to something a bit more tactile. One of the weekend’s biggest gravity wells was a booth stacked with miniature coffins and glowing eyes: the home of Coffin Creeps.
The boutique toy line is owned by Piggy D., best known as the guitarist for Marilyn Manson and former bassist for Rob Zombie. Instead of hiding behind a VIP curtain, Piggy D. stood at his table all weekend, chatting about his 18-inch deluxe monster dolls and taking pictures with fans.
The figures are a mix of high-end art and nostalgia-fueled horror collectibles.
Among the dolls on hand were:
- The Talking Salem Witch: A flashing-eyed figure programmed with more than 50 phrases.
- The Georgetown Project: A Captain Howdy doll that speaks 30 lines.
- Nosferatu: The "Original Prince of Darkness," who speaks 50 phrases.
- Billy Baphomet: A "goatish guru" whose 50 positive, uplifting messages are voiced by horror royalty Doug Bradley (Pinhead from Hellraiser).
- The Gill Creep: Different versions, including black and white and an updated version with lights and sound.
For one attendee, the draw wasn't just the toys, but the man behind the counter.
"He saw me eyeing Billy Baphomet, and he came right over and started explaining his features," she said of Piggy D.
It was that friendly engagement that sealed the deal on the purchase.
From the Stage to the Table
The Coffin Creeps booth also served as a launchpad for Piggy D.’s newest musical venture, Gabi & The Fly.
Vocalist Gabi Lindland joined him at the booth, fresh off the May 15 release of their debut five-song demo, Initiation of Decay.
Between signing autographs and posing for photos, Lindland discussed the harsh, aggressive metal she belts out on the demo. Her deep, textured growls pair with Piggy D.’s chaotic guitar work to give the music a raw, unvarnished edge.
When asked how she manages to rip through songs without destroying her vocal cords, Lindland smiled.
"I have a technique," she said.
By the time the lights dimmed on the convention floor, thousands of dollars in art and media had changed hands.
But in a room packed with monsters, it was the human interactions, the rock stars talking toys, the metalheads joking about bubble baths, and the late-night choir under the fog lights, that gave Texas Frightmare Weekend its pulse.
