Once a Hollywood starlet and tiki lounge darling, Shrieky Von Tiki vanished one fateful night during a Halloween pre party on October 1st 1956, after drinking The Final Scream.
By dawn, she was never seen in sunlight again.
THE LEGEND
Mistress of the SHRIEKEASY • High Priestess of Panic • Countess of HallowScreamCon
The toast of tiki lounges and midnight matinees. That one fateful night, while headlining a cursed cabaret in Las Vegas, she sipped from a forbidden cocktail known only as “The Final Scream,” bought for her by a mysterious stranger.
Spiked with the blood of an unknown villain, now, Shrieky is known as the Countess Shrieky Von Tiki, cursed with an immortal and unnatural life, her skin turned as green as her envy of the living, her fangs as sharp as her wit, her eyes as fiery as her burning soul and her appetite to be entertained is endless.
Determined to find the stranger who cursed her, she appears only once per year, when the veil is thin and the drinks are strong, to host the unholiest of 4 day conventions: HallowScreamCon. With curated zones, experiences, attractions and special events, the Countess ensures that she gets her fill of fun.
She lures the living and summons her suspects with hypnotic horror, rum-drenched rituals, and a scream that can shatter mirrors and morals alike.
Hidden inside HallowScreamCon, she has built a monster Tiki bar, known as The SHRIEKEASY. Behind the bar at the SHRIEKEASY, she serves spirits both shaken and… restless. Her lips are blood-red, her laugh is legendary, and her heart? Allegedly pickled in pineapple juice and buried under the stage.
She isn’t just the hostess. She’s the reason you never leave without a souvenir… or a soul missing.
“Drink deep, darlings. The Countess is watching.” Can you help solve the mystery of who cursed her?
MEET LUCIPURR
The Infernal Familiar • The Shadow on the Velvet Throne • Nine Lives, None Spared
When the Countess clawed her way into eternity, something followed her from the firelight of the crypt. Born of midnight purrs and candlelit whispers, Lucipurr slunk into her lap and never left. His turquoise eyes gleam with unholy secrets, his velvet cape brushing against gravestones as if to remind the world that even death deserves a pet. Loyal only to the Countess, he is her watchful sentinel, her silent assassin, her whispering devil curled at the foot of her coffin. Where she walks, he prowls; where she feeds, he feasts.
“Nine lives? Darling, I’ve squandered them all… and I’m still here.
