BLOOD SAUSAGE A dastardly demon savors meaty entrails.

Photograph: Jaisen Crockett/Art Meets Commerce

For the fourth Halloween in a row, shockmeister Timothy Haskell and the macabre minions of Psycho Clan have invaded Suffolk Street with their Off-Off Broadway version of a traditional haunted house. In keeping with its Lower East Side location, “Nightmare: Ghost Stories” espouses a low-tech approach—no Saw IV tie-ins or Michael Myers doppelgängers here (you’ll have to visit “Blood Manor” for those), just homemade poltergeists and other perturbed presences culled from an online poll of New Yorkers’ experiences with the paranormal. (Full disclosure: TONY is a media partner.) While last year’s five-borough effort, “Nightmare: Face Your Fear,” was a bit of an overreach, Haskell & Co. have tightened their focus to great—and horrific—effect this time around.

Inside the uglified Clemente Soto Vélez Community Center, small groups make their way through barely lit plywood “rooms” and claustrophobic passageways. (For maximum hair-raising, either lead your pack or hang at the very back.) Should you get turned around, faceless spirits in black body stockings serve as both guides and tormentors, leading guests in the right direction after giving them a good fright. Resist the urge to strike out at these apparitions, though—as with lap dances, touching is a no-no.

The most effective areas in “Nightmare” are those in which it’s uncertain where the resident evil will spring from. Our party was frozen in fear when confronted with a chamber of mummies, unable to tell the mannequins from the live ghouls. Less impressive are the startling sound effects and a spinning fun-house tunnel that, while amusing, seems quite out of place. The use of textured environments works only to a limited degree: A trudge through sand does more damage to your shoes than your psyche, and a room filled with foam blocks—and the giggling ghost tossing them—is better suited to Chuck E. Cheese than a house of horrors. One of the few concessions to scary cinema is a J-horror spirit with elongated feet suspended from the ceiling— it’s an illusion that delivers even if you suss out its DIY mechanics. Should all else fail to frighten, Haskell has devised a secondary draw: a minimalist labyrinth rigged with changeable walls for a final boost of anxiety (though the $5 surcharge for the maze, in addition to the $25 general admission, might provide that). As gentrification banishes the ghosts of the LES, “Nightmare” proves the neighborhood can still deliver a good scare. Booyah, Mr. Haskell.