ONCE A YEAR, like some demonic Brigadoon, a chamber of gruesome horrors springs fully formed and undead on the front lawn of the Richmond home of David Seskin and his parents, Ellen and Steve Seskin — a gift to Halloween revelers near and far.

The annual haunted house — actually, a tunnel of horror and a less chilling castle for the younger and more squeamish — exists for only a few hours each Halloween, but its chrysalis is formed throughout the year in the restlessly creative mind of 22-year-old David Seskin.

"I remember being a kid, running up to the houses" that were decorated for Halloween, David says. "And I remember being a little bit worried and afraid. But they also intrigued me."

It wasn't long before David realized there was more to Halloween than the candy.

At age 8, David tried to create a patch of Halloween terror on his lawn. He made tombstones from pizza boxes, printed "RIP" on them, and then scattered clothes on the lawn and pushed arrows through them.

The tableau was crude, but it was a start.

The Seskins have lived in the same house on 36th Street in Richmond for 21 years, but by the time David was in his early teens, the neighborhood and ones just like it throughout the Bay Area had changed.

Each year there were fewer houses with porch lights on. Hardly anyone was handing out candy, and decorations definitely were on the skimpy side. Instead of taking their

That's when David decided to buck the trend, going several steps beyond the pizza box tombstones. With a friend and his parents in full agreement, the family created a Halloween display that has grown each year. Their supply of tombstones, bloody torsos and dismembered heads now fills an entire room.

"David likes to scare people," Ellen Seskin says, "and I like to make sure they aren't too scared. But this definitely isn't Disneyland."

Three years ago David stumbled upon the idea for a tunnel that takes trick-or-treaters on a short loop across the lawn and deposits them, rattled but unharmed, on the doorstep for a handful of treats.

The tunnel is built using a framework of rebar and PVC pipe, covered with a drapery of sheets painstakingly safety-pinned together.

Dozens of volunteers turn up to assemble the haunted house, then don costumes and assume roles. David takes pride in his ghastliest designs. He buys inexpensive supplies and then gives them the Seskin touch, adding bloody paint, glow-in-the-dark accents and macabre carving.

This year, David has been working on a victim of a maniacal doctor. He started with a plastic foam skeleton, added bugged-out eyeballs, a bit of extra flesh and some special effects that are guaranteed to have folks running for the door. The creation is the centerpiece in what David describes as a human chop-shop.

Ellen, who gets into Halloween just as much as her son, keeps an eye on the budget, but it's not really a problem. David is so clever and creative that they rarely buy any of the elaborate decorations seen in Halloween stores. Using a plastic bowl, some duct tape and a plastic foam torso, David creates plenty of realistic gore.

He takes inspiration from horror films — his favorite genre — but he doesn't want to just recreate a scene or character.

"I see it, take it, twist it," David says.

David has thought about turning his talents toward the movie industry, but the fisherman has other dreams. He's hoping to join the California Highway Patrol.

There's little doubt the Seskin family and friends get a big kick out Halloween, but it also seems to be rubbing off on the neighbors.

In the past few years, Ellen says, the porch lights have started flickering back on and neighbors are starting to decorate their yards, too.

"It excites me," David says, "to see different neighbors having a pumpkin lit or a front door light on when they didn't used to. They're really getting into it."

The ghoul crew starts work Halloween morning setting everything up. The door creaks open at 6:30 p.m., and the haunted house disappears for another year at 9:30 p.m. — because Halloween is on a Saturday this year, David says they might go a bit later.

"I just want people to experience it," David says. "It's a good feeling to me to see so many people come. It means I've done my job."

The family works a couple of weeks ahead of time advertising the haunted house, marking the yard with "under construction" tape and "coming soon" signs. They also distribute fliers around town. Every year they get return customers, and attract new fans.

They don't charge admission or ask for donations. It's all for fun and the spirit of Halloween.

"I do it for the kids so they'll have what I had — a house that's really maney (crazy)."