All The Conjuring Last Rites does is to lean heavily on callbacks to earlier films. While Judy Warren’s expanded role adds some novelty, the result feels more like a greatest-hits package than a true conclusion.
The Conjuring Last Rites may mark the end of the franchise on the big screen, but HBO Max’s TV series to continue the story will keep the Warrens alive. Just this week, the streamer announced Nancy Won as showrunner, with Peter Cameron and Cameron Squires joining the writer’s room. While Ed and Lorraine Warren claimed to have investigated countless cases, only the most sensational ones ever made it to theatres—often as overblown, fictionalized spectacles. What’s missing are the controversies surrounding the couple’s methods and credibility, which can take the franchise to a level other films never explore.
At the heart of this latest film lies a familiar question: who—or what—is the evil that continues to pursue the Warrens? Earlier entries teased a hidden hand behind Annabelle and The Nun, but ultimately the lore hinges on one figure: Valak.
The Matt Rife Haunted Museum is reopening the infamous Warren collection to the public—but is it spiritual stewardship or a paranormal publicity stunt? This article explores the ethical questions behind haunted attractions, dark tourism, and belief turned into business.
The Ed and Lorraine Warren Occult Museum—long shuttered and steeped in controversy—is reopening, and not everyone is pleased. It may well be called the Matt Rife Haunted Museum from now on. He and YouTuber Elton Castee have acquired the Warrens’ former home and infamous collection of allegedly haunted objects. Whether they’ll actually spend much time there is unclear, but what’s known is their plan to invite guests to stay overnight—a move that’s sparked swift and polarized reactions across social media and Reddit. The whole affair feels less like spiritual stewardship and more like Night at the Museum meets reality TV, raising a critical question: when belief becomes business, who pays the price?
Some celebrate the return of a nostalgic destination; others—especially the spiritually inclined—see a reckless publicity stunt. This revival raises a larger question: what happens when belief becomes a business? When haunted places turn into entertainment, ethical lines blur. If spirits act up, who is responsible? This article explores the ethics of paranormal tourism, examining belief, exploitation, and the risks of turning the supernatural into a commercial venture.
The Power of Belief
For many, haunted spaces aren’t mere curiosities—they are sacred places only the brave or curious dare enter. Proper public investigations require waivers to limit venue liability, and insurance is essential. Even in the absence of physical harm, these places can affect visitors mentally and emotionally. The line between psychological suggestion and spiritual threat is thin. Zak Bagans’ Haunted Museum in Las Vegas requires waivers, signaling either genuine caution or clever marketing. Whether for liability or atmosphere, it acknowledges risk.
Rife’s museum has yet to implement such precautions, raising questions about accountability. This split mirrors public opinion. Some view the Warrens’ collection as spiritually volatile; others dismiss it as theatrics. That divide depends on belief: a 2023 survey found 61.4% of Americans believe in ghosts, and 67% report personal encounters. Belief creates demand—and with it, risk.
What’s Driving the Acquisition?
Rife claims a lifelong obsession with ghost hunting. On The Joe Rogan Experience episode #2033, he said, “I have definitely witnessed things that, for the life of me, I cannot explain.” (also available on YouTube) Yet his focus seems more psychological than spiritual. Discussing death and psychedelic experiences, he speculated, “That’s probably what happens in death,” showing fascination rather than faith. His project could evolve into interactive reality TV, capitalizing on guests’ reactions and shared fear. This risks reducing belief to spectacle, treating haunted spaces as mere props. Though Rife likely means no harm, his lack of experience suggests he’s unprepared to steward such a complex legacy.
The Warrens’ own reputation complicates matters. Some see them as pioneers of paranormal investigation; others view them as sensationalists chasing fame. All of that is explored onAustin Harvey’s essay on Allthatsinteresting.com; Their decision to display cursed items while allegedly ignoring past visitor incidents proposes they prioritized public interest over spiritual caution.
For instance, the Annabelle doll is notorious for supposedly cursing those who speak ill of it, but only two incidents stand out: Dan Rivera toured with the doll and died shortly after, though no official cause has been verified. An urban legend claims a priest who mocked the doll later died, but the Warrens never revealed his identity, blurring fact and myth.
Blurred Boundaries: Entertainment or History?
The Warrens built their careers blending pseudoscience and religious belief. And in the search for box office dollars, Hollywood transformed a few of their best-known cases into a blockbuster franchise. With Rife’s acquisition, their legacy in paranormal pop culture is now placed deeper into entertainment territory. He claims the museum will help people “experience and learn” about haunted history. But what is actually being taught? Who controls the narrative? Without a strong ethical framework, the experience may stoke fear without context or respect.
Museums—like archaeological institutions—serve as caretakers of cultural memory. The Society for American Archaeology warns against selling or displaying artifacts purely for profit. Stewardship means preserving the integrity of materials—haunted or not. Brighton & Hove Museums host ghost-themed events and have strict codes against sensationalism.
Museums like the Molly Brown House strike a balance: they conduct ghost tours with historical grounding and transparency, shaping narratives instead of letting folklore overshadow facts. I have to also state that most walking ghost tours focus on the story of this individual before they died; it’s less about the haunting but more about the legacies left behind, which makes them more educational than anecdotal. Until Rife’s project gets a mission statement out, we don’t know what his plans are.
Dark Tourism, Genuine Risk
Rife’s museum joins a growing trend called “dark tourism”—visiting places tied to death, tragedy, or fear. Ethical dark tourism honours memory, avoids spectacle, and engages respectfully with history. There are ghost tours that fall short. Belief sometimes leads to real-world harm: teens have fallen to their deaths exploring haunted buildings, and others were shot trespassing on “spooky” properties. One such incident happened in Seattle. Danger is not always paranormal—sometimes it comes from human recklessness.
Ghost tourism thrives on ambiguity, selling fear and wonder without confirming or denying anything. This “enchantment economy” relies on immersive experiences, emotional reactions, and shared mythology. Whether spirits exist matters less than the thrill of believing. That ambiguity complicates ethical responsibility. When belief drives engagement, the experience becomes real—emotionally and spiritually. Commercial ventures must choose: profit from fear, or guide people through it?
Generations of Ghosts—and Profits
Ghost tourism spans generations. Boomers and Gen X seek folklore and history; younger audiences chase adrenaline and shareable moments. Social media amplifies every scream, shadow, and shaky camera. But commodifying fear is centuries old. Marie Tussaud’s Chamber of Horrors (1802), Orton and Spooner’s Ghost House (1915), and Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion (1969) show haunted entertainment’s long cultural obsession. For better or worse, what’s important to realize is that history doesn’t excuse ethical lapses; if anything, it makes them easier to overlook.
By repackaging spiritual belief as a ride, we risk trivializing grief, trauma, and memory. Not all ghosts are monsters—some represent injustice, unfinished stories, or sacred warnings. When celebrities exploit these narratives for content and clout, they distort their meaning. Over the years, I’ve reviewed many shows featuring wannabe investigators, including Conjuring Ke$ha (review link here), and they don’t hold a candle to those seeking answers. I understand the sincerity behind figures like Henry Winkler and Dan Aykroyd, as I was fortunate enough to speak with them; others, however, come across as opportunistic rather than authentic.
Why We Still Believe
The question isn’t whether ghosts are real—it’s why we choose to believe. Spirits represent loss, guilt, or hope. They help us process the unknown. Treating belief as a gimmick disrespects its emotional and cultural weight. Paranormal shows often focus on scares, not stories. Genuine investigations help the living cope or guide spirits to peace. They ask questions, document, and respect each other. That’s very different from provoking shadows for clicks.
Ghost hunting blends folklore, theology, psychology, and grief. The best investigations explore all these angles; the worst ignore them.
Closing Thoughts
Rife’s project may not be malicious, but it demands scrutiny. To play host and be a “legal guardina” to a haunted legacy means more than owning property—it carries spiritual, historical, and ethical responsibility. If he wants to open the Warren Museum’s doors, he must do more than monetize belief. He must respect it. Paranormal tourism can offer education, insight, and healing—but only if approached with care.
Because if spirits exist—and they’re watching—we owe them more than spectacle.
For Further Reading That Can Effect The Fate of Matt Rife Haunted Museum
The film ends up being carnival ride of terror that’s more chuckle-worthy than nightmarish. Annabelle deserves better.
Spoiler Alert
The Conjuring spinoff Annabelle Comes Home has the feel of a been there, done that before vibe. It also marks Gary Dauberman, writer of the franchise, directorial debut. While he can nicely up some creepy set pieces, the notion of knowing how to scare the socks off of people needs a lesson by living at Chillingham Castle for a month.
When the doll briefly seen in the main series gets a spinoff to explain her origins and we all know it’s possessed by a demonic entity, Ed (Patrick Wilson) and Lorraine Warren (Vera Farmiga) have their work cut out for them. Sadly, that means tracking this porcelain work down and convincing the latest owners it’s best to let them have it so they can protect humanity from it. Wait a minute, isn’t that what Zak Bagans of Ghost Adventures fame want to do too?
James Wan’s The Conjuring 2 is very loosely based on the real-life Enfield Poltergeist incident and I believe Wan depends on the tropes (established in his previous works, especially Insidious, and other filmmakers, namely Tobe Hooper / Steven Spielberg’s Poltergeist and Richard Donner’s The Omen), far too much. The setting, plot and set pieces felt too familiar and this storyteller rarely deviates from it. As effective as he is in mastering what’s tried and true, I really hoped he would try new ideas out with this sequel.
The story is accurate in terms of revealing that the activity started when the girls started playing with an Ouija board. When you start communicating with ghosts with this device, they will want to talk back. Unless the proper precautions and sign-offs are used, they will stay until heard! The production team probably only went as far as looking at the Wikipedia entry on this case to add to the tale. While Wan’s production team said they talked to all the people involved in the case, not every incident was used or made important in this film.