Julie Erickson: Can I build a monster home in the Avenues? If so, yes please!
Paula Saltas: My monster home would be a palace of serenity, with a spa and a champagne fountain, as well as a moat and an electrified fence. No, I’m not telling where it will be—it won’t be serene if John and the kids find it, duh.
Jesse James Burnitt: I’m the guy who cheers when the hillside mansions fall victim to mudslides and erosion. No more space than us monsters really need, thank you.
Dan Nailen: Can I just take the Chase House in Liberty Park? That’s monster enough for me, as long as you leave all the folk art inside.
Ted Scheffler: I would tear down the State Capitol, which houses useless institutions anyway, and build my monster house smack dab in its place. Nice views.
Bill Frost: Next door to Epic Brewing, and you’d never hear from me again.
Rachel Hanson: I’d rather have a Murder House, named for all the mysterious deaths that occur during my lavish dinner parties. It would be in the woods somewhere, or maybe on the mountain.
Lia Pretorius: Pioneer Park. The lot is appropriately sized (rare for McMansions) and a house that size could provide shelter to a lot of homeless folks.
Jerre Wroble: In my “All About Me” world, I’d build my Salt Lake equivalent to Hearst Castle on Ensign Peak and call it “Surly Manor.”
Pete Saltas: Right next to the White House in Temple Square. Only my house will be bigger.
Derek Carlisle: I’d build it next to a red-tie, flag-pin-wearing Dracula in corner canyon. Then grit my teeth and growl at him every night to let him know that the werewolf is angry and he should flee to happy valley, where they love vampires who wait till marriage to have sex.