As another Halloween approaches, the notorious terror attraction known as McKamey Manor continues to operate out of the owner’s house in Rancho Peñasquitos, despite efforts to move to a more affordable location, and the owner has run into trouble with the IRS .

Proprietor Russ McKamey, 56, has scared patrons for years by simulating abductions, assaults and other horrors at his home, named the most extreme haunted house in the world by Tech Times and The New York Daily News.

McKamey says his manor makes no money and only accepts payment in the form of pet food contributions for animal welfare. When he lost his job as a veteran’s advocate in 2014, he said, he attempted to move to less costly real estate in Illinois, but public opposition there thwarted his attempted relocation.

When The San Diego Union-Tribune interviewed McKamey last year, he said he was planning to sell his home and relocate the attraction to some other more affordable site outside of San Diego.

McKamey did not answer the Union-Tribune's questions this year. But his attraction is still up and running, according to the San Diego Police Department.

A woman reported to the department that she had been assaulted with a deadly weapon while participating in the horror experience at McKamey’s home address on July 31. Detectives investigated and decided not to pursue criminal charges.

“The victim reported that she had been physically hit with unknown objects by several males,” Officer Mark Herring, a spokesman for the police department, said by email on Wednesday. “The victim was notified yesterday that based on the results of the investigation, in addition to her signing a waiver, no criminal charges will be pursued.”

In the past, McKamey has denied inflicting harm beyond cuts and bruises on participants. He has said the experience is closely monitored, participants get breaks if they become too stressed, and that he lets participants leave if they decide they really want to.

In June, the division of the Internal Revenue Service that handles taxes for small business and the self-employed filed a lien against McKamey’s house on Almazon Street, according to records on file with the County of San Diego. The lien cites $252,000 of unpaid income taxes, interest and penalties for the 2012 tax year.

Tax officials can collect money owed in a variety of ways, including eventually seizing the property itself, but, with a lien, the agency may choose to wait for the debtor to sell the property, then collect from the proceeds. The lien lasts 10 years if the taxes remain unpaid.

McKamey declined to explain the tax debt or the source of the taxable income or answer any other questions for this article unless the reporter agreed to answer any and all of his questions about coverage — via a video over which McKamey would have complete ownership and control. The Union-Tribune rejected McKamey’s terms.

McKamey had no active business licenses on file with the City of San Diego as of Wednesday. A search of records on file at the City Treasurer’s Office turned up three licenses, all of which shared McKamey’s home address and had been canceled.

View the Video Is McKamey Manor too extreme?

Two of the business licenses — both for McKamey Manor — listed unpaid fees, and were probably canceled for that reason, a clerk at the office said. The third license, for Musical Excitement with Russ, was canceled before Jan. 1, 2012, city records show.

Licenses for McKamey Manor said the business provided “other services” and “all other personal services.” Exactly what those personal services entail is known only by McKamey and participants in the horror experiences at McKamey Manor.

McKamey last year told the Union-Tribune that much of what appears on YouTube videos — vomiting, participants weeping and bruised, a young man crying out to be released as his head is shoved under water — is “smoke and mirrors,” and that visitors are not held against their will.

McKamey said last month in an interview for the “Frightful Failures on Film” podcast that he’s in the process of moving the attraction to “different areas,” and that there is a television show in the works.

“I’m never content with leaving it alone,” McKamey said during the podcast. “I always have to upgrade and always make it bigger than the year before. So, you know, it’s going to be a challenge for me to keep on continuing to do that and keep people alive.”

McKamey described the current version of the attraction as something akin to a “Spartan challenge,” a “survival horror boot-camp experience,” from which “everybody — and I don’t care who you are — walks out whimpering and crying.”

Participants are closely monitored during their experiences, and their “safety is paramount,” McKamey said on the podcast.

To be selected for admittance, participants must meet various requirements, provide doctors’ letters affirming their mental and physical fitness and sign a “10-page” waiver agreeing that they will not be released until McKamey gives his permission, he said.

McKamey also said on the podcast that he was recently rebuffed in an attempt to move his operation to Arizona.

“Arizona shut us down as well. After the city commissioner and folks went through a couple of our practice tours, they said, ‘This is insane. We will not have this in our city,’” McKamey said. “So people don’t get that it’s all an illusion.”

McKamey did not specify where in Arizona he tried to move.

In San Diego, McKamey said he has been working to make the McKamey Manor experience more interesting and more exciting by taking participants to different locations, including warehouses in San Diego and Tijuana.

“If you were chosen to go to Mexico, that was part of your tour,” McKamey said during the podcast. “And that’s what makes what we do so realistic, is that you’re gonna actually be kidnapped by for-real Federales, and interrogated for about 90 minutes before we take you to a warehouse in T.J. And if you want to see a grown man cry, then you’re going to see it.”