A Halloween Story

I had something else I wanted to post today, but I’ll do it tomorrow or Monday. In the meantime, this is a story I first wrote in 2006. Because it’s Halloween, I’m republishing it - with several modifications. Please don’t be frightened.

The Night I Screamed On Halloween

A few years ago, I told my mother about the scariest Halloween moment in my life. She questioned whether she would have let me venture out on my own at the tender age of 6. I was with a friend from the neighborhood and we were in the same class at school, so I wasn’t really alone. I told her, sure, why not? Times were different then. We left our windows open at night. During hot summer months, most houses were without air conditioning and the only thing that separated us from the rest of the world was a screen door. Crime wasn’t something that was ever present in our minds. It was a different time…

It was a chilly autumn night, so, so many years ago. It was my first foray out with a friend on Halloween. No moms allowed! I was a man this night, or so I thought. Harold and I went out to make the rounds just as darkness fell. There were lots of kids in all sorts of costumes milling about, stopping at most of the homes in the close knit community. Some were decorated and they seemed like the most inviting - the ones that would give out the best candy! I remember the flickering of candlelit pumpkins with each eerie twist and turn throughout the neighborhood. Skeletons hung from trees and porches, swaying in the gentle breeze. We talked of ghosts and goblins and tried to stay away from dark alleys and back yards. No way! Oh yeah, and houses with their lights off, too, because that meant they were going to grab us and take us to the basement where we’d never be seen again. Maybe, it really just meant they weren’t home, but we weren’t going to take any chances.

I had a big brown paper shopping bag to stuff all that tooth rotting goodness in. There were no paper or plastic options at the grocery store back then. These were the days of old when the milkman left glass bottles at our doorsteps and on freezing winter morns, the cream would expand and push the cardboard cap up and out a few inches. Brrr. Rabbit ears were the best way to watch our round screen black & white TVs.

Harold wanted to finish the night at his house. “OK,” I said, “we started at mine, we can stop at yours.”

I had never been to his place before. He lived about 6 or 7 houses up and on the other side of the street. When you’re six years old, that’s pretty far away and I wasn’t too crazy about being almost out of sight of my own place. We must have visited all kinds of critters, I mean people, while working our way to his house. I was slowly approaching unmarked territory. At night, too. In the dark. Halloween night! I was getting nervous. OK, this is far enough.

“I think it’s getting late. I’m getting tired,” I said. We’d been out long enough and had plenty of goodies to last a long time. We probably had bewitching hours, anyway. It was probably a school night.

“OK. Let’s go to my place,” Harold said.

“I’m ready!” Besides, I was getting bored.

Everywhere I went, everyone made me take off my mask. “Oh, you’re Sam & Dottie’s boy.”

When we got to his house, we walked up the sidewalk and scaled the stairs to his front porch. The porch light was off and it was downright spooky. I sensed evil lurking about. We knocked and suddenly the door opened.

“TRICK OR TREAT!” We screamed in unison.

“I want to see a trick!” his father quickly replied. A trick? I didn’t know what he was talking about. Saying trick or treat meant I was going to get candy. That’s all. What was this trick thing all about?

“When you say trick or treat, I can ask you to do a trick first. Then I give you a treat. Do you have a trick?”

Harold and I gave each other a puzzled look and said, “Huh? Nooooo?!”

“Well, then, I have a trick for you,” and just like that, his top teeth popped out and back into his mouth in an instant. I froze dead in my tracks and just stared up at him. Then he did it again. Those teeth popped out of his face and dangled for a second and then zipped right back inside his mouth.

I let out a blood curdling scream that woke the dead at the cemetery down the street. Today, neighbors would call 911 after hearing the panic in my voice. I turned to run, when all of a sudden, Harold’s mom suddenly appeared from behind his father and quickly came out the door to comfort me. Whatever his name was, she sure did scold him. Then, she turned to me…

“He shouldn’t have done that.” The guy was rolling on the floor with laughter. Harold didn’t know what to do. “Sometimes when people’s teeth go bad, the dentist has to pull them out. Then, he gives you new ones to chew your food and have a nice smile. They come out and you put them back in. They’re not real. Lots of people have them,” She turned to him. “Apologize right now!”

I don’t remember if he said anything or not. He was still laughing. I was pretty rattled and couldn’t stop shaking in my boots. She said she would walk me home. I was not about ready to venture out of that neighborhood by myself. When we got back to my place, she explained to my mother what a horror filled trauma I had just gone through. I sensed a snicker or two and I’m not talking about the candy variety.

“Mom? Can I sleep with the light on tonight?” I asked. “I’m never going back to that house again,” and I never did. “Mom, would you lock the front door, just in case?” For the longest time, I wouldn’t even look at that place and I sure was glad when we moved.

I never saw Harold’s dad again. We never discussed it in school, either. When I was old enough to understand, I wondered how the father of a six year old boy could have lost his teeth so young.

Maybe, he ate too much Halloween candy.