The Night I SCREAMED On Halloween

A number of years ago, I told my mother about the scariest Halloween I ever experienced. I was with a friend from the neighborhood. She questioned whether she would have let me venture out without her at the tender age of six. Oh, I wasn’t alone, I reminded her. Besides, times were different then. We used to leave our windows open all day and night during hot summer months because air conditioning was a luxury. Screen doors were all that separated us from the outside world. Crime wasn’t something that was ever present in our minds. Heck, we left our doors unlocked. It was a different time…

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It was a chilly autumn night, that Halloween of 1958. It was my first foray out alone. Well, not really alone. I was with Harold, my buddy from school. He met me at my place. We had planned on doing this, by hook or by crook, and no mothers were going to be allowed to come along! We were out to prove we were real men that night, not boys, or so I thought, as we ventured out into the early evening. Be home soon after dark, our mothers instructed.

There were lots of other children running around dressed in all kinds of costumes, stopping at many of the two story homes in our close knit community. The ones that were spookily decorated were the most inviting. Anyone willing to do all that work on their place would surely be the ones handing out the best candy!

I remember watching hand-carved candlelit pumpkins flicker with each eerie twist and turn throughout the neighborhood. Skeletons and ghosts hung from trees and porches, swaying back and forth in the cool, gentle breezes, as red and orange leaves softly fell to the ground. We spoke of ghouls and goblins and stayed away from dark alleys and back yards where we weren’t supposed to go anyway, not to mention houses with no lights, because we knew what THAT meant! The monsters inside would grab us by our arms and take us down into their dank, spider-infested dungeons filled with torture devices, where we’d never, ever be seen again. Or… or… or… maybe, lights out simply meant they weren’t home or didn’t want to be bothered. But we weren’t going to take any chances.

We were on a candy mission. I had a big grocery store shopping bag to fill up. It was brown paper with a handle. There were no plastic or paper options back then. It was paper. Those were the days when milkmen left glass bottles at your doorstep and rabbit ears or rooftop antennas were the best way to watch black & white, round-screen television sets. Color TV? Hahahahaha! We weren’t rich.

For what seemed like hours, we wandered around the neighborhood. People guessed who we were. “Oh, you’re little Dave, Sam & Dottie’s kid.”

Harold wanted to finish the night at his house. It was only fair, since we did start at mine, and I had never been there before. His place was across the street, about five houses up. When you’re only six-years-old, that’s quite a distance, and I wasn’t crazy about venturing too far away from my world; a world that wasn’t very big.

But I was brave and we had candy collection work to do.

Round and round we went. Back and forth, up and down; to the left and to the right, including places we’d never seen. We visited hundreds of homes, or so it seemed. Thousands, maybe! Eventually, we worked our way to his place. It was dark and I remembered what my mother said. We’d been out long enough, we were getting tired, and both of us had plenty of goodies to last a long time. Of utmost importance, Halloween fell on a school night and we needed our sleep.

When we arrived, we walked up the sidewalk and climbed the stairs of his front porch. The porch light was off and it was downright sinister. Pure evil was lurking about. I knew it. I just sensed it…

“Are you sure your mom and dad are home?” I asked. We knocked and, in a snap, the big, dark door swung open. There stood Harold’s father.

“TRICK OR TREAT!” We screamed in unison.

“I want to see a trick,” he responded. A trick? I didn’t know what he was talking about. Saying trick or treat meant that I was going to get candy. That’s all I knew. What was this trick thing about?

“When you say trick or treat, I can ask you to do a trick first. Then I give you a treat. Where’s your trick?” he asked.

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 far, far out of his mouth and quickly slid back in. WHOA!!!!!!!

I froze dead in my tracks and stared up at him. The glare in his eyes! Then, just like that, he did it again!!!!!!! Those teeth jutted out of his face and wiggled for a second, like they had a mind of their own, before disappearing back inside his mouth.

“AAAAIIIIEEEEE” I let out a blood curdling scream that must have awakened the dead. Today, anyone within hearing range would have called 911 on that house because of the panic in my voice. I turned to run, but, quickly, Harold’s mother appeared from another room. In a snap, she came out to comfort me.

“Did you see what he did? He… he… he…”

“Yes, yes,” she answered, as she wrapped her arms around me. Whatever his name was, she sure did raise her voice at him. She knew exactly what happened. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

Meanwhile, I could see that the guy was rolling on the floor, laughing like crazy. I didn’t know what to do, but I wanted to get away from there fast while she explained what it was. “When people’s teeth go bad, the dentist pulls them out. He gives you new ones so you can chew your food and have a nice smile. They come out of your mouth and you put them back in where your teeth used to be.” 

Huh? I had no concept whatsoever.

She turned to him and demanded an apology. I was trying to shake off the fright and sort it all out. Why did a grown not have any real teeth? 

I doubt he ever said I’m sorry. I’m sure he continued to laugh. I’m certain I was still feeling the trauma. She must have known from the look on my face. “I’ll walk you home, Dave.”

There was no way I was going to walk home alone, trembling — not after that! When I got to my door, she explained the horror story to my mother. Maybe I sensed a Snicker or two.

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All my life, I brushed my teeth in the morning and before bed, especially after eating candy bars. I remember telling my mother that I would never set foot in Harold’s house again. As a matter of fact, when I looked up the street toward his place, I shuddered and turned away, yet Harold and I remained friends. He assured me he had no idea.

Before the following Halloween, we moved to another town and that was the unfortunate end of our friendship. When I was old enough to understand what false teeth were all about, I wondered how the father of a six-year-old boy could have lost his teeth so young. He couldn’t have been more than thirty. Perhaps..?

He ate too much candy when he was six-years-old and didn’t bother to brush his teeth.

The Night I Screamed On Halloween

A few years ago, I told my mother about the scariest Halloween I ever had. I was with a friend from the neighborhood. She questioned whether she would have let me venture out without her at the tender age of 6, but I wasn’t alone, I reminded her. Besides, times were different then. We left our windows open all day and night during hot summer months because air conditioning was a luxury. Screens were what separated us from the outside world. Crime wasn’t something that was ever present in our minds. Heck, we left our front doors unlocked. It was a different era…

It was a chilly autumn night, that Halloween of 1958. It was my first foray out alone. Well, not really alone. I was with a classmate, Harold. We had planned on doing this, by hook or by crook, and no mothers were going to be allowed to come with us! We were out to prove we were men that night, or so I thought, as we ventured out into the early evening. Harold and I were instructed to make our rounds and come home after full darkness fell.

There were lots of other children in all sorts of costumes roaming around, stopping at most of the two story homes in our close knit community. Many were decorated and they seemed like the most inviting - the ones that would give out the best candy!

I remember watching candlelit pumpkins flicker with each eerie twist and turn throughout the neighborhood. Skeletons hung from trees and porches, swaying in the cool, gentle breezes. We spoke of ghosts and goblins and stayed away from dark alleys and back yards — not to mention the houses with no lights — because it meant they were going to grab us and take us down into the dank basement where we’d never be seen again. Or else it meant they weren’t home, but we weren’t going to take any chances.

I had a big brown double paper shopping bag to fill up. That was my mission. There were no paper or plastic options at the grocery store back then. Those were the days when milkmen left glass bottles at your doorstep and rabbit ears or rooftop antennas were the best way to watch black & white televisions. Color TV? Hahahahaha!

Harold wanted to finish the night at his house. After all, we did start at mine. I had never been there before. He lived a handful of houses up; across street from me, and when you’re only six, that’s pretty far away. I wasn’t too crazy about being almost out of sight of my own place. At that tender age, the world isn’t all that big.

Around and around the neighborhood we went. Back and forth, up and down paved streets; to the left and to the right, including places we’d never been. We visited hundreds of homes, or so it seemed. Eventually, we worked our way to his house. It was now dark and I remembered what my mother told me. We’d been out long enough and both of us had plenty of goodies to last a long time. Most importantly, it was a school night.

When we arrived, we walked up the sidewalk and climbed the stairs of his front porch. The porch light was off and it was downright sinister. Pure evil was lurking about. I knew it.

“Are you sure your parents are home?” I asked. We knocked and, in a snap, the door swung open. There stood Harold’s father.

“TRICK OR TREAT!” We screamed in unison.

“I want to see a trick,” he responded. A trick? I didn’t know what he was talking about. Saying trick or treat meant that we were going to get candy. That’s it. 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 for me?”

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 jutted far out of his mouth and quickly slid back in. 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 before disappearing back inside his mouth.

WHOA!!! I let out a blood curdling scream that must have awakened the dead. Today, anyone within hearing range would have called 911 after hearing the panic in my voice. I turned to run but, suddenly, Harold’s mother appeared from behind the door. She quickly came out to comfort me.

“Did you see what he did? He… he…”

“Yes, yes,” she answered, as she wrapped her arms around me. Whatever his name was, she sure did scold him.

“He shouldn’t have done that.” The guy was rolling on the floor, laughing like crazy. I didn’t know what to do, but I wanted to get away from there fast. “When people’s teeth go bad, the dentist has to pull them out. Then, he gives you new ones - FALSE ONES - to chew your food and have a nice smile. They come out of your mouth and you put them back in over your toothless gums. They’re not real.” 

She turned to him and demanded an apology. Me? I was trying to figure out why a grown man didn’t have any teeth, but I was too frightened to give it much thought.

I don’t remember if he said I’m sorry or not, but I doubt it. He was still laughing, I’m sure, and I was still shaking in my boots. She said she would walk me home. I was not about ready to tremble back by myself. Not after that! When I got home, she explained the incident to my mother. What a horror! I think I sensed a snicker or two.

Anyway, I know that my mother reminded me to brush my teeth before going to bed, especially after eating candy. I do remember telling her I would never go back to that house and I never did. Before the following fall, we moved away and that was the unfortunate demise of our friendship. I never saw Harold’s father after that fateful and frightening night. When I was old enough to understand what false teeth were all about, I wondered how the father of a six-year-old boy could have lost his teeth so young. He couldn’t have been that old.

Perhaps, he ate too much candy when he was young. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t bother to brush his teeth.