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.