Illustration by Juliana Neufeld
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As Halloween approaches each year, I find myself debating whether or not to participate in the spirited night. Do I give out candies to the trick-or-treaters, or do I lock the door, close the blinds and turn out the lights?
I must admit, my enthusiasm for Halloween wanes the older I get. I grumble at the candy and costume paraphernalia in stores weeks before summer has sighed away its last day. The closer the days roll toward Oct. 31, the firmer my decision is to hide in an upstairs room until all the Halloween spirits get extinguished for another year.
In 2019 I did just that – I hid. I sequestered myself in a dark room with a book and a reading light. Like Oscar Wilde’s selfish giant, my property was off-bounds to all children. There was no carved pumpkin, no Halloween treats and no spooky fun at my address.
What I didn’t expect was the guilt I felt as I heard excited little voices passing by my home. I turned off the reading light and peeked through the blinds. I spotted a mini Superman regaled in skin-tight attire and billowing cape. Then came a bouncy little bumble bee, a fireman and a few adult chaperones trailing behind them. The youngsters made me recall how excited I felt when I, too, was an exuberant trick-or-treater. The well-planned costume, the carefully carved pumpkin, the bag to fill with candies, the dark mysterious night … oh, it was such fun!
Disappointed in myself for my lack of enthusiasm by not giving back, I returned to my reading chair and told myself that next year I would welcome all trick-or-treaters to my door.
Then COVID hit. There was a two-year Halloween hiatus at many addresses and mine was one of them. Then last October my neighbour called out to me, “We’re doing Halloween,” and I called back that I would be, too.
On Oct. 31, 2022, as the afternoon light melded into twilight, I was feeling spirited. I put out the carved pumpkin and lit its candle; I suspended big black spiders over the stoop and a few gauzy ghosts inside the door. I donned an old Halloween costume and a helmet that had quirky things attached to it such as coiled wires and flickering lights when, many years ago, I was the Dispeller of Evil Spirits.
That old title was soon rebranded by a young trick-or-treater who came to my door and queried, “Are you a mad scientist?” Taken aback by his interest in my costume and not in the candy I was about to drop into his bag, I quickly replied, “Yes, VERY mad!” “Oh,” his eyes widened, “then you should have vials filled with different coloured potions.”
Surprised by this young lad’s advice (aren’t kids supposed to take the candy and hightail it to the next door?), I replied, “Yes, thanks, I’ll remember that for next year.”
I gave the boy three treats – one being complimentary for his costume advice. He thanked me and turned to descend the stairs saying, “Bye mad scientist, Happy Halloween!” I smiled as I closed the door and went to sit in a chair to wait for the next trick-or-treater.
Within minutes a chorus of little voices came eagerly up the steps shouting, “Trick or Treat! Trick or Treat!” I opened the door and greeted a princess whose lips were smeared with red lipstick, a butterfly whose wings had gone askew, a shy witch and a fuzzy brown bear.
That evening I had many memorable trick-or-treaters. There was a first-timer, not more than 2, who stood mute at the door. She looked at my lit-up helmet wondering what to make of me. Her smiling father gently coaxed her to say “trick or treat,” but her lips remained as motionless as her body. I bent down to offer encouragement, but all she did was stare at me. Daddy held out her bag and I dropped four treats into it instead of my usual two. The little one didn’t even notice, but the big one sure did.
Then came a young person full of pleasantries to win over a mad scientist. With spirit in his voice, he shouted out those magic words that open doors and produce candies. When I presented my bowl of sweets and told him to choose two, he looked at me with a wide toothy smile and said, “Happy Halloween!” I rejoined with the same enthusiasm, “And a Happy Halloween to you, too!” He beamed another big smile. I let him choose another treat. “Oh, thank you, thank you,” he repeated as he made his way down the steps. Then he stopped, looked back and said, “Happy Halloween! Have a nice day!”
One of my last trick-or-treaters was experiencing her first Halloween. She was wearing a white lab coat with a stethoscope around her neck. I asked her if she would mind taking my pulse. Surprised by my request, she put down her bag of candy and placed the chest piece on my wrist. “You’re good,” she said. I thanked her and asked if she would be my doctor one day. “Yes,” she said with a smile, “but first you must make an appointment.” I thanked her and said that I would.
As night drew on and the trick-or-treater voices faded to silence, I took down my spider decorations, blew out the pumpkin’s candle, turned out the lights on the stoop, locked the door and removed my mad scientist’s costume. It was fun.
This year I’ll do Halloween again. I’ll don the same costume, and this time there will be vials filled with coloured potions. I hope the little lad who suggested them comes back to my door.
Carla R. Pitton lives in Vancouver.