HALLOWEEN

It’s so dark.

The clouds are blocking out the stars and the moon.  There are no streetlamps on this rural, winding road.  Our flashlights are the only source we have that can prevent us from tripping over ourselves… and each other.  The bags full of snickers and milk duds and chocolate eyeballs are weighing us down but we can’t just leave them around anywhere and it’s too far to walk all the way home.  We’re here.

The house sits behind a tall line of trees that block it from street view even during the brightest day.  You would never really know there was a house there at all if you didn’t creep through the backyards of all the houses on the street on your way home from the school bus stop.  Nobody lives there.  At least, that’s what people say.

We aren’t so sure.  The red flag on the mailbox is up sometimes.  Sometimes it’s down.  Strange if nobody was living there.  There are no cars in the driveway and nobody seems to remember ever seeing one drive in or out.  The house and grounds haven’t been taken care of in years.  Most of the grass has turned brown and the path to the front door has been covered over by the years of neglect.  There is an awkward quietness about the place, although at this time of night, if you listen very closely and close your eyes, you can make out a faint squeaking coming from somewhere either inside or directly outside the house.

There are no lights on but the windows are blacked out so it is hard to tell if anything is inside… or any one.

There are stories.

Stories that have been passed down from generation to generation.  The children on the street know all about them.  The parents seem to have either forgotten or don’t care.  There once was a family living in the house… back when the house and grounds were beautiful.  There were children who lived there.  Children who played in the yard and with the other kids.  That was a long time ago.  They say the only one left of the family still lives there.  Lives somewhere deep inside the dark and gloomy house.  They say it’s haunted.

There is no deed to the house.  At least, none that can be found in the public records.  Someone looked it up once.  It’s strange that the house isn’t on any current maps of the neighborhood.  Almost like it disappeared off the face of the earth.  But it didn’t.  It’s here.  Right in front of us.

Our parents wouldn’t like us snooping around at this time of night.  We are all supposed to be finishing our trick-or-treating and getting ready to drag our too-heavy bags of candy home to warm fireplaces and hot chocolate with marshmallows.  Instead, the four of us are standing with our dark flashlights trying to decide who it will be.

Which one of us will be brave enough to go to the house and knock on the door.  We have to do it.  Nobody has ever stepped foot on the front porch and rang the bell before.  At least none who survived to tell the tale.  It was rumored that a teenager many years ago tried to knock at the door.  His family moved away within a week under mysterious circumstances.  Creepy.

So it was decided.  I would go.  I was terrified but I couldn’t tell them.  I had to be brave.

I turned on the flashlight as I slowly made my way to the front door.  The dried brush under my feet crunched with the weight of my sneakers and the jacket sleeve of my hobo costume caught on something, pulling me back.  Maybe it was a sign.  I shouldn’t be doing this.

I turned to look back at my friends.  They were still there, standing at the edge of the property.  I couldn’t see their faces but I could sense the fear.

The front steps were rickety but I didn’t want to take hold of the railing in case it gave way and I went with it.  One, two, three, four steps to the front door.  And then I was there.  Standing in front of a door that clearly had seen better days.  There used to be a sparkling stained glass window at the top of the door, but now it just looked like the rest of the door… dark and dirty.  I raised my hand to knock because that was what I was here to do.

I raised my hand to knock… and froze!

There was a rustling coming from inside the house.  Someone was there.  In the house.  On the other side of the door.

I was frozen with my fist in the air, terrified to move.  I wanted to run, but my legs wouldn’t move.  The rustling continued… something was coming.

Suddenly, something in the window next to the door moved a little.  The black curtain that was covering the window was pulled aside.  I could see it move, but I couldn’t see who moved it.

Then the scream… “Ruuuuuuun!!!!!!”

They were shouting at me, as they started to run away.  I turned and ran as fast as I could.  I couldn’t look back but I heard the door open.  I ran… ran like my life depended on it.  I didn’t stop running until I had reached my own house, with pieces of hard-earned candy flying out of my bag.  I didn’t care.  I wanted to be home so badly.

I saw the front porch of my house, with the light on.  I had never been so happy to see that light as I did right now.  I threw open the door and slammed it shut behind me.  Safe.

My breathing was heavy, my body was trembling.  On the kitchen table I could see a cup of steaming hot chocolate waiting for me.  In the living room a warm fire was raging in the fireplace.  I was home.

I never really found out what became of that house.  For all I know it’s still there and kids are still creeping around on Halloween night.  Maybe someone lives there… maybe not.  I lived on that street for 13 years.  The rumors of it being haunted are true.  It was the most terrifying house I’ve ever seen.  I still think of that house when we tell ghost stories.  I still think of it every Halloween.

We now live in a planned community… every house looks the same.  The nights are full of streetlamps and porch lights.  It is 20 steps from one front door to another.  We know every neighbor.

The kids go trick-or-treating, carve pumpkins and decorate the house.  They play spooky music and have parties and dress up as ghosts and goblins.

Halloween isn’t the same.

Halloween to me is spooky seances and ghost stories, haunted houses and dark nights.  My kids will never know what it’s like to be scared out of their wits by their own made-up beliefs and surroundings.  A ghost story is just a story… no longer filled with possibilities and insecurities.

I love Halloween.  It’s the one night when you can let yourself be scared enough to believe.