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Halloween 2026 is history, but the spooks are still standing on many front lawns. You know the ones - the 12-foot skeletons that tower over the rhododendrons - and make me anxious, even at this age. At least the bloody ghouls are mostly packed away now.
I never liked Halloween. I know, I know. It's almost unamerican. But it started early and never really went away. I was an outcast on Halloween.
As an only child, and the only girl in an all-boy neighborhood, I never had anyone to trick-or-treat with. The boys certainly didn't want to drag along that "sissy girl."
Back in the day, parents didn't go trick-or-treating with their costumed kids - they stayed home to answer the door and pass out homemade popcorn balls or candied apples. Full-sized candy bars were fairly common, and for a scaredy-cat like me they were the only reason to head out there alone. I was afraid of the dark streets, scared of the thick hedges, frightened of the shadows.
Mom's work schedule didn't allow time for sewing a costume, and store-bought costumes weren't big back then. The closest she came to actually making a custom costume for me was cutting up an old sheet to transform me into Casper the Friendly Ghost. A few days ahead of spook night, she surrendered an old sheet to the task.
I remember she dropped the middle of the sheet over my head to cut it to ankle length. "Hold still," she said, "I have to get this even all the way around." She felt for my nose bump so she could locate my eyes. "Don't move until I outline them both." Then she removed the sheet to cut out the eyeholes. "There, you're ready to scare everybody out of their best candy bars."
It wasn't easy keeping the crooked eyeholes lined up on Halloween night. I worked hard at not tripping up and down porch stairs and hanging on to my brown paper shopping bag. I wore "Casper" for three years. When the sheet was approaching knee length, it was time to retire the ghost. The next easiest costume? A witch, of course. And Mom was home that Halloween.
I was in the fourth or fifth grade when she jury-rigged the witch's hat for me. She had a pretty, large-brimmed black picture hat. With pieces of black construction paper, she fashioned a pointed cone that she pinned over the hat's crown. Adding an old black coat of hers that dragged on the ground after I was buttoned in, she declared me a wonderful witch. "But they can see my face," I complained. She then drew heavy dark circles around my eyes with her mascara. It was quite a transformation. I looked both scary and half dead - and not much like myself. I went out alone. Again. I always walked tense, fearful, and that year I struggled with the too-long coat, dragging it over the curbstones.
After about three blocks, I needed to head home. I had crossed the street, so I didn't have to walk along the cemetery. I was convinced that I'd never survive being grabbed by a ghoul from one of those tombstones. I became more terrified, suddenly desperate to get safely home to Mom and my candy collection. And then I saw them.
On the very dark street, two large people were lumbering my way, making scary noises... "Oooh, oooh, oooh!" I put my head down so I could pass them without looking.
When they got close, they split up, jumped on either side of me, and yelled at the top of their lungs, "We gotcha! We got you!" My whole insides quaked. I almost died on the spot.
And then they laughed. I didn't understand. On came a flashlight, and it was my mother dressed up in my uncle's army uniform. Uncle Chet was dressed in my mother's long chenille bathrobe and a hairnet piled full of curlers. "O-o-o-o-h," they repeated and laughed again. I burst into tears and couldn't stop shaking. They finally realized the extent of my fear -- and took me home. It was my last Halloween as a trick-or-treater.
Halloween seems to keep getting gorier and creepier. I guess kids think that blood and guts are normal. If I were a kid today on All Hallow's Eve, I'd probably be in the emergency room, trembling and catatonic, with a blood pressure of 220/110. Nowadays I'm content to stay home and hand out the candy. Or not.
Many of those enormous lawn skeletons are left in place year-round. I'll be happier when they're costumed for Christmas and red and green lights replace the orange lights on the front yard bushes.
At least I'm not afraid of the Grinch.
Marcy O'Brien writes from Warren. Send comments to moby.32@hotmail.com