What Happened
to my Halloween?
By G. E.
Shuman
For most of
my life I was a true enthusiast, but not a true believer, in the old traditions
of Halloween. I loved to see whatever the contemporary trends were in ‘spooky’
October things each year. I especially liked the old, antique appearing room decorations,
even if they were made of cheap plastic. Somehow that made them even better.
They just had to look scary and old. Fall had always been a favorite season to me,
and that cold, eerie, blowing leaf and biting wind end of October was always
special.
All of that was
until the past five years or so. Lately I just don’t ‘feel’ the Halloween ‘spirit,’
if you will pardon the pun. I see all the work some families put into their
lawn decorations and wonder why those things don’t seem as cool to me as they
used to. Maybe I’ve just finally grown up, in my 71st year. I don’t
know.
My nine year
old granddaughter has done a great job of decorating the rooms of our home,
using some of the signs and ceramic things from the ‘ghouls and skeletons’ area
of our cellar shelves, as strange as that sounds, along with her family’s more
elaborate, ‘antique’ looking decorative things. Still, I’m having trouble getting
into the traditional spooky mood this year.
This has
been an unusually busy and trying year for us, and that might be what the matter
is with me. It takes me a little time to soak up the good things in any season,
and I feel like I just haven’t had that time, this time. 2025 has been filled
with too many illnesses, doctor appointments, and the like to worry much about things
like Halloween.
Next year
could be different but for now I will accept that I may have reached adulthood
at 71. Who knows, by this time next year I may be well into my second childhood
and fall in love with Halloween things all over again. Right now, I’m just
going to attach the following piece that I used in my World column several
years in a row. It was about the only one I repeated, but I thought it was
worth that yearly repetition. I hope you agree.
Spooky!
By G. E. Shuman
It is a
distant memory, cold and old, dusted off now as a long-neglected, rediscovered
book might be. It matters, somehow, that
this nearly forgotten evening happened within a mid-nineteen-sixties year. Perhaps it could be that the late autumn wind
cooled and creaked the leafless, lifeless-looking trees even more then than
now; again… somehow. Or perhaps it is
only because those October thirty-firsts were spookier then, at least to the
one whose memory of the night it is. Those Halloweens contained no costumes of
bleeding skulls or vividly maimed souls. They were, simply, or perhaps, not so
simply, ghostly, hauntingly spooky nights.
On this one Halloween, dusk, as
dust, had settled slowly upon the small New England town of the boy’s
youth. Supper had been a hurried affair,
gobbled by giggling goblins anxious to get out into the night. Low voices and
footsteps of other spooks were already upon the front steps; knocks and
bone-chilling knob-rattling had already begun at the door.
The boy of ten or so was more than
ready to go out. By accident or plan,
his siblings had already slipped into the night without him. He was very alone; at least he hoped that he
was alone, as he ventured into the much too chilly night air. The cold breeze stung his eyes as he peered
through the rubbery-odored mask of his costume.
He began the long walk through the frozen-dead, musty-smelling leaves
covering the sidewalk.
The youth hurried past the
frightful row of thick and dark, moonlit maples that lined the way. He was very afraid that the dry crunch of
death in those old leaves would alert of his presence whatever ghoul or ghost
might be lurking behind one of those trees.
As he walked on in the increasingly inky black, he dared not peek even
slightly around any of them. It was a
sure thing that not EVERY roadside tree hid some witch or ghastly ghoul, but
the boy knew that he was certain to pick the one which did, if he were to dare
to look.
By sheer will, or by chance, the
youth succeeded in passing by the haunted trees, and successfully
trick-or-treated at many houses on the street.
Every inch of the way he thought about the one house he dreaded visiting
most: the house of the witchy-looking old lady.
Sure, she seemed kind in the daytime, but you didn’t see her humped old
back or the wrinkly look in her eyes in the daytime. Her house was cold as a tomb, at least, such
was her old porch, at night, in late October.
The boy knew this well from the year before, but that year he had been
with his brothers and sisters. As he walked, the scuffing, leaf-scraping sound
of every step seemed to taunt him with the words: Every… witch… awaits… the
child… who walks… alone… Every… witch… awaits… the child… who walks… alone…
The boy’s small hands were nearly
freezing by the time he reached the old lady’s small dark house far down the
street. He managed to climb to the top
of the worn and creaky steps. He stood
there a moment, and then worked up enough courage to open the narrow door of
the witch’s small, windowed porch. The
rusty door spring, worn to its own insanity by countless other small boys who
were fools enough to enter here, screeched a hateful, taunting announcement of
the boy’s arrival. This it repeated,
mocking its original scream, as the door slammed tightly shut between the lad
and the world outside.
The long, enclosed tomb of a porch
offered no relief from the cold, but some little relief from the night
wind. The only light therein was that of
a maddening, perfectly placed jack-o-lantern which hideously smiled up at the
boy from the floor, at the farthest corner of the room. The porch exuded the
sooty-sweet smell of that candle-lit carved pumpkin. This strange aroma mingled with that of
crisp, cold Macintosh apples which filled a wooden crate at one wall. “What could possibly be the use of apples to
a witch?” The boy briefly pondered.
The one who disguised herself as a
regular, kind old lady during the daytime was very cunning indeed. Her trap for little boys was a porch table
full of the biggest and best treats in the town. Those very famous treats were the single
reason the boy was even on this terrifying porch. There was a tray which held beautiful,
candied apples and another laden with huge, wax-paper-wrapped popcorn
balls. A bowl between them overflowed
with candy corn, the boy’s favorite.
Thoughts of poison apples and boiling cauldrons momentarily filled the
child. He then nervously picked his
treat and got it safely into the candy-stuffed pillowcase he carried. Hearing the nighttime witch walking across
her kitchen floor toward the door to the porch, he headed out, past the
screeching door, down the creaking steps, and toward home. If she had ever invited any little boy into
her home, that boy certainly had never come back out, he thought, as he briskly
walked. This boy, that night, had,
somehow, survived another visit to that house.
He had even gotten away with the biggest, most delicious popcorn ball of
all! His only fear then was in once
again getting past the street-side ghouls that certainly stared at him from
behind those huge old maples.
It is a fact that Halloween was
different in the nineteen sixties, before the age of sugar and plastic
holidays. There was just something hauntingly powerful about the cheap paper
cutouts, cheesy cardboard skeletons and black and orange streamers of those
years. Fold-out paper pumpkins and eerie
(and probably dangerous) cardboard candleholders lit the yards. Homemade,
totally safe treats filled pillowcases and paper bags of those who dared to
face the night. Those were night-prowling, costumed, youthful vagabonds, young
souls whose parents had no fear at all that they would not return home safely.
Halloween nights were ones of
simple, frightful fun, in those years. Cartoon ghosts and goblins, fake witches
and funny Frankenstein monsters were all that stalked the streets or the
innocent imaginations of children then.
True evil had nothing to do with those nights at all.
The ghouls of Halloweens long-past
may live on only as aging, dusty memories, but the dark and distant
nineteen-sixties Halloween you just read about really did happen. At least, that’s how this old
trick-or-treater remembers it.
(Note: The
author invites you to view his novels, “A Corner Café” and the second edition
of “The Smoke and Mirrors Effect” at Amazon.com. Both books are available on
Kindle and in paperback.)
