Halloween resurrects memories of trick-or-treat horros

After reading a nostalgic column of Halloweens’ past, reminiscent of dropping your loot at home and hitting the streets for round two, I had a giddy desire to go out trick-or-treating.

But wait, I remember a round two Halloween assault, battery and larceny. On me. From behind. And it weren’t no ghosts. It was un-costumed teenage criminals. Taking full advantage of the night’s expectations, my small-statured vulnerability and the fact I was tiredly meandering in the shadows of my two other siblings. Pushed. Knocked to the ground. Pillow case snatched. I screamed and cried real sounds, not Halloween-induced effects. My siblings backtracked at my piercing sound of reality, brought me and my spirits to our feet and softly scolded me for lally-gagging. It was the city. On Halloween. There was no pussy-fottin’ around. You learned how to navigate and survive – or stay home.

I brushed off my emotional bruises and my costume and forged ahead. Bagless. ‘No one’s going to treat a kid without a bag for the loot’, I self-chastised. ‘Now what?’

There was only one thing left to this night. And the spirits of lure were enlightening me that I was entering the dimension of trickery. That thought whispered to me from within and I was becoming honestly frightened. “Trick-or treat” might be seasonal child’s play. And I might have been one of the younger youth’s braving the night. But my Spooky-housewise old soul was well aware that “Hallows Eve” was anything but child’s play. There was a part of me, deep in my four-foot stature, that relished in the realization that Hallows Eve was spirits’ night out to frolic in frightening fun from a spooking dimension. They also knew I was a player in the game of ghosts and ghouls. So play they did.

We approached the next house with weary anticipation. My position was moved up to lead trick-or-treater to avoid any further criminal altercations. The door crept open and exposed two witches, so real looking I thought for sure I’d entered a sci-fi novel. Between the two stood a life-sized smoking cauldron that I thought only surfaced in cartoons. Witchy giggles echoed as their stick stirred whatever lurked beneath the rising smoke.

“Have some”, they eerily insisted from the paralyzing silence of the entryway. I was afraid to move, afraid to look behind me to see if my siblings were still there, and afraid to . . .

“Have some” they irritatedly interrupted, holding a smoking ladle to my lips.

I couldn’t help but worry what would happen to me if I sipped from the ladle. And worried worse what would happen if I didn’t.

“Have some”, they snapped, sincerely getting irritated at my loitering hesitancy.Witches-smoking-cauldron

I remember bringing the ladle to my lips and slowly sipping amidst the ghastly giggles of what I was convinced were real witches. My hands were shaking, my knees knocking, my baby teeth chattering and I could feel a cry creeping its way to my mouth. I gulped the witches brew to silence it, fearing what might happen to me if I cried. ‘Where are my siblings?’ I remember wondering from behind the mist in my eyes.

And that was the last thing I remember.

To this day.

Was I held hostage in the dungeons of my own delusions or did those witches drug and drag me into other dimensions?

I cannot answer that question.

City streets were often filled with frightening acts of frivolity. And Halloween was a coming out party of impurities.

Stay safe. Have fun. And remember, there really are ghosts and spirits.

About Christine McDonald (87 Articles)
Christine McDonald is a holistic health, arts and entertainment writer, a healing arts teacher and a self-help junkie, sharing stories, reviews, inspiration and information to assist others in discovering simple ways to reacquaint with their spiritual essence and inner voice. You can follow Christine's journey of living a faith-fueled, spiritual lifestyle here at My Little Shangri La Blog, on Facebook and Twitter.

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