As I’ve mentioned before, when I was younger, all of the Halloween decorations in my home had personalities and backstories. Most of the decorations, in my childhood, were given spooky but silly storylines, in the vein of something you’d see in a kids’ Halloween cartoon special. My interest in horror actually didn’t pop until I was fourteen. There was one decoration, though, that danced a fine line between silly-spooky and sinister, to me at least: A scarecrow window cling that my mother had had since before I was born. (This is not my photo. I actually found him listed on eBay several days ago as part of a lot, the first time I’ve seen him in many years, thanks to a conversation with a friend, that, oddly enough, originated with Easter decor memories.) He may not look so intimidating now, but something about his dead stare just got to me in my youth. He usually wound up on our main kitchen window, extended arm pointing directly at the door where trick-or-treater...