As I lay drowning in my pit of post-Halloween depression, I can’t help but think back to years past, and how I’ve dealt with things over the years. I never quite had the language to describe what I was feeling in my childhood, once November hit, but I know that a nasty, achy feeling was always there. I remember once saying that it felt, on some level, like I was the only person left in the world, desperately trying to survive. Once I saw the Halloweentown movies, I started to think of myself as being a resident who kept missing the bus, and was therefore stuck in the mortal world year after year. All I wanted was to keep it going, but somehow I never knew how.
One of my greatest attempts, though, happened when I was ten.
Halloween was on a Friday that year, so this was one of the few times I actually had the day off on November first. (Sidenote: I’ve always felt like that day should be an excused absence for anyone who loves Halloween, child or adult. As an adult I schedule my vacations so that I never start work again before the second at the absolute earliest.) It gave me lots of time to mull over how I was feeling…and also to think about lots of other little details.
One such detail that suddenly occurred to me was, What about the kids who may have been sick on Halloween night?! The second that thought jumped into my brain, I couldn’t bear it. It was one thing to get sick on Thanksgiving or Christmas. You could always have leftovers, you could open your presents anyway…it might not be as fun, but celebrating those holidays wouldn’t be completely out of the question. But Halloween…there was no way to “make it up” once it was done with…or was there?
Of course, I had to voice this thought to my mother, who was not quite used to my every thought revolving around Halloween just yet, but, God bless her, she indulged my worry over the hypothetical child who may have been struck down by some hypothetical disease the night before, and even told me that she thought she remembered a time in her childhood when someone came knocking on November first. (To this day I have no idea if this was a true story or not, but I appreciated the reassurance.) And, naturally, that gave me an idea.
I went and got a blank piece of paper, grabbed a black Sharpie, and made a sign for the front door that said “LAST MINUTE TRICK-OR-TREATERS WELCOME”, complete with little doodles of a ghost, a bat, a pumpkin, and a spider, in each corner. I hung it up and spent probably far too long admiring it, and checking if it could be seen from the street. Once I was satisfied, I went back inside, and, since I had the day off, lingered between the living room and kitchen all day, hoping someone would knock. I don’t know who I thought I was helping, myself or the potentially, hypothetically, sick kid, but I was just dying for some action. Something to bring Halloween back to life, if only for a moment.
By the time my mother was cooking dinner, I couldn’t contain myself anymore. Darkness was approaching, surely now someone would come to the door. They were probably just waiting, so they could have the full Halloween experience, darkness and all, despite being sick. As I waited for this sickly child to brave the November night, I paced around the kitchen, somehow managing to come up with the concept of a “Halloween Lovers’ Consolation Party”. I started imagining different types of games and activities that people could do, to have one last party within the week after Halloween’s end. By the time dinner was ready I had it all mapped out, basing it around how American Girl Magazine laid out their party planning articles. (Sidenote: Did anyone’s parents ever actually allow them to have all of the parties that that magazine pitched?) I started to wonder if I should consider sending the magazine my idea, but even then, it occurred to me that no one really thought about Halloween the way I did. Even if I decided to throw such a party myself, would anyone actually get it? My guess, even as a ten-year-old naive enough to think I was about to be a sick child’s hero for letting them trick-or-treat at my house the day after Halloween, was, sadly, probably not.
Through dinner I sat with some candies next to me, so that I could be the one to bestow the treats upon my poor, sick, hypothetical, Halloween-loving friend, but still, no one came. The later it got, I resigned myself to the fact that no one must have missed Halloween after all, or perhaps if they had, they didn’t think they’d have a shot at getting any treats now. I believe my mother allowed me to keep the sign up for one more day, just in case, as it was the weekend after all, but I didn’t expect anyone to come anymore.
At some point, my mother must have relayed this story to my Aunt Trish, because one night the next week, she appeared on our doorstep in a Wilma Flintstone mask that she’d worn to a party earlier in the season, and said “trick-or-treat” as she handed me a basket with a Beanie Baby inside.
I never made a sign like that again, never questioned out loud what happens if you’re sick for Halloween, but I hope, of my hypothetical last minute trick or treater is out there somewhere, that they’re getting something good.
Stay spooky, my friends.
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