Katie Pumpkinhead’s Pumpkin Patch

 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...

 Something you may or may not have known about me, but possibly suspected:  I trick-or-treated until I was way past the age that society seems to deem “too old”. And, since every October, the question of “How old is ‘too old’?” seems to come back around, I thought I’d share my experiences, in defense of those “big kids” who may come around on Halloween night. As you obviously know if you know me at all, Halloween is my absolute life, and has more or less been such since my first experience with trick-or-treating at the age of four. Trick-or-treating was a magical thing to me, as a kid whose parents set strict bedtimes and very rarely ventured out for more than typical mundane tasks. It was just such a deep contrast to the rest of my life in my childhood, that it quickly became my favorite thing to do. Perhaps Halloween became my favorite holiday because every other aspect of my life was just boring, but I digress.  Anyway, I waited with bated breath for Halloween every si...

 It’s probably safe to say that I didn’t exactly “come of age” in the normal way, like you see portrayed in media. I’m thirty-four years old and still very much a “kid” in a lot of ways, some good, and some, admittedly, not so much. I’ve never had the same interests or priorities as “normal” people, and spend more time than I care to admit thinking I’m just simply not cut out for “adulthood” in the traditional sense, When I was much younger, I actually just assumed that either somehow things would magically fall into place, or I’d somehow end up dead before I ever had to deal with any of it. (Yes, I’ve always been on the morbid side. And, for the record, I didn’t have any specific thoughts on how I’d end up dead; I really wasn’t suicidal or anything. I just could never picture myself as a functioning adult and started thinking that maybe I wasn’t ever intended to make it that far.) However, I am mostly happy with who I am today, and I’ve been thinking a lot lately that, while it wa...

 My birthday is September 8th, 1987. I am 34 years old and technically a summer baby, though I would never refer to myself as such and will argue the fact that September means autumn until I die. I’m a Virgo in every sense of the term, overly analytical, reliant on a decent plan, and borderline hostile toward other people’s disorganization. As a child, my birthday had a tendency to fall right as the school year was starting, making it almost impossible to truly look forward to. All of these things have been true of me for my entire existence.  And yet, I feel like I wasn’t truly born until a different day: October 31st, 1991. This was the first year that I would truly experience Halloween. As a baby/toddler, my mother would usually stick me in a little costume, but we never did anything celebratory. I doubt I even understood what was going on then. But, when I turned four, I guess everyone decided I was the right age to start trick-or-treating. My Aunt Joanne gave me a pumpkin...

 I just posted a photo for the 31 Shots of Halloween challenge that I’m participating in on  Instagram , and I felt inspired to share the story of what can only be described as the worst Halloween of my childhood. This picture was taken today in the rain, reminding me of the one and only rainy Halloween I ever endured in my childhood, when I was six years old. Halloween fell on a Sunday that year, and this was only going to be my third year of actually trick-or-treating. My mother, forever old-fashioned, questioned if Halloween should even be celebrated on a Sunday (Seriously, where did I come from?!), but, at least in the area that I grew up, it was.  I had picked out my costume at the beginning of the month, from the biggest Halloween store that seemed to exist at the time, Party City. I chose a Dalmatian, and I distinctly remember being put out that they didn’t have the actual, licensed 101 Dalmatians costume in my size. I had to settle for dressing up as a generic Dal...

 Last night, I had a very vivid vision. I’m honestly not sure if it was a dream or a memory.  I just know that for a short, sweet moment in time, I was transported back to my childhood Halloweens.  I wanted to attempt to share the memory through writing. You pour the candy you received on your small tour through the neighborhood with your mother, into the bag your costume came in. You think about leaving it in your smaller pail, but there’s no telling where the night may go. You don’t want to have to quit early because you ran out of room!  Your aunt is taking you out tonight, and, at this moment in time, she’s the only person in the world that you can possibly imagine loving Halloween as much as you do. She got you into this holiday, coaxing you out from under a table when you were four years old, dressed as a pumpkin but scared to trick or treat. From then on, Halloween was always somewhere in your thoughts. You bundled up in winter, wishing you were putting on a c...

Halloween does end the most abruptly of the holidays. It’s gotten worse as time has gone on. Stranger. One night, we all are happy trick-or-treaters, making mischief in the moonlight, but then the next day, for some, it’s like it never even happened. The atmosphere starts to be taken over by what ‘should’ be everyone’s favorite holiday, according to society.  But what do they know? Those of us who choose to hold onto the Halloween spirit have probably all wondered. Where do Halloween memories come from? And, perhaps more importantly, where do they go? There is an ancient pumpkin man. Not many have seen him. In fact, if you have seen him, you may have thought he was just a headstone in a cemetery, silently watching over his deceased. And that’s not entirely wrong. He is the Gatekeeper. Guardian and spirit of every Halloween memory that exists. Like a vessel, he holds the weight of thousands of Halloweens inside him; Halloween past is still very much alive within him. He will share h...

 Let’s go on a journey today, back to Halloween season 1999. 1999 was an odd year for Yours Ghoul-ly. I was twelve years old and had just started middle school, and to say it was a hard transition would be an understatement. As someone who had few friends to begin with, being put in a larger, more bustling environment made me feel more alone than ever. Learning the ropes, both relating to the new school environment and being a “pre-teen” when I still felt very much like a child, was difficult. I lived for the weekends, and on Sunday nights, my stomach would tie itself in knots in the way only a scared child’s can. It was very difficult for me to think of anything else, because I knew my next school day was always looming right around the corner. Even the most important things to me tend to get lost in times of major transitions, as if I forget who I am for a bit. There was a Saturday afternoon that year, though, that would change everything, and become a very important part of my H...

I have a real “thing” about trick-or-treat pails. My parents had a pumpkin pail for me since before I was born. One of those old blow molds, with a puffy witch on the back. The pumpkin’s facial features were bumpy; tons of raised little dots stippled in his eyes, nose, and mouth. His teeth were more square than the ones you see today, and his handle was thicker. I’m not sure what ever happened to him, but I know he got a lot of use from me between the ages of four and seven. When I was eight, however, what can only be described as a life-altering trick-or-treat pail event  happened. The year was 1995. I’m not sure what month it was, but I’m thinking it was teeny bit on the “early” side for Halloween things. I walked into WalMart with my parents and my maternal grandfather, who lived with us at the time, and, like any kid, immediately found some stuffed animal that I wanted someone to buy for me. My grandfather agreed to it without much coaxing; that’s just how he was. But then, we ...

Here’s a story I haven’t thought about in a long time, but it came flooding back to me today after a random comment on Instagram asking about one of my decorations. I’ve mentioned before that my Aunt Trish was always the one to take me trick-or-treating as a kid. We had a regular route we’d follow, and, being the Halloween fanatics we were, decorations we got used to seeing every year and looked forward to seeing again. No memory is so prominent, though, as the lamppost that would transform every year into the backdrop of a magical scene. We noticed it that very first year, when I was four years old. A lamppost at the edge of the walkway leading up to a house that was pushed a little farther back than the others. The lightbulb was covered with a sphere shaped fixture, and, when Halloween time would come around, suddenly the silhouette of a witch on her broom would appear, creating the magical illusion of a witch flying across the moon. For many years that lamppost rema...