Last night the hobgoblins were about. Some as Ariel, the mermaid; some sported themselves about in the likeness of Britney, or other rock stars. Some kept to tradition and populated the night as skeletons and ghosts, monsters, and beasts of all descriptions.

Most were led about by their parents. Others went to community parties. The inhabitants of Halloween no longer haunt the neighborhood streets as a generation ago. The real life monsters have scared us serious and precautions are taken. Today, it’s a decision as to whether one should purchase treats to distribute or not. Some years no cries of “Trick or Treat” are heard at my front door. It’s too bad. Back halfway through the last century, when I, myself, crept about in Halloween finery, it was different story. 

I got to thinking about the changes that have come about in Halloween customs. I suppose it was for the best. In my neighborhood, long ago, some real life monsters crept about the shadows around the citizens of Heatherwood Drive. 

It’s time for a cleansing of the soul. The statute of limitations has run out, I’m sure. Most of the folks who would take out the warrants are dead. So here’s the confession.

Mr. Magarity, I’m going to begin with you. I begin with you for to you I am going to offer no apology. You were the meanest man I ever met. The fact your property adjoined my dad’s brought much distress into my living. So I want you to know that the Halloween night you opened your door to find your front porch floor on fire, I was watching from behind that oak tree representing the border of our properties. You do not know how much self restraint it took to not scream in laughter as you stomped out that burning cow dung. 

Mr. Gilder, you really brought it on yourself when you announced at my parent’s cocktail party that you’d never give a kid a treat on Halloween. You set yourself up. Remember how compulsive you were about the miles per gallon you got on the VW you bought? Remember how that first year you bragged to your neighbors over the economy of that vehicle? Remember how the second year you kept taking it to the dealer because the thing had become a gas guzzler? You really should have had a lock on the gas cap, Mr. Gilder. Anyone who refused to give kids a treat in that neighborhood should have locked his gas cap.

Do you remember my friends Charlie and Jack? Among the three of us, Mr. Gilder, we put an extra gallon of gas in your tank every other night that first year. We didn’t lose the money, Mr. Gilder. The second year every other night we siphoned a gallon out. 

Looking back on it, those new VW Beetles were pranks waiting to be played.

Mr. Saggus, why in the world would someone as smart as you make a statement in our high school English class that you’d flunk anyone who came around your house trick or treating? Remember the morning you came out of your house and your car wasn’t there? Remember calling the police? Remember your surprise when you found it in the hallway outside your classroom on the third floor of Druid Hills High School? 

Halloween has changed. It’s certainly for the better. Kids are a lot more restrained now. This is good since I’m the adult.