Halloween Haunts: A Modest Defense of “Trick or Treating”
by Darius Jones
By now, my Fellow Americans, I’m certain that many of you are aware of a fast-moving pestilence sweeping the land. A corrupting tendency, most un-American, among many of our fellow citizens. An unhallowed abomination slowly lurching across the land…
Trunk or Treat.
The concept that, instead of going to a stranger’s home and asking them for candy, our children should instead meet at sterile, pre-arranged tailgates (usually featuring extremely weak Halloween signage) to politely request candy from a pre-approved, vetted group of adults.
Now normally, I have no issue with how my fellow citizens choose to celebrate our various and diverse national holidays. Live and let live, I say! But when, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary to stand up for general neighborliness, for getting off the little tracks we tread like veritable hamsters till the day we die, for bursting loose from the siloed, algorithmic shackles of our own making—I know of now finer aid than the tried-and-true tradition of trick or treating.
Just think!
First, for once, you don’t have to be whoever society says you should be. For one magic night, you (and/or your offspring) can set aside your regular life (hopefully not one of “quiet desperation”!) and try on another for size. Why, an accountant can become a werewolf! A school kid can become an astronaut! A house-husband can become a slavering ghoul! A lawyer could become a doctor!
Second, instead of relying on a pre-determined set of so-called “colleagues” or “neighbors” you can turn to those utter unknowns, those Terra Incognitos of the Soul—your neighbors—to make the day complete. Imagine: A holiday wholly dependent on the kindness (or begrudging ceremonial acceptance) of strangers!
Third, trick-or-treating teaches America’s youth the value of hustle and thrift. Why, I recall when I returned, exhausted, after a good trick-or-treating run and could spill the contents of my pillow case out on my bedroom floor until they almost covered the carpet. While my less industrious peers had to settle for a measly quarter sack of loot. What a proud candy-magnate I was then! And if I was a really disciplined (which I never was), I could make my stash last almost until December when the holidays sweets started rolling in.
Finally and most importantly, trick-or-treating gets us out of our little carefully-constructed bubbles. Sure, you can do a Trunk-or-Treat with your neighbors, or school, or what-have-you…But these days, I think it’s even more important that we turn to total strangers in our midst and maybe—just maybe—get to know them a little bit better. Something you probably won’t be doing this Christmas or Thanksgiving as you gather with family.
In fact, one recent Halloween I had a unique experience with two utter strangers. Someone knocked on our door. I opened it and there was a father and his very young boy (maybe two) dressed in a cape. All the boy could manage in English was “Trick or Treat.” I let him take one piece and then, knowing I had overbought a bit that year, said, “Take two….Take two!” He looked hesitantly at his father, who nodded. Then, without warning, the boy grabbed the second piece of candy, burst through our door, and hugged me like he wouldn’t let go. It was utter child-like gratitude. The boy released me and his father and I both had a good laugh—without exchanging a single word. We didn’t need to. I wished them both a “Good Night” and they were onto the next house.
So, my fellow Americans, this year I will be stocking up on my Kit-Kats, my Reese’s, my Babe Ruths, and bravely manning my door at precisely 6:36 p.m., Eastern Daylight Time, October 31, as Civil Dusk begins…Preparing for the onslaught of semi-feral youths sure to be banging on my door as twilight starts to spread its dark, little claws through the neighborhood.
I don’t know about you—but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Darius Jones’s stories and poems have appeared in Strange Horizons, The No Sleep Podcast, Space and Time Magazine,
and Star*Line Magazine. Darius is a member of the HWA, the SFWA, SFPA, and the Northern Virginia Writers’ Club. He lives in historic Alexandria, Virginia. His debut book, The Books of Hours, a collection of 24 Dark Cosmic poems, is out now from Alien Buddha Press. Learn more at dariusjoneswriter.com.
“The Book of Hours interlaces artistry with science to create a nuanced collection that you can feel in your chest. It’s utterly majestic.” – Mercedes M. Yardley, three-time Bram Stoker Award winner.
The Ocean Calls
The ocean calls us back,
for it is within us.
Like must respond to like,
blood to blood,
depth to depth.
Alone,
in the desolations before dawn,
I have heard it.
Whispering my name through the mist,
beckoning,
luring me on,
into its depths…