Halloween Haunts: Homemade Halloween By Doug Murano

I always feel a mix of giddy excitement and sadness when grocery stores and department stores switch over their wares for the Halloween season. Rows of rubbery fright masks. Aisles of candy branded to sell the latest movies and toy lines. Mass-produced orange banners and black fuzzy spiders stuck to windows with Scotch tape and suction cups. Today’s rampant commercialization of Halloween (every holiday, really) was already underway by the time the mid-80’s rolled around. But I still remember the real goodies—the ones I think back upon most fondly from my childhood.

Those things were always homemade.

In the lead-up to Halloween, I can remember holing up in my bedroom with my older brother, Rocco, and my good friend, Barry, from down the street as we prepped the year’s spooky tape, which we’d throw in a player on Halloween night, turn it as loud as it would go and blare it out of a kitchen window. You had to create the proper trick-or-treat atmosphere, after all. Sure, even then you could buy one that was ready-made, but getting creatively scary was half the fun.

Cupped hands around our moaning mouths conjured condemned spirits. The bubbling aquarium pump doubled for a boiling witch’s cauldron. Slapping our flat palms against the hardwood floor simulated violent stabbings or the patter of sprinting bare feet, depending on the force and angle. Cookie sheets could create booming thunder and plastic bags could create the crackle of an unholy bonfire.

The other half of the fun involved trying to one-up each other to make the best and scariest sounds, which almost always resulted in random screaming and howling, beating against the walls—the kinds of things that made our parents look in on us to make sure we weren’t actually killing each other.

When it came to costumes, it was easy enough to go out to the store and pick something up. There were plenty of He-Man and Star Wars costumes on the racks, and those were cool enough, but the costume I remember most was a big blue polka-dotted clown jumpsuit with ruffles at the sleeves and ankles. My mom sewed it up for me from a Simplicity pattern and if it fit like it was made for my then-willowy frame—that’s because it was. The thing was perfect—and better yet, even at that tender age (I hadn’t yet encountered Pennywise) I sensed the tension between the jolly exterior of brightly colored makeup and clothes and the sinister thoughts that might be lurking just beyond that smile. Wearing the whole getup (which included a crazy rainbow wig) felt dangerous.

On Halloween night itself, we always stopped at Grandma Gilchrist’s first, before she ran out of popcorn balls. The kind, elderly woman wasn’t related to us by blood—we all just called her “Grandma” on account of her age—but on Halloween night, we loved her like she was one of our own. She had the whole neighborhood (literally) eating from the palm of her hand. Popcorn balls the size of softballs, and studded with peanuts and M&M candies. We didn’t worry about razor blades or poison. We didn’t worry about anything but getting there in time.

Sometimes, when I’m walking through a department store with my children during October, I think back on those things from homemade Halloweens past and feel a twinge that sweeps through me like a cold wind. When I look at the costumes, I daydream of polka dots and old grease paint. Strolling through the candy aisle, I long for homemade popcorn balls made by a kind old woman everyone in the neighborhood knew and loved. When I hear the professionally recorded spooky soundtracks, sometimes I feel like I’d give anything to reclaim the voice of that little boy from the tape.

This time of year, I like to think he’s still out there somewhere, thumping his fists against his chest and howling into the darkness.

TODAY’S GIVEAWAY: Doug is offering one paperback copy of Shadows Over Main Street. Comment below to enter or e-mail membership@horror.org with “HH Entry” in the subject line.

DOUG MURANO lives somewhere between Mount Rushmore and the mighty Missouri River. Since 2008, his stories have appeared in a number of venues, including Necrotic Tissue (Stygian Publications), For When the Veil Drops (West Pigeon Press), Vignettes from the End of the World (Apokuphra), and Gruesome Faces, Ghastly Places (Little House of Horror on the Prairie). In addition, he has served in an editorial capacity with several independent presses. He is an Affiliate member of the Horror Writers Association, is the organization’s promotions and social media coordinator, and the social media chair for the 2015 World Horror Convention/Bram Stoker Awards Weekend. Stay up to date by following @muranofiction on Twitter.