My neighborhood, which is flat with sidewalks, became super popular for trick-or-treating about a decade ago. Families drove in from other areas of LA, parked at the nearby schools, and made the rounds. I was thrilled, especially once our son Dalton decided I was “not allowed” to escort him tick-or-treating anymore. I’ve never met a holiday I didn’t like, but the elaborate costumes and piles of candy make Halloween one of my favorites.
Because dogs go insane over door knocking and doorbells (and we always have at least one dog), my friend JM and I sit at the bottom of my porch on Halloween night, wearing witch hats and handing out candy from a huge cauldron. Last night, I even had my K-Pop Demon Hunters playlist and speaker ready to blast the second we saw any members of Huntr/x or the Saja Boys.
Andy, who is not a holiday person, was happy to raid the cauldron, take all the Reese’s, and watch TV inside.
Generally the cauldron is emptied of candy by 8:30 PM. Until last night.
We had far fewer tick-or-treaters last night than last year or the year before. No one parked in the school parking lot, either.
Much to my sorrow, there was only ONE Rumi from K-Pop Demon Hunters.
We told every kid to take whole handfuls of candy. If they passed us again, we insisted they take some more. We pushed candy on every parental escort.
We flagged down adults walking their dogs AND the UPS driver, reverse-robbing them by demanding they take candy.
The horde of teens that usually comes by to mop up (maybe with a single mask or wig shared between 5 adolescent males) never showed.
We were ready to pack it in, cauldron still more than half-full, when a minivan finally stopped right in front of us. And sat there for a full minute.
JM and I saw a flap of black fabric, perhaps a Dracula cape, caught in the rear passenger door. There was movement in the car, maybe the twinkle of sparkly fabric briefly catching the streetlight.
We held our breath, like you do when you’re afraid to startle a wild animal.
Finally, the minivan disgorged a mass of costumed kids: an inflatable capybara jockey, a walking tombstone, something requiring glittery orange veiling, and more that I can’t remember because I was entranced by the capybara.
Those trick-or-treaters were bit taken aback by the enthusiastic cheering from two middle-aged white women. We had to encourage them to take as much candy as they wanted, which they did. It still wasn’t as much candy as I wanted them to take (but probably it was more than Dalton the candy hoarder wanted them to have).
Even though there were elaborate decorations and lights on all down the block, most of the group immediately returned to the minivan. Only the capybara jockey tried the house next door (yes, the one belonging to my infamous, asshole cop neighbor).
No one answered.
After the cabybara jockey returned, the minivan drove away. JM and I stared at each other, confused.
JM asked, “Um…why just your house?”
“I know, right? Every other house on the block looks like an infestation of Halloween inflatables and I just have the wreath you made me. I didn’t even do a jack-o’-lantern this year, since Andy thinks it’s a waste of money to buy food for decoration.”
Shaking my head, I looked back at my porch and its minimal fall decor.
And saw the flag I hung out months ago.
I barely notice that flag any more. But I’m glad someone else did.
I invited neighbors to come by and recharge at our house (thanks to our powerwall), but power was restored before anyone got that desperate.
