Before Salem was known as the Haunted Happenings Hub of the world, before homes were transformed into Haunted Houses in mid September, and before giant Halloween stores would open overnight to meet our increasing demand for everything spooky, October 31 was just Halloween.
When I was young, homemade costumes were for the "poor kids". The coolest costumes came in a box showcasing a plastic mask through the transparent cover. We would deliberate at the store for hours. I want to be a princess. No! I want to be a ballerina. No…wait! Maybe I should be a cat! Regardless of which costume we settled on, immediate buyer’s remorse would settle in when we saw our friend’s plastic face. I remember the feeling of envy when Debbie showed me her Cinderella mask, complete with molded blonde hair. Why, oh why, did I go with stupid Snow White?
Preparing for our big night, we would strap on our plastic masks with the eye and mouth holes that never lined up right on our small faces. If you wanted to see you couldn’t talk, and if you wanted to sneak a piece of candy through the mouth hole, you couldn’t see. I remember sweating beneath the mask stuck too tightly to my face, my hair knotted up in the taunt elastic band so badly it would have to be cut off at the end of the night. One year I tried to punch some breathing holes into the plastic nose with a pen, accidentally turning my mask into a "princess pig" sending me into a complete Halloween meltdown when I was told I couldn’t get a new one to replace the one I had ruined.
Heading out on for the big night, I held my pumpkin head flashlight tightly, walking gingerly because I couldn’t figure out how to get it to stop flashing, so it only lit up every other step. I would trip down the street in my much too long 100% flammable princess dress, testing the strength of the poorly sewn seams by forcing it over layers of clothing like a sausage casing, as I tried to stay warm without ruining my look.
"Look at the cute little pig… or are you a princess?" total strangers would coo as they opened their doors to hand out treats. The night would start out with nervous whispers of "trick or treat" followed by polite "thank yous" as we shyly reached for a single piece of candy. But as the night went on and we got into the spirit of things, solo kids would meet up with other kids, and we’d become trick or treat "clumps", shuffling from house to house looking for lit porches and open doors. Once we realized no one knew who we were behind our masks, mini mob mentality set in and all politeness was kicked to the curb. The sugar high acted like truth serum, and we’d scream "Yuck!" and "Gross!" if the candy selection didn’t meet our standards. Presented with top of the line treats, we’d scream "Awesome!" as we loaded up by the greedy handfuls, candy spilling all over the sidewalk in our wake. "Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat…" we’d chant, hypnotized by the porch lights which beckoned to us with promises of Halloween heaven.
When I became too old for trick or treating, my little brother had just hit his peak. I was a big sister with over ten years of Halloween experience behind me and a driver’s license, on a mission to find the best trick or treat spot in Salem. I loaded Stephen and his Superman outfit into the car and headed to Chestnut Street where he proceeded to score full size candy bars and bags of chips. Forget standing out on the stoop in the cold…we’d be invited into their kitchens for homemade caramel apples, popcorn balls, and cookies fresh from the oven with a cold glass of milk. Occasionally his bag would become so heavy from a handful of change or a roll of pennies (Score!) that we would have to empty the stash into a bigger bag in the car before continuing on. That was the best Halloween ever, and I swear we snacked on our loot until it started to melt from the summer heat.
I’m afraid the innocence of those days is gone forever. It began to fade around the time we were warned to cut candy bars into small pieces to make sure no one had stuck razor blades in them, and not to accept any homemade items in case they were poisoned. The circle of homes you were allowed to visit got progressively smaller. First you were limited to just your neighborhood, then just your street, then just to homes you knew, and eventually you’d only visit relatives. School and home parties have replaced traditional trick or treating, which does not deter countless adults, who still remember how Halloween use to be, from stocking up on snack size candy bars and leaving the porch light on, just in case.
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