“Oh! You’re in the house that scares kids!” That’s how the nice dad we met at the mailboxes a few months back was able to figure out where we live. Yes. Yes we are the house that scares kids.
Halloween is my favorite. I still think that the reason for that has something to do with how my mom took 2 year old me to see The Exorcist in the theater, but I suppose there could be other reasons too. But even though it’s the holiday around which my world revolves, I never set out to be the kid scaring house, but man am I glad I am.
It wasn’t until this house that I lived somewhere where there are trick or treaters. I LOVE seeing the kids and their costumes. Everything from the little babies in lion costumes to the grown up skunk couple. I even love the ones who half-ass a costume in the name of candy begging. “I’m too old and cool for Halloween, buuuuuut, I’m not to old to put on my baseball jersey and see if there’s candy to be had.”
We get enough trick or treaters that Katie Barnette said that she’d like to come over on all hallows and scare children. I couldn’t see anything wrong with that plan at all. Mask, jump, loud noise, then children hollering. And like that; a tradition began.
Sure, as a child welfare social worker I worried about whether or not I should be involved in scaring children. But as the years have gone on, I’ve capitalized on another social work value; that of informed consent.
EVERYbody knows that this is the house where you may get scared. Parents ready at their cell phones to record the reaction of their little ninja’s, construction workers and princesses. Last night, there was chanting on one of the flatbed trailers full of trick or treaters as it pulled up, “Scare-y House! Scare-y house!” A family told Chris that last year her sister got so scared she may have thrown a toddler out of the way to clear a path for her escape.
It’s a pretty good heart starter to have a clown or demon on Michael Myers jump in your path. But I’ve wondered if it’s become so expected it’s no longer effective. Kids will walk from the street looking for Michael. Last night, a 6-ish year old said with a sage wisdom “Every year you guys get me.” You could almost hear the finger wag in his voice. His 4-ish your old brother echoed, “every year.” They were scared though. Them and plenty others.
And, last night there was a carrot that convinced me we’re still on track.
Middle schoolers came to the door. A gaggle of them. There was a couple basketball jersey kids and a kid dressed as a carrot. One of the boys said his muscles were bigger than mine. I told him he was incorrect. There may have been some flexing. They started talking about how much they bench; one said 2 pounds another said 4,000 pounds. They got comfortable at the door. Their guard was down. They were ripe for the scare.
As they headed down the spooky sidewalk, they were met by several frights. You’ve never really lived until you’ve seen a carrot run screaming from your Halloween haunts.
Neighbor Sommer is glad we keep the scares up but she gets to deal with the aftermath, “That carrot was a mess.”
Thanks scarers and scar-ees for the great memories!
Bifocals and Barbells 