BD's House Of Horrors

Trick or treaters approach my doorstep with mixed feelings come Halloween. Some revel in the spooky sights and sounds that surround our two-story suburban colonial on October 31st. For other kids, well, it’s a decision whether or not to chance coming up the walk for a treat.

C’mon. Big Dave’s graveyard of horrors isn’t that bad? A few kids say it’s the best decorated house in the neighborhood. True, parents often get more of a kick out of it than kids. Like the mother who wanted to get a picture of her tyke next to the spider above. He made a BIG circle around the hanging head and the hanging skull before posing with the spider, standing about as close to it as I am to you now.



Then there was another little guy who appeared to have needed some coaxing to come up onto our porch, only making an appearance if his father came up with him. Then I pulled out my ceramic skull, full of treats. His eyes widened, a little terrified of that.

“Say trick or treat,” his dad prodded him.


“Noooooooooooooooo,” he cried, obviously not interested in getting anything that might come out of a ceramic skull.

Another trick-or-treater stopped halfway up the walk, yelling “Shut that music off.” So he wasn’t bothered by the coffin, the gravestone, the multitude of skulls, or the other assorted creepy paraphernalia hanging or stuck in the ground. He didn’t like the mood music playing out of our upstairs window. That was a first. Who wouldn’t like seasonal favorites ranging from the Monster Mash to Mozart’s Requiem?

Eventually, he did come up, followed by his little brother. The littler guy actually felt quite at home surrounded by all things horrific, and sat down on our porch stoop to go through his candy after I delivered his treat. His older brother, still complaining about the music, tried to yank him up by the hood on his hooded sweatshirt. I was worried he might strangle the little guy, but he was rescued by their parents.

Of course, my nephew Mike visited too as he likes to add his own Halloween spice to our own festivities, whether reaching a scary rubber hand out the mail slot or lurking behind me wearing a spooky Michael Jackson mask. After I passed out a round of treats to one group of young girls, Mike came to the door, mask on, holding out bonus treats to one of the girls who had been checking him out with a wary eye.

She briefly pondered his outstretched arm, Mike holding candy clutched in that scary rubber hand. “Enh eh,” she then said, doing a good Bugs Bunny impression as she turned down the candy offer and ran off to join her friends.

Ah, I just love Halloween. And this year A BONUS. A much anticipated visit from our grandson Grant. But he came a little late, and looked pretty worn out. Maybe next year he will be like me and appreciate the holiday more.