Town Mouse

A Hal­lowe’en curse

Country Life Every Week - - Town & Country -

IAM to Hal­lowe’en what Ebe­neezer Scrooge was to Christ­mas. The night it­self proved, how­ever, that noone at home was re­motely trou­bled by my killjoy mut­ter­ings. I ar­rived from work to find the front win­dow em­bla­zoned in coloured gel with the mes­sage ‘trick or treat’ (writ­ten back to front) and a mas­sive spi­der cling­ing to the door­knocker. Once in­side, I was con­fronted by the Grim Reaper and a de­mon locked in a duel with a plas­tic tri­dent and scythe. And they were just part of a sev­en­strong group of ex­tremely ex­cited chil­dren—also in­clud­ing three witches, a cat, a dragon and Harry Pot­ter—wait­ing to go trick or treat­ing.

It was a mat­ter of no sad­ness to me at all that I had to go out for the evening and leave this chaos be­hind. When I re­turned, it felt as if a night­mare had passed. All trace of the fes­tiv­i­ties had van­ished. Or nearly all. Sus­pended from the ceil­ing of the kitchen, care­fully out of temp­ta­tion’s reach, were two plas­tic buck­ets, full (and I mean full) of sweets. It’s strik­ing tes­ti­mony to the gen­eros­ity of our neigh­bours, but I fore­see that dis­tribut­ing these treats (or dis­pos­ing of them) will be a cause of bit­ter fu­ture quar­rels. Happy Hal­lowe’en? Bah hum­bug! JG

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