A Hallowe’en curse
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