I never really liked Halloween. What is it about dressing up ridiculously and going from house to house trudging a bag of odd flavored candy that you probably won’t eat anyway? I’ll admit that there is that rare occasion where walking around in the freezing cold can be fun. I guess fifth grade was just one of those times.
My best friend Hillary and I had spent practically all of October sewing ourselves adorable poodle skirts for our costumes. Mine was a soft baby blue that twirled out every time I spun around, showing off the fluffy white poodle that I had carefully stitched on. I wore a soft pink knit sweater that matched the ribbon knotted in my bouncy pony tail. To top off the outfit we found cateye glasses with sparkling fake diamonds in the corners, at a nearby party store. With our cute matching outfits, we were excited, retro, girly, and perfect.
The day Halloween tumbled its way around Hillary showed up at my house around dusk. I can even remember smiling at her black and white saddle shoes as she skipped up to my door. After some of my mom’s spooky food, which included finger hotdogs with ketchup painted nails and deviled egg eyeballs, we spun around innocently swing dancing, and then headed out.
The streets were awake with eery monsters, glittering princesses and the occasional Harry Potter. Each house had something waiting for us, mostly treats, like recess and skittles and lollipops. Treats were all we really wanted; they were all we expected. After a while our bags started to make our arms ache and I knew we were both longing for a cup of warm hot chocolate.

Sitting in front of the next house was a dark cloaked figure holding a bowl filled with what must have been the most delicious candy. We exchanged frightened glances as we cautiously approached. We almost turned back twice, but we made it, only by clutching on to each other as if one wrong step would cause the ground to drop from beneath us. Once we were within five careful steps of that dream candy, the figure arose and started for us.
Our hearts stopped, our eyes widened, and unfortunately our legs became as stiff as tree trunks. A split second passed and it was still creeping towards us. Our legs started to work again and so did our lungs, because we each let out a scream that only ten year old girls can muster. We sprinted for our lives taking the fastest path back to my house until we were cut off by yet another black cloak, appearing out of nowhere. Redirecting our path into someone’s desert landscape I caught my ever so precious skirt on some cactus. Terrified, I pulled free ripping an unmendable tear along the side. Hillary’s candy bag was snatched away by a thorn filled branch to my left.
Without a glance back we raced to my front door and slammed it shut, locking all three locks with trembling hands. We were safe, and there was no way we were going back for Hillary’s candy. We let our breathing relax and fear fall away before realizing how much thrilling fun we had just had. It turned out that, sometimes, tricks were even sweeter than treats.