After a busy afternoon, we set up quickly for Halloween but even now that the evening has come to a close, I never really felt “ready” for the trick or treaters.

I was still moving jack ‘o lanterns from the back deck onto the front porch as people were arriving. I had to call Greg on his cell while he was en route to being finished the hike around the neighbourhood with the kids to ask where I would find a lighter to light a candle for the pumpkin only to be told to look in the bbq tool drawer like I hadn’t already dumped it upside down and ransacked the kitchen looking for a match and on a related note, where are the candles?

Some kids think nothing of walking past me at the front door, peering around the house before grabbing a handful of their favourite sweets and leaving.  Others say things like, “Your house smells good” which always beats the alternative, “What is that rank smell in here?” which is what he would have said three minutes later if he had smelled the soiled diaper I was carrying around attached to the underside of a very confused and bewildered baby.

When the height of the trick or treaters graduated from knees to shoulders and the cute bumble bee costumes morphed into bloody masks and sharp fangs, we decided to call it a night.

Shortly after shutting down the first bank of lights, there was a knock at the door.

Well maybe the lights were on when they were approaching the driveway and looking at the seventy unopened Costco boxes of candy, I had no reason to hoard all of it so I opened the door.

Straggly wigs, red, bloody faces, eyes that screamed, we will smash these misshapen pumpkins with the candles protruding out the top, too big to be in them in the first place.

Second bank of lights are off and I’m ready for p.j.’s but not before the doorbell rings.

Do kids think by SCREAMING “trick or treat” I will give them more candy or is a person more apt to want to call the drunk-tank to pick them up for 1) knocking on a door with no signs of Halloween life or 2) thinking it’s endearing to shout at me like it’s a surprise party.

Ding-dong.

Oh, I see there’s a light on in a hall closet. Now I’m feeling my way around the dark house, all exterior lights have been off for at least an hour so I can no longer feel sorry for the slow walkers. The coffee maker, oven and microwave all have digital clocks with green or white lights giving me just enough glow to make my way toward my laptop.

Knock.

It’s either the glow from my screen or the pilot light from the fireplace. I give up.