Wednesday night, Halloween eased into town on a lazy autumn breeze. The temperature outside felt nice, and the air beneath the backlit clouds smelled of dry leaves and pumpkin guts.

 It was perfect weather for wandering the neighborhood in costume, banging on strangers’ doors for sweets. Personally, I think it’s a rather rough ultimatum: trick-or-treat. A tough decision, we opted for the later of the two, and my wife, Jess, and I sat ready with treats to quench the fiery demands of these tiny masked marauders.

We set up camp on the front porch ten minutes early of standard trick-or-treat time (that is 6pm). The Jesus fish pumpkin we’d carved earlier in the week and were quite proud of was lit and hoisted onto the flower stand and positioned just so for the whole world to see.  We sat straight as sticks in our canvas folding chairs, on watch for our first customers. Books sat on reserve beneath our chairs, incase conversation somehow grew stale or the night’s festivities failed to live up to expectations.  A large Tupperware bowl’s worth of candy sat between us.

It was 6:05pm. The wait was eating me alive inside. Just married and new to the neighborhood, it was our first trick-or-treat as hosts. The excitement rushed through my veins like lava. Where is everyone? To pass the time, we fell to discussing such important matters as who’ll be in charge of passing out the candy. ”One per bag” - these instructions were strict but fair. Although, one tiny caped crusader would try for two, only to be denied by his slightly older brother, who, it was clear, was responsible for his little brother’s good conduct.   

My red sponge nose from the Kroger Halloween aisle, together with my painted-up rosy cheeks, now smeared because of an itch, transformed me into a clown. Early on I had trouble keeping my Kroger clown nose on straight, and as time went on, my nose grew extremely warm and sweaty. Jess was a cat, nothing fancy, her face meticulously marked with a set of whiskers and what was meant to be a feline nose. Our otherwise friendly mutt, Phoebe, was herself. Unfortunately, she acted badly and got herself put up early. All the dreadful looking intruders just weren’t sitting well with her and she was only able to cope by growling and barking her head off.      

As the evening light faded, the excitement sort of fizzled out. The first wave of trick-or-treaters was spotted huddled around a door some few houses down. They squealed in delight, wildly exclaiming something about receiving money. Money? Seriously? I didn’t even know money was an option, let alone a treat. What kind of house deals out money on trick-or-treat? Must be the house of a banker. I was about to go over myself and get my hands on some. Our mortgage was due the following day.

Who could live up to the money house? All we had were packs of candy corn with Bible verses printed on the back. I tried to regain my focus: That’s okay, heavenly treasures, right? To pass the time, I read one of the wrappers. Jess and I had been excited at this discovery when we had first stumbled upon them at the local Christian book store. The kids, we knew, would only be in it for the candy, so we had ruled out the possibilty of any shared enthusiasm over a John 3:16 verse. But what the heck.   

Our first trick-or-treaters! They scurried up to our porch, shy faces, eyes down, bags held wide open, mumbling something about treats and tricks. It was obvious for some that this was their first time and they hadn’t quite got the hang of their lines yet. ”And what are you?” I asked one knee-high, little girl.

“A princess?”

“Princess Jasmine?” Jess asked. Jess taught pre-school, and was eager to show-off her knowledge. She knew all the cartoons and toys that were popular with the kids.

“No,” barked the disgruntled princess, “Sleeping Beauty.”

“Darn! I always get the princesses mixed up,” said Jess. I learned that there is a cartoon featuring the Disney princesses that the kids watch. All night, a revolving door of girls under the age of five made bashful appearances  in lacy gowns of all colors. 

Wisening up now, the next little princess who blessed us with her royal presence I guessed to be Jasmine. Her little face lit up. “See,” said her daddy, “He guessed who you are.” I couldn’t help but be awfully proud of myself.

 I also couldn’t help but feel slightly subversive as we slipped God’s Word into each trick-or-treat bag, dangling below either a smiling or frightened face, depending on the age. Parents loitered around the driveway or the sidewalk, checking their watches, waiting for their kid to hurry up and get the candy so they could get on to the next house. If any grabbed candy without verbalizing their appreciation, the parent’s would bark at their child’s lack of manners, and they’d show back up offering a mumbled thanks. Then they’d disappear forever into the deepening night. 

By the night’s end, I was wiped out. I’d seen a lot of princesses and Scream masks - which surprised me, because, didn’t Scream come out over ten years ago? Must still be popular. Anyway, about a quarter till eight, Jess and I broke down camp, blew out the pumpkin and went back inside where Phoebe was whining and wagging her tail to be thrown out into the strange night. We told her no, and just as I thought the night had come to an end, the door bell rang, throwing Phoebe into a blood curdling fit of barks.

 With my foot, I nudged the small dog aside and opened the door to a pink girl no taller than a girl Tom Thumb. She had on one of those stage microphones that rest on your head and free up the hands for dancing. The little girl introduced herself matter-of-factly as Hanna Montana. She had more confidence than any five-year old I’d ever seen, more confidence than me, even. For all I knew, it might have really been her - the real live Hanna Montana on my door step - even though later I had to ask Jess who in the world Hanna Montana actually was. I tossed the girl a pack of Bible candy - a sugary little message from Heaven. She thanked me, then shot off into the dark.

Besides a few stragglers showing up past 8 o’clock, that was it - Jess and mine’s first Trick-or-Treat.  

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