We did it again! We made it to Halloween, the 31^st night of October for the ninth straight year. Thank you all so much for coming along for another year of 31 Ghosts. I hope you’ve enjoyed these stories as much as I’ve enjoyed putting them together for you. Now is the time in this editorial that I promise to write more stories or finally publish the second (and third?) edition of the print version of 31 Ghosts. But, you know what? I’m going to see what happens. As the calendar turns to November, we’ll see what happens. Maybe there’s ghosts that don’t confine themselves to October alone… Thanks again, everyone. Hope your Halloween has been spooky!

We lived on the edge of the suburbs, right up against old farmlands that climbed into the foothills. Our subdivision, like so many in the area, had been farmland not so long ago. So, when we were growing up, the old farmhouse at the end of the street didn’t seem particularly out of place.

Creepy? Very much. While our white, gray, and blue houses were cookie cutter models with still small, spindly trees struggling to grow in our newly planted yards, the Midgley place (though none of us kids had any idea who the Midgleys were – we all just knew that was the name) was dark wood, peeling paint, and rusted shutters. We’d occasionally see a car go onto the property, but we never saw anyone in the house – though Joey swore he see lights upstairs at night.

Suffice it to say, we’d all give the place a wide berth.

At least we would every day of the year except for one.

On Halloween, when we were old enough to go trick or treating by ourselves we’d always work our way down Sycamore Street, criss-crossing back and forth until we made our way to the last two houses.

We stood in front of the Midgley place, right where the sidewalk ended and the dirt road ran up the lane to the dark, imposing house lurking in the darkness.

“You said you were going to do it,” Joey said to me.

“Yeah,” Tamara said. “You’re not going to chicken out now, are you?” She was a year younger than us, but she was mean.

“Alan said he was going to do it, he’s going to do it,” Sam patted my shoulder confidently. Then, more quietly just to me, “You are going to do it, right? You’re not chickening out?”

I stared ahead and nodded. “I’m going to do it,” I said. I took a deep breath and started up the dirt driveway. I swear the night got colder and darker not ten feet after I’d left my friends watching me from the safety of the street.

I could feel their gazes on me, and I kept repeating to myself, “Don’t look back, don’t look back,” because I knew if I did I’d lose my nerve and run back. No, I kept my eyes forward on the dark porch of the farmhouse that kept getting closer as my feet carried me down the driveway.

Finally, I reached the steps. I put my hand on the railing, feeling the pronounced grain of the wood sharp and scratchy under my hand. I took one step onto the first creaking stair, and the second step bowed under my weight but didn’t break. I stepped onto the porch and felt a board crack under my feet, stepping quickly to the side before it gave way. Enveloped by the shadows of the porch, my hands were sweaty as I stepped up to the door.

I took a deep calming breath, raised my fist, and knocked three times on the peeling door. It sounded like three peals of thunder – or at least that’s what it seemed like to me. After the third knock I added, “Trick or Treat,” in a voice I tried to keep steady, but it came out as a question, nonetheless.

The door never moved. No lights winked on. I didn’t discern any movement at all. But I felt a shift in my pillowcase of candy gripped tightly in my hand. I opened the bag and looked in and there was a king size Baby Ruth sitting on top of the other candy. I gasped and stepped quickly but carefully down the porch steps and ran back to my friends at the end of the driveway.

“We heard you knock, Alan,” Sam said. “I knew you would,” he added confidently.

“What happened?” Tamara asked.

“I knocked, and then I felt something in my bag and…” I opened my bag and showed them the massive king size Baby Ruth. They all gasped. I could see them looking from the bag to the house, then back to the bag, weighing whether it was worth it.

In the end they decided it wasn’t.

Over the course of the year, the story had grown through retelling to include phantom lights, somehow a glowing dog chased me… I don’t know who or how it got embellished. I certainly never added to it, but I wasn’t going to complain when, in the retelling I managed to come off as some incredibly brave adventurer. But that next Halloween, they dared me to do it again. And I did. And I got a king sized Butterfinger. And still, no one dared try their luck.

The Midgley place got knocked down before the next Halloween, so I didn’t a chance for another king sized candy bar. They turned the whole property into a county park, complete with planted trees that grew up with me. By the time my parents sold me their house, the trees were respectable and the park seemed overgrown and darker than it should be at night after the park rangers locked the front gate.

So when our own twins were old enough to trick or treat on their own, I might have eavesdropped on them being dared by their friends to go see the phantom lights in the park on Halloween.

But that’s a story for another Halloween…