Helter Shelter
Halloween is a big deal in my little neighborhood. People set up fancy displays with tombstones, fog machines, strobe lights and sound effects. Some folks dress up like zombies, hide behind trees, then jump out and chase people. Adults set up mini-bars on their front porches and cheerfully fill the glasses of neighbors and strangers alike.
In years past, the Jowers’ end of the neighborhood didn’t get a lot of Halloween action. There are lots of dark spots on our block, and that usually deters the trick-or-treaters. No lights means no candy. And every neighbor who knows I exist knows that I won’t be pouring wine or liquor. The only liquid refreshment coming from the Jowers house on Halloween will be Yoo-Hoo.
We expected another quiet Halloween night, but this year was different. For some reason, starting right at sundown, our block attracted a steady stream—hell, a swarm—of trick-or-treaters. So wife Brenda and I took a basketful of candy out to the front porch. I sat down in the porch swing, Brenda took a seat in a rocking chair, and I started handing out treats.
I was the one handing out the candy, because I know that some ne’er-do-well kids will ignore my instructions to take one candy bar, and try to steal some of the candy I was planning to eat at about 9 o’clock. When I catch kids stealing candy, I snatch the candy away from them and run them off my porch. “Tell your daddy to come up here and see me,” I yell after the candy stealers. “I need to tell him that you need a whipping. Or at least some counseling!”
I figure since I’ve got a caveman face and a stentorian voice, it’s my job to scare children on Halloween.
By the time the sky was good and dark, our front porch was full of strangers, and cars were parked bumper-to-bumper all over the neighborhood. The next-door neighbors’ pizza deliveryman pulled into my driveway because there was no place else to park.
Usually when an errant stranger blocks my driveway, I either let the air out of his tires and call a tow truck, or I shoot a hole in his windshield with my pellet gun. It’s my way of reminding selfish parkers that blocking my driveway costs $200. But since it was Halloween, and I was already scaring about half the people within yelling distance, I let the pizza guy off with a stern, “Get off my land!”
About 15 minutes into the candy-distributing phase of the night, I shuffled the candy bars around in the basket, hoping to find a baby Heath bar. There were none.
I turned to Brenda. “What happened to the Heath bars?” I asked. “We had plenty of them a couple days ago.”
“Uh…I guess I ate them,” Brenda replied sheepishly.
“You hogged the Heath bars?” I responded. “Well, that means all the leftover baby Hershey bars are mine. We’ll split the Snickers.”
A few minutes later, after a few more trick-or-treaters had helped themselves to the candy in my basket, I told Brenda, “We’re getting down to the dregs here. I’m going to start picking out kids who I think are up to no good—the ones who look like candy stealers, litterers, back-sassers and such like, and I’m going to give them the little rolls of Smarties. Once the Smarties are gone, I’m taking the good stuff back inside.”
And don’t you know, the Smarties were gone in about 10 minutes. All I had left in the basket were a few Snickers and Baby Ruths. So I went inside, grabbed basset hound Rufus’ bowl of fortune cookies, and dumped the cookies in with the good chocolate.
We Jowerses have a ritual: every Friday, we get Chinese takeout, and we save the fortune cookies in a little bowl for Rufus. Every now and then we’ll feed Rufus one of his fortune cookies, then read him his fortune. Over the past months, Rufus has learned that he has a deep appreciation of the arts and music; he’s going to have a thrilling time in the immediate future; something he lost will soon turn up; his heart is pure and his soul devout; and his many hidden talents will become obvious to those around him.
Last night, the trick-or-treat latecomers at the Jowers house learned that the cellophane packs that hold fortune cookies are not hermetically sealed, so many cookies go stale and soft and taste like cardboard. They also learned that their lives will be happy and peaceful; happy news is on its way; if their desires are not extravagant they will be granted; and they will inherit some money or a small piece of land.
The biggest treat at our house last night was a pair of delightful young women with fluffy white dogs who asked Brenda and I if we’d like to give the dogs some treats. “I’d love to,” I said, “but we’re out of dog treats. I just gave them all out, in the form of fortune cookies.”
“No problem,” one of the women said. “We brought the treats, so dog-loving folks could enjoy feeding the dogs.”
So for our final treat last night, Brenda and I fed somebody else’s dogs. My dog’s name was Walter.
He’s welcome back next Halloween.
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