We are getting ready for Halloween on Burling Street. The full-size bars are already downstairs, counted, and Jonathan knows they are for the children. I have reminded him because there are still twelve days to go.
Most of the houses on our block give out full-size candy, so people have begun doing rather more with the decorations. The woman on the corner told me she had hired a “seasonal narrative consultant.” Her yard now belongs to a Victorian sea captain, who has a name, a little plaque and a fog machine on a timer. I hadn't realized a sea captain needed so much explanation.
We are doing pumpkins and black bunting. Eleven real pumpkins, which we'll carve with the neighbors' grandchildren the weekend before. Two of them are getting very good with the tools. Marcus has set the lights on a dimmer and named the setting “Tasteful Dread.” I will be in the doorway with my usual witch hat.
The children remember the houses. You hear them coming up the walk saying, “This one had the big Twix last year.” I do like that. Last Halloween a small Spider-Man looked past me into the foyer and said, very seriously, “Nice house.”
I have received more elaborate compliments on the house. That is the one I remember.
— Ash