I moved to a new house a few weeks ago. It was a simple two story house in the hills of West Virginia down a fairly residential road nestled between a cluster of looming trees. It had been on the market for a long time apparently, so I purchased it at an almost criminal price. I couldn't figure out, why, the foundation solid and the interior in amazing condition.
It was at the end of the street, my neighboring residents scattered before me like an audience in a throne room. It was just outside of a small town, a quaint, fairly poor stretch of the state.
I was pleased with the move. I was away from the noise of DC and more importantly, away from the bad memories I left behind. A broken marriage, the loss of a beautiful apartment, and an inevitable divorce. Thanks God I didn't have any kids.
My new home offered seclusion and privacy while also hosting a receptive community. Within the first couple days I had met all my neighbors, each of them quite a different flavor of humanity than I was used to. Their casual ways and welcoming attitudes were gratefully accepted by myself, a stark contrast to the cold, business like nature of the big city.
I unpacked fairly quickly. I had left most of my belongings in the city with my ex. I wanted a fresh start, ridding myself of unwanted ties to the life I was leaving.
Once I was settled and with Halloween approaching, I decided to decorate my house with the usual seasonal décor. I wanted to show my new neighbors that I could be just as welcoming as they had been to me. I didn't want to be the creepy single guy at the end of the street.
After a quick trip to the local supermarket, I was soon placing pumpkins on my front steps, stringing cotton cobwebs along the shrubbery, and even going so far as to purchase a plastic mummy along the front steps.
Along with the decorations, I made sure to get more than enough candy for the expected trick-or-treaters, my shopping cart filling quickly with candy corn, full size candy bars, and assorted mixes. Being my first Halloween in a new neighborhood, I wanted to give out the best stuff.
As Halloween drew closer, I noticed the surrounding houses weren't putting on a show like I was. No pumpkins, no golden wreaths, no plastic ghosts, nothing. I shrugged it off, now hoping I wasn't coming off as tacky.
The day before Halloween, I asked one of my neighbors down the street what I should expect in terms of trick-or-treaters. He gave me a hesitant look and then informed me that no one really came down this street hunting for candy. I felt my heart sink. I had been looking forward to seeing the local costumes and pieced together outfits that riddled every October 31st.
“None?” I asked, trying not to let my disappointment show.
He shook his head and told me that maybe there'd be one or two at most. He then said something strange that made me pause.
He said that if they knew what was good for them, they wouldn't risk it.
I asked him what he meant and he seemed eager to separate himself from the subject. I pressed further and finally he looked into my eyes and told me on Halloween I should shut my lights off and lock my doors.
He told me to stay away from the windows.
Confused, I asked him what he was talking about.
He leaned in close, pointing towards the distant hills, and whispered, “If you know what's good for you, you'll go to bed early and wait for sunrise. Nothing good comes out of those hills on Halloween.”
And with that he turned away and went into his house. I snorted, dumbfounded. What the hell was he talking about? What was in the hills? I easily brushed the conversation away, dismissing it as some ridiculous fiction. * * *
