In a few days, all manner of scary critters will come to my door, threatening mischief if I don’t provide snacks. My house is popular on Halloween – on a downtown side street along with a dozen others whose porch lights will welcome the scary horde. This yearly visitation is one of the reasons I love my home.
The usual assortment will come: babies in strollers, toddlers holding orange jack-o-lanterns in one hand and their parents’ hands in another, batches of elementary schoolers, and the random teen with a pillowcase and a latex zombie mask. No one looks like they usually do, and many have spent hours covering themselves in masks and make-up. Some will even have bloody fingernails and warts. One and all will leave with Twix bars or Nerds. The next day, everyone will be in their usual clothes with their usual faces – scary no longer.
This season makes me wonder what kind of masks we wear every day, hiding our everyday selves, trying to look fierce, asking for what we want with a threat to encourage its granting.
From Ghouls and Ghosties,
And long-legged Beasties,
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us.