When I was ten years old, I went trick-or-treating as Count Dracula and met the Ebenezer Scrooge of Halloween.    Here was the problem.  I lived in Milltown and had cousins who lived in nearby Marengo.  Since we wanted to trick-or-treat together, we planned to hit Milltown first and then head to their neck of the woods.  Makes sense, right?

Of course it does, unless your heart is the size of a piece of candy corn.

About three houses in, we ran into trouble.    An old man answered the door.   We offered our obligatory “trick-or-treat,” and he started in with the usual banter.  “Oh my, what scary costumes.  What are you supposed to be?”

I wanted to say, “Hmm, let’s see.   Black cape. Widow’s peak.  Vampire fangs.   Think about it.”  But I wanted candy so I answered the question.

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