M.A. Kleen

I wrote the following for a high school English assignment. It’s the mostly true story (with some embellishment) of my last trick-or-treat outing as a young teenager in northwest suburban Chicago. My friends and I were at that age where we were probably too old to go trick-or-treating, but were still reluctant to give it up. We wanted to commit a little mischief on our “last hurrah.” Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

It was a drafty October evening in 1996. The wind howled. It was a typical day like any other, but it was Halloween—my last Halloween. This would be the final time I went trick-or-treating. I called my friends, Alex, Ethan, and Jake, and we decided to meet at my house that night.

7:30 p.m., My house:

We gathered in my living room and watched The Simpsons Halloween special “Treehouse of Horror VII” while waiting for Jake, who hadn’t arrived yet. Alex was dressed as Brandon Lee from The Crow, I was the Emperor from Star Wars, and I forgot what Ethan’s costume was. Finally, Jake showed up dressed as a commando.

7:45 p.m., Henry Ave:

We set off on our long journey into the depths of Des Plaines, seeking “take-one” candy buckets put out by people too lazy to come to the door. Our faces reflected the effects of the freezing wind, but we didn’t mind. Continuing forward, we finally stumbled upon a take-one bucket. Noticing that no one was around, we greedily helped ourselves. Ethan, as usual, left only a single piece of candy behind. We then continued on to Campbell Street to bother Dylan, who was an even bigger “loser” than us and also had a reputation as a Satan worshiper.

8:05 p.m., Dylan’s house:

We knocked on the door, but no one was home. After sitting on the porch for a while and debating what to do next, we got up and wandered down Cora Street.

8:10 p.m., Cora St.:

As we walked along, we reached the house of a person Ethan supposedly knew. We knocked, and a woman we didn’t recognize answered the door. After getting our candy, we left scratching our heads. Jake then spotted a ball in the driveway and kicked it over the fence. We all chased after it. Once retrieved, we resumed our walk toward Logan’s house, another person we disliked. It didn’t take long to get there.

8:16 p.m., Logan’s house:

Logan wasn’t home either, which left us disappointed and bored. Ethan then suggested visiting some nearby apartments, where he said take-one buckets were common. On our way, we found another bucket of candy on a porch. Take one! It was like a feeding frenzy. Ethan again left a single piece of candy behind.

8:30 p.m., the apartments:

We knocked, and someone let us in to the apartment building. We took the elevator up, stopping on each floor to look for take-one buckets, but found none. Just sad, empty hallways. On the second floor, an angry old woman yelled at us from behind a door, “Go away! We have nothing for you!”

On the fourth floor, we finally found a basket, but it was filled with those dreaded black and orange candies. Alex grabbed a handful and clumsily spilled most of it while stuffing his pockets. The elevator then stopped on the second floor again, prompting Alex to shout, “Why are we still on the second floor?” We decided to take the stairs instead.

8:45 p.m., Cora St.:

It had been a long night, and we headed back home. As we walked, we cracked jokes about Logan and reflected on the evening’s mischief.

8:51 p.m., Henry Ave:

I settled down, ate some candy, and watched Freddy’s Dead: The Final Nightmare. That Halloween of 1996 was the most memorable of my short life so far.