Last night our town celebrated Halloween. They always schedule it on a weekend night no matter when Halloween falls. Last year they caught us unaware and we didn’t have any candy for the kids everyone buses in (no joke). We live across the street from a school and the families from all over our mostly rural town come walk the few blocks around our house for their trick or treating pleasure.
So about six p.m. the dogs started to go insane and I sent G out front to hand out the gazillion little packages of Rolos, Twix, Heath Bars, M&Ms, Reeses, Three Musketeers, Milk Duds, and whatever else was hiding in that giant bucket. Forty minutes later he was back inside shutting off the lights and closing the blinds. Holy crap that was a lot of candy in a short amount of time. One piece each.
Little zombies cleaned us out. Poor G. Out of Halloween candy already and it isn’t even Halloween yet. He might deserve it though. He told me one of the kids asked if our house was haunted. Umm, yes. Haven’t I been saying that for months now?
But G quickly told him no, and the kid turned to a friend and said, “See I told you it wasn’t haunted!”.
And friend responded, “That’s what so and so said!”
If I’d been out there I would have said, “Oh yeah. Have you seen our ghost? He likes to come out at night.” Then I would have asked what rumors they’d heard and who they thought our ghost could be.
Seems our house has become the creepy one all the kids talk about. I don’t know why. It’s super cute, and we have adorable dogs that like to sit in the window. But as long as the kids don’t start breaking in and holding séances, it’s cool with me. Y’all know how much I like ghosts. Especially ones that like to invade dreams.