Ghosts of Halloween Past

My Halloween Party never happened.

At least, that's what you'd think as an outsider looking in.

No pictures, no videos, no social media posts about it before or after the fact. Not even the ding of a calendar reminder the morning of to let me know it was time to start baking my homemade pumpkin-shaped Rice Krispies Treats.

It wasn't anyone's fault.

I just wish the memories still existed.

***

It was the eve before the party, around 6 p.m. Friday night.

I had already rummaged through the attic in search of my styrofoam tombstones and blow mold pumpkin pails for the haunted trail. Wall insulation clung to my sweater as I trudged around the backyard in my swampers putting batteries in animatronics and hanging string lights near the fire pit area.

Daylight was waning, and I strained my eyes to avoid stumps hidden in the fallen leaves. The temperature was dropping, making the use of my hands tedious and slow. I reached in my pocket to check the time on my cell phone, fingers rigid from the cold.

But there was nothing. Nothing but a black screen.

I tried pressing the lock button on the side, sliding my finger pads across the smooth surface of the screen. But nothing seemed to revive it.

The crunch of gravel churning under rubber snapped my attention away from my phone and down the driveway. My sister was pulling in with a trunk full of party decorations and booze. The driver side door swung open as she stepped out, clearly fuming.

"Girl, do you know if Mom's mad at me? My phone died right in the middle of our phone call earlier, she probably thinks I hung up on her. Is she pissed?"

"I haven't talked to her," I said flatly. "My phone's dead too."

"Weird," she replied, already digging through grocery bags in the back seat. "Have you heard from our brother?"

"Again, my phone is dead too."

"Right. Shit."

"Doesn't matter, he was supposed to be here tonight anyway. I'm sure we'll see him at some point soon."

"Yeah, true."

We both headed inside, carrying what felt like a mountain of goodies for the party the next day. We put everything away, poured ourselves a couple glasses of wine and decided to chill the rest of the night. Our brother showed up later, as did my partner and a few other friends. We asked around—none of their phones were working either. It was strange, but all was well. We didn't really need our phones for anything that night. Maybe a break from usage and a charge overnight would do the trick.

As long as our phones were working the next day, everything would be fine.

***

My siblings, partner and I stayed the night so we could start setting up for the party in the morning.

We all woke up at different times on Saturday. Without our phones, no one had an alarm to wake up to, let alone an alarm to even set the night prior.

I checked my phone on the nightstand and still no charge. Just a black screen. Same thing for everyone else.

No matter, we had everything we needed here. All the food and drinks we needed for the party were either in the fridge or already out on the snack table. All the decorations were set up, the fire pit area was freshly raked and logs were stacked neatly by the garage to be burned once the sun went down.

So we went about our day.

My partner picked up Dunkin' for everyone, we carved pumpkins for the porch and watched It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. We all took our turns showering, sharing mirrors, painting our faces with Halloween make-up and adding finishing touches to our costumes.

Before we knew it, the clock ticked 3 p.m. and we were an hour out from party time. I ran up to my bedroom to check my phone again. Still no sign of life.

"Shit," I whispered to myself.

There were people invited to the party who had never been to the house before. What if they got lost, or a car broke down on the way here? How were we supposed to know if our phones were useless?

"Just breathe," I commanded my dresser mirror as I stared into the eyes of my own reflection. "If they get lost, they'll just have to figure it out. Maybe their phones are working and they'll be able to call someone else for help. It's out of your control."

It wasn't a very convincing speech. I could tell by the look on my reflection's face. It's out of your control, I repeated in my head. That thought in and of itself was enough to make me sweat.

***

4 p.m. came and went, and little by little, people started arriving.

There were a few who had trouble finding the mailbox—no working phones, no GPS. But all of them managed. Whether they remembered me mentioning the name of the restaurant across the street from our driveway, they spotted one of our Jack-o'-lanterns from the road lighting the way, or they just said "screw it" and entered a driveway with little to no evidence it was actually mine, everyone made it.

I asked every person as they arrived. No working phones.

While we still had some daylight, we played yard games and spent time outside. Cornhole, Scatter, Ladder Ball, you name it. People milled around, chit-chatting, drinks in hand. Halloween music blasted from a boombox my brother brought with him and had hoisted into a tree for "maximum effect." By dusk, someone had launched one of the Cornhole bean bags into the woods. And without any working phone flashlights to search for it in the brambles, it was never to be seen again.

We retired indoors by 6:30 p.m. or so, just as the pizza and wings arrived. People made plates and claimed their seats for the evening, tucking into their food as my partner and I, the hosts, set up the party games.

Of course, it didn't take long for us to realize none of the games we had prepared ahead of time would be playable except for Jeopardy. No mobile games like Jackbox, Werewolf, or Kahoot! with no working phones.

But that didn't stop us.

As Jeopardy concluded and "Team Scream" emerged victorious, my partner and I improvised, digging into our childhood bags of tricks.

We raided the hall closets and bathroom cabinets for toilet paper rolls to play Mummy Wrap. We repurposed the leftover apples that had not been coated in melted candy or caramel so we could bob for them in an old kiddie pool kept in the back shed. We cut up what felt like hundreds of pieces of paper so everyone could write down scary movie monster names, mixing them into a bowl to draw from for a proper game of Halloween Charades. And when all the food was gone and the stars were out, we wrapped ourselves in blankets and went back outside by the fire pit to tell ghost stories.

There were countless moments during which I longed to snap a picture.

Everyone thoroughly read our party invitation: Costumes Required! Not a soul showed up costume-less and each and every partygoer put effort into their outfit. A group photo of everyone dressed up together would've been awesome—I would've framed it.

The improvised games we played got a lot of laughs. Some of the people at the party I never would have guessed would want to participate in the tomfoolery, but I was wrong. I wish I could've captured those surprising, funny moments.

But in the end, I'm not sure it mattered.

I thought without any pictures, without any evidence after the fact, that the party would feel like a figment of my imagination. That to any outsider looking in, the party never actually happened.

But as someone who was there, it was one of the best Halloween parties my family and I ever threw.

Even if it exists only in memory now, that in no way diminishes the fun.