Halloween Candy Horror

The Halloween Heap

By Jason Goldtrap

October 20, 2022

October 31, 1980. Inglewood, a neighborhood in Nashville, Tennessee.

I love Halloween! There is so much fun to be had. I remember fondly donning my Evel Knieval mask. The year after I dressed as a clown. My mother once took a paper grocery sack, painted it black and green and used Scotch tape on my head: I had become Frankenstein's monster.

It was fun to play pranks and bob for apples but Trick or Treating was my favorite.

To me it was more than collecting candy; visiting each house made me feel like a member of the community.

Like most young people, my world was very limited: school, church, the grocery store, the park, Opryland USA and McDonald's. I would visit the other kids on my block but otherwise the adults hiding behind their brick walls didn't really exist. However, on Halloween all the doors were open. Those strange were revealed to be actually nice people.

When I was first starting out, my mother would walk with me and my sister Lynn to the door. A perennial gadabout, she would small talk with the neighbors. They would discuss social events, neighborhood happenings, the weather,, and other small talk. Until just now, I did not realized what she was doing. She was reassuring folks that they're not alone. For some, like shut-ins or widows, this may be the only time they get to speak to someone with a friendly face or hear the laughter of children.

Every year, my friends and I would dump our candy into a huge pile. I'd toss the red hots and lemon sours while steathfully removing the Snickers and fun sized Hershey bars. It was a smorgasbord of sugar.

But, there was always that one house. The old lady who lived on the corner. I don't think I ever talked to her except saying "Trick or Treat" or just a wave while riding my bike. But her house was the one we would all go to reluctantly for she innocwntly, gleefully distributed Kopinko coffee candy.

It sat in a pile in the middle of the orange colored den of my friend Darrel's house. I leaned against an AT-AT Walker, Jay on my left in a chartreuse bean bag, Greg up against the Zenith, Darrel sat cross leg. We closely examined the 8 pieces of jetsam like it was a collection of irradiated barrels at an old construction site.

No one made a move. I was half expecting it to crawl away on its own.

Woof!

We snapped our attention to the door and saw the demonic glowing eyes....of a black lab. Darrel opened the door.

"Come in, Buck. Good boy. Good boy. Happy Halloween."

His nose began hurriedly examining each wrapper.

He chomped on Sweetarts and circus peanuts.

Unlike cats, dogs are not known for their discerning pallet.

Eureka, a flash of inspiration!

Greg grabbed one of the hideous coffee candies and unwrapped it. Intrigued by the smell, Buck slobbered his way over to him.

Finally, there is hope.

He stopped and took two steps back and whimpered up the stairs as if his favorite toy had been lost in the washing machine.

Great. Back to the hideous heap.

"Ok, ok, ok." I spoke up. "We're just going to have to resolve this like men." Yeah, a little bold for an twelve-year-old but just run with it.

Greg suggested wrestling. Nope, he had 30 pounds on us.

Cards? The only deck we found was for Old Maid and that was just too girly.

Rock. Paper. Scissors. This is the way.

One. Two. Three. Scissors all around.

"Guys? Seriously? Again."

One. Two. Three. Rocks?

I rolled my eyes. Not very brave.

One. Two. Three. Finally, some variety.

Darrel was safe.

One. Two. Three.

Jay was clear.

It was down to me and Greg.

We faced each other. Dead eye. Like two gunman in the wild west having a duel.

"Wait!" Jay announced. "Whomever loses must eat the coffee candy in front of everyone; otherwise, you'll just take it home and put it in the garbage."

A chill wind blew.

"Agreed," said Greg.

I swished my mouth, "Ready."

Tumbleweeds cartwheeled across the path of our gaze.

I had been brave previously but this time the stakes were higher.

I had ridden the Wabash Cannon Ball.

At summer camp I had befriended a girl.

I hadn't screamed when I got my Tetanus shot.

I had boarded a glass elevator alone at the Hyatt Regency and had gone all the way to the 28th floor.

In July, I had inner-tubbed over a 6 foot waterfall in Gatlinburg.

I had successfully ran and jumped between the fountains of the War Memorial Plaza. Well, almost. I came up short and busted a hole in my right leg. I still have the scar.

But this time, it was for real.

One. A bead of sweat dripped from my furrowed brow.

Two. My teeth clicked.

Three.

I proudly proclaimed via my fist the always reliable rock.

My face fell.

Greg had paper.

Gulp.

The other guys were hysterical, bowling over with laughter.

"I admit defeat." Warily, I crawled over to the dreaded mass.

I picked up the partially unwrapped one that was refused by a dog. I held it to my mouth and paused.

"Don't be a chicken: bach, bach, bach."

I put it in my mouth and took a bite.

43 years later and I still have the taste of chewing tobacco dipped in printing ink lurking near my tongue.

If Satan made a candy....

I briskly chewed and swallowed.

I gave a coy grin, "It's getting late; I'll eat the rest tomorrow."

"No way. We all agreed on the rules."

As I chewed the second glob I shrugged. This would soon be over with and then I looked across the room. All of this is ending.

My father had given me The Talk while my mother and sister had gone to a movie. And, it was an unwritten rule that this would be my last year for Trick or Treating. Next October, I would be the one handing out candy to little kids.

Oh well, I returned to the noxious caffeine geyser.

Three. Four. Five. Six.

My stomach started to rumbling like an extinct volcano. My face was bilious. I felt purple.

Before that moment, I thought purple was a color. But now the word had changed meaning, I was purple.

I held up a hand, pleading for mercy.

"No way. Two to go."

Seven.

Strangely, the eighth was the worst.

I dashed to the bathroom. I didn't think it was possible for a human being to loose half of their body weight in two minutes, but I did it! As I exited I was met by a round of applause.

A few minutes later, we put on the cardboard 3D glasses we had picked up at 7-11 and watched "Gorilla at Large" on channel 17. Awful but seeing the monkey swinging at me was a cool effect. I was not allured by the bags of Jiffy Pop.

I strolled home with the depth and coordination of a Weeble; intoxicated on fructose and processed carbohydrates. I curled up in my bed and stayed awake for four days.

That was a raucous but appropriate ending to the first half of my childhood. I am now 54 and maybe one day I'll grow up. And, yes, I still believe in the Great Pumpkin.