Halloween in the Hood

October is well known for its beautiful autumn foliage.  It’s also known for spooky, scary Halloween activities.   We live in a small southern town where children dressed as ghosts and goblins still ring your bell and holler, Trick or Treat.  Well, it’s more like, Hey y’all, Tricks or Treats.  It’s more about the Snickers and Kit Kats than trying to scare the crap out of people.

Born and raised in an inner-city environment Trick or Treat was a completely different experience.  We would ram-sack our mom’s makeup and dad’s closet, dress up like some bag lady and hobo and use our pillow case as a bag.  At twilight we’d go door-to-door collecting our confectionary bounty.  We’d come home 4-hours later with a ton of candy; most of which our parents would throw away declaring how it could be drug laden or harboring razor blades.

A few days ago some friends asked if I was going to the local Halloween Haunted House.  You know the kind set up at the community centers.  I informed them I probably wouldn’t be going.   They tried to convince [me] how scary these haunted attractions were stating,

“Last year people dressed like bloody corpses and ghouls jumped out and sprayed us with glow-in-the-dark silly string, dumped buckets of wet gummy worms on us!  It really scared the shit out of us!”

I laughed.  They thought this crap was scary. I reminded them I was from a large urban city.  I’ve had guns shoved in my face by junkies, not to mention the drive-by shootings.  Fake blood and cotton spider web wouldn’t make me flinch.  Hell, even the youngest trick or treating city kid could kick their asses.

I further explained if they wanted to be petrified beyond their personal scope of fear they should try trick or treating in a large city. Picture if you will walking up to a dilapidated house with a skeleton sitting on the porch; the skeletal remains of a former mob boss who’s been missing for two years.   Severed hands clutching 40-ounce malt liquor bottles line the step. You bang on the door because the bell has been out-of-order since the house was built.  You hear a blood-curdling scream from inside the house.

“Bitch, you gonna answer that damn door! Oh, I know you did not just roll them drunk-ass-eyes at me!”

The door swings open and you are greeted by the meanest, scariest, toothless, crack ho’, holding a metal baseball bat. With killer breath that should come with a bio hazard warning label, screaming,

“Well, what the hell you want, ain’t you gonna say Trick or Treat! What’s wrong wit you? Don’t be knocking on my door and then act like you all scared!  WHAT THE HELL YOU WANT!“

Frozen in fear, you finally stutter, “T-r-r-rick or T-r-r-reat, nice mask?”  She spews a string of incoherent curses and then throws a bucket of used crack pipes at you.

Unscathed you flee – still trembling from your Halloween encounter at the Crack Ho’ Haunted House from Hell!  Needless to say my friends never asked me to go with them again.

*Important Parental Note:  Never allow to children trick or treat alone.  Always check candy before consuming.  And most importantly, never tell a crack ho’ nice mask when she holding a metal baseball bat.

Share this Post:

6 thoughts on “Halloween in the Hood”

  1. I recall a house when I was young enough to go door to door on my own and would ring the bell. A nice elderly lady would peer out the living room window close to the door, smile and then walk towards the door. Just about the time you thought she reached the door and was opening it, her husband dressed in full gorilla costume threw the door open and lunged at us. I heard the old lady chortle and taking such glee in her part with this, but they did laden us with lots of treats

    Every Halloween after that I always took a change of underwear with me.

    Actually this isn’t true. It’s a fictional account of what I intended to do when I grew up but lost the inspiration to do so. 🙂

    1. HAHAHAHAHA! I may try that this year LB as Pete and I are slowly turning into one of those creepy old couples!

    1. Yes Donna, I remember those fond days, screaming for my life, while running away from creepy old crack hoes just for a Snickers bar!

Comments are closed.