The first year I was exposed to this strange, new Halloween concept, I was like, “Oh, what the hell is this? More crap I gotta do for my kids?”
But that was because my daughter was like two. She didn’t even know what Halloween was yet. And I’d never experienced the thrill of ghosting before. After that first night sneaking around the neighborhood, heart racing as I hid among the bushes trying desperately not to get caught, I was hooked.
Ghosting, if you’re unfamiliar, is like a ring and run only instead of pranking someone to annoy them, the ghosters prank them and leave a little delectable gift (Starbursts, Tootsie Rolls, fun-size Snickers, what have you) with a little ghost-shaped note informing the person of his or her fate. If your doorbell rings late at night right before Halloween and you answer it only to discover a brown paper bag deposited on your front steps, you, my friend, have been ghosted.
You’re supposed to take the little note and post it on your front door to inform the neighborhood you’ve already been had. But that rule is pretty much useless because can’t nobody tell a little kid who they can and can’t ghost. They’ll ghost whoever they damn well please, sign or no sign, so you typically get ghosted about twenty thousands times before Halloween is through. The kids, though, will be just as excited the 20,000th time the doorbell rings during dinner as the first as each episode is an exact replay of the initial experience just like it never happened before. They’ll spring up from the table as fast as they can, huge grins spread across their faces, race to the front door, swing it open and frantically peer into the darkness in an attempt to seek out the ghoster.
Is there anything better?
Most times the kids aren’t fast enough to catch the perpetrator. Ghosting is a stealthy game, and you don’t become a Master Ghoster by getting caught. No matter though. There’s candy.
Then the ghostee becomes the ghoster. He or she (or I in this case) must keep the spirit alive by finding three more unsuspecting souls to trick. The first year I went all by myself because my kid was a toddler, and I wasn’t waking her up and dragging her out of her crib after dark to run around the neighborhood, scurry up to somebody’s door, drop a bag of candy and run like hell. Plus, she sucked at running. She totally would have gotten us busted. I’m certain she would have fallen, and then I’d have to leave her behind because there’s no way I’m going down like that. I’m a master ghoster, yo. It’s gonna take more than a fallen kid to catch me. When it comes to ghosting, sometimes you have to make the tough decisions, do what’s best for the team. If that means leaving a kid behind, so be it.
In recent years I’ve allowed my kids to join me. I’m not happy about it, but I’ve done it. And I’ve paid the price. My kids don’t know how to keep their yaps shut. Or be still. Or quit giggling when we’re hiding in the trenches. Once a ghostee tried to wait us out, and my kids could not handle the suspense. They nearly got us caught. Although we were were hidden behind a tree crouching on the ground, the ghostee started making guesses as to who his tormenters were. After a few tries, he called out our names. He was just bluffing. Still, I gave my kids a hard look. They had better not ruin my track record.
“I can see you, you know,” he yelled into the darkness, and with that we took off running down the middle of the street. That little 4th grader can guess all he likes, but standing on the doorstep lit only by the weak amber glow of the porch light he’ll never know for sure.
And, I’ll never tell. This one goes to the grave.
Even though my kids are bound to mess it up for me sometime, I still let them come. That’s the kind of mother I am. But I would never presume to tell others what to do. Ghosting is a personal decision, one every parent must make on his or her own.