By Cheryl Maguire

Lights illuminated our new house, bags of candy brimmed a colossal bowl, and my husband donned a Doctor Who costume. 

The doorbell rang. Our first trick-or-treaters arrived. Cinderella and Superman said in unison, “Trick-or-treat.”

Superman pointed at my husband and announced, “Look he is dressed as Harry Potter.”

For the next hour, a stream of eager children gathering candy appeared at our door and identified my husband as Harry Potter. And then I had a strange encounter.

The doorbell rang. A young couple stood before me. I searched for their child, but I was unable to locate one. The young man said, “Trick-or-treat.”

Could they be in high school? The man had a beard, and the woman’s hair was swept up into a high pony. They held their pillowcases, awaiting their treats.

The young man sensed my hesitation because a smirk appeared across his face … a subtle reminder that the first word he uttered was “trick.”

I didn’t want to be the house that got egged, toilet papered, or decorated with shaving cream so I begrudgingly dropped a full-size candy bar into each of their pillowcases. The young man accessed whatever the current mode of teen communication is, sharing a message with countless friends; something along the lines of, “House No. 100 is giving out mad candy. And be sure to check out the weird dude dressed as Harry Potter.”

As a result, we received an influx of similar looking teens and our candy supply was running dangerously low. We panicked. What if we ran out? Our new house would be marked like Hester Prynne with a scarlet A on her dress. It was almost 8 p.m. so we dared to turn off all the lights and waited. Every sound we heard we wondered if we were under attack. Finally the noises died down, and we felt somewhat relieved.

“Well that isn’t what I expected,” I said.

“Me neither. I mean Harry Potter doesn’t even look anything like Doctor Who.”

“No I meant the non-costumed teens invading for candy.”

“Yeah, they were a little old for that. When I was a teen, we just went around egging or spraying shaving cream at houses.”

Okay, I didn’t expect to hear that either.

Next year I’m going to try to prevent some of these adolescents from freeloading off my candy intended for fledgling children decked out in elaborate costumes. Near the doorbell there will be a sign declaring:

ONLY ring the doorbell if …

1. You are dressed in a REAL costume. T-shirts and jeans do NOT count.

2. Due to your age, you are unable to obtain a driver’s license, a job, grow facial hair, or purchase candy yourself at a store.

Don’t worry, I know what you are thinking. My intricate preparations will also include a fully stocked closet of cleaning supplies.

Cheryl Maguire holds a Master of Counseling Psychology degree. She is married and is the mother of twins and a daughter. Her writing has been published in The New York Times, National Geographic, and many other publications. You can find her at Twitter @CherylMaguire05.