I'm Not Scared of the Dark

A story about the power of Halloween and dark nights

The veil is thinning. Photo by Bee Felten-Leidel on Unsplash

In just a few days, I’m going to hang up my Halloween decorations. Is it an adorable Pinterest-inspired pumpkin display, with the words welcome fall etched on the side? A pretty wreath with pops of bright orange leaves? Nope. At Halloween — in this house — we go full horror, full gore. It’s more murder vibes than Martha Stewart. It’s 100% macabre, haunted house.

I’m talking skeletons with red glowing eyeballs, grim reaper pumpkins, bones stacked in the front yard to resemble a graveyard. We have a giant felt spider with legs that wrap around the porch. Our pièce de résistance is a 6 foot inflatable Jack Skellington, with little white Zero flapping in the wind.

I have always loved Halloween. As a kid, I would lie in bed the morning of Halloween, arms and legs stiff from the excitement. “It’s here,” I would mouth to myself, “it’s finally here.” Halloween was better than any other holiday, even Christmas. Even my…