I WENT to a Halloween party, casually dressed in shirt and trousers, explaining I’d come as a werewolf. Swishing a cloak over his shoulder, the scary vampire host ran fingers through slicked back hair, peering back through piercing, dark eyes, fake blood drip-drip, dripping from plastic Dracula fangs.
“You don’t look much like a werewolf to me,” he hissed, assuming his best Christopher Lee / Bela Lugosi voice.
I shrugged, nonchalantly. “Yes? And? It’s not my fault there isn’t a full moon, is it…?”
Ha! Love or loathe it, Halloween is here again. Spooky costumes. Parties. Pumpkins and trick or treat. Scary films: Fright Night, Hocus Pocus and bloodcurdling, archetypal slasher movie, Halloween, terrifying with its classic unsettling melody and suspenseful, haunting bass. Not forgetting the songs, of course: Ghostbusters, Monster Mash and There’s a Ghost in my House. Is there…? What? Really? I sincerely hope not. Tonight of all nights. I know what I’d tell it if I saw one…get a flipping life!
Shops and supermarkets are overflowing with Halloween merchandise. Witches’ hats, brooms and knobbly green fingers. Lifesize skeletons. Ghoulish masks galore. Battery-operated, creaking caskets and cackling skulls. The anticipation, atmosphere and ambience is all-pervading; the colours magical, a manifestation of autumnal red, green, brown and, most especially, tangerine and marmalade orange. Come the big night, groups of suitably attired children roam the streets, witches, ghouls and ghosts, the Grim Reaper, Michael Myers or Freddie Kruger, maniacally door knocking for handfuls of sweets or, preferably, hard cash.
“Trick or treat, trick or treat, give us something good to eat…”
How times have changed. Hark back fifty years or so and Halloween was still in its infancy, at least in the UK. There was no trick or treat then. It was all about the horror, scaring each other stupid with spooky pranks and tales of the supernatural and scary monsters.
We would assemble on the backs, a narrow dirt and gravel alleyway that ran the length of the terraced row where we lived. With a sky as black as the view down Barnsley Main Colliery at midnight, an eerie looking, flesh-coloured moon would nip in and out of fluffy, white clouds. All that was missing was a silhouetted witch, zipping back and forth on her trusty stick. Forget giant pumpkins. Hollowed out turnips were all we could afford, meticulously hand-carved to incorporate evil looking, triangular eyes and razor sharp, serrated teeth. With a flickering candle insert, slow-cooking internal flesh, it emitted the sweetest of scents, an aroma so distinctive it is still engrained upon the subconscious to this day.
We would head to the nearest outhouse, thick with cobwebs, harbouring legions of threepenny bit-sized, scuttling spiders. Trying to frighten the pants off one another by making ghostly noises in the dark, someone would randomly produce a torch, lighting up his or her chin, casting creepy shadows upon contorted features, while howling incessantly at the moon.
“Quick! Run for it!”
It was a big black cat, clearly a witch in disguise, causing us to flee in panic, wax-dripping turnips, spotting the pavement, Dracula, Wolfman and Frankenstein, heading to the cemetery now, spitting out dares, challenging one another to do an unaccompanied, blindfolded walk through. Someone invariably fell for it, usually the youngest. As they disappeared, walking Mummy-like with a scarf over the eyes, we’d leg it to the far side, taking cover behind trees and headstones, jumping out at the appropriate moment, scaring our victim half to death.
“Aaargh!”
Night done, we’d trudge home, capping things off with a good old horror film, an appointment with fear in the comfort of our favourite armchair, lights out, legs curled up tight, hiding behind a pillow as a chilling score announced the arrival of the evil, blood-sucking Count Dracula, freshly risen from the grave.
Speaking of which, I almost forgot. What a disaster the Halloween party turned out to be. Never again, I can tell you. The scary vampire host, plus two other guests, also dressed as Dracula, were viciously assailed by a bloke, attempting to drive a stake through their hearts. The police were called and he was charged with attempted murder…on three Counts.
