For the five short years of my childhood that I actually lived under the same roof of my much older brother, BJ, I always remember him as being a prankster. Once I sat with him and his friend at our kitchen table at our small house in St. Louis, where he was able to lie so convincingly, that he tricked his friend into eating a fake, plastic grape from the centerpiece on the table. My brother also enjoyed chasing me around the house in his most terrifying of Halloween masks. One Halloween he took me trick or treating, where we posed together in our costumes, him as a grotesque monster and me as a pretty, pretty princess.
I spent most Halloweens when I was young, tricking or treating in my life long friend, Amanda's neighborhood. Her neighborhood had so many kids, what seemed like hundreds at the time. They would pile out of their houses in droves for trick or treating (or to chase down the ice cream truck). One of her neighbors had decorations so scary it was intimidating to walk to the front door. I loved trick or treating with Amanda, because I was painfully shy and couldn't even bring myself to say trick or treat. So I got to hide behind her, let her do all the talking, and could still reap the spoils. When we returned, we would sort out our loot, making trades and bartering with each other.
The year the lion king was released my mom had me a custom lion costume made. It was adorable, but by the time I finished trick or treating, I had lost the tail. My mom always uses this incident as an example of my clumsiness and my penchant for losing things.
When I was in middle school, I ended up hanging out with two friends on Halloween, who I didn't usually hang out with, and I can't remember how. One was an acquaintance of mine from school. He was a kind, albeit small for his age boy. Sometimes when I would walk to the library after school, I would end up playing soccer with him in his front yard. I had a slight crush on him in the way you have a crush on any boy you spend any amount of time with at the age, when you are just starting to be interested in the opposite sex. Somehow we ended up at a Haunted House on Halloween night. I had limited experience with Haunted Houses, due to being a big old scardy cat. Once my mom paid for me to visit a Haunted House at our local mall, and before she could sit down and relax, I ran out the entrance terrified. But at this haunted house with my crush, I was bound and determined not to look like a wussy. With my heart pounding, we entered the house. And I did look like the brave one as my companion was squealing like a girl, and hanging on to me through out the entire experience, until we were finally chased out with chainsaws.
When I was a seventeen year old senior in high school, my friends and I went for a last trick or treating hoorah, even though we were most definitely way too old. We dressed up, I was a Black Eyed Pea. An easy enough costume, you just blacken your eye with eye shadow, and put on a shirt with the letter P. The neighbors got a kick out of our age, and we opened one door to the chorus of, "Man, forget the candy, do you guys want a beer?"
The best haunted house experience I ever had involved the Haunted House that took place in the basement (a.k.a laundry room) of my freshmen dorm, Callaway Hall. Only because that basement has always been plagued with rumors of being haunted. Callaway Hall was used in the civil war as a hospital for wounded soldiers. The basement supposedly being the morgue. Even my own friends, have claimed to hear a ghost whistling Dixie late one night when they were washing their clothes. The basements darkness and decoration made it disorientating, and knowing the history made it terrifying. All my friends and I really were happy to make it out without losing control of our bladders.
And in an non-haunted moment, I about lost my mind once in that basement when a black cat unexpectedly jumped down from the rafters, while I was waiting for the elevator, scaring the bejeezes out of me.