We didn’t have any candy for trick-or-treaters last night, as we spent almost all of yesterday flying back to California, and the rest of it driving from LAX to our home. While unpacking, cleaning, sorting and cat-checking, all the things you do when you return home after ten days, we remembered that it was Halloween. At the last house we were in a neighborhood near a school, and children would come to our door all night. It was always a blast. In fact, the first year we ran out of candy so early stee drove to the store for more, while I gave out I-swear-they-aren’t-poisoned cookies until he came back. This year we figured with the house on a hill on a mostly empty street that’s off another hill that we wouldn’t see any candy beggars.

I was sorting through my mail around five in the afternoon when a tall man with a metal face started floating up my stairs. He was followed by some kind of angel of death. After the three seconds where my body completely froze in fear, followed by the sudden decision that I was about to die, I figured out that these grown-ups were coming by scamming for early candy. I sent them away and made sure the porch light was off.

But I forgot later, when I was like, “It’s dark. I’m going to turn on the porch light.” And sometime around 6:45, when it was quite dark out, I heard the sounds of scuttling up my steps. And because I’m clearly not ready to be anybody’s parent or guardian, my first reaction was to stand up and shout, “Shit! We don’t have any candy!”

Because the kids climbed up all the way to our house, a job that is so apparently tiring that both Sara and Dan must comment on how dangerous/exhausting/challenging it is every time they reach the top step, I felt incredibly guilty for sending the three little girls away without anything other than an earful of dirty.

I never saw any other trick-or-treaters on our street. I hope that’s not the case next year.