Growing up in a small rural town in Texas, Halloween was always a wishful holiday that was the thing of special episodes of sitcoms and horror movie marathons on the Dallas UHF television station. Sure, at school, that month’s homeroom mother would bring black and orange cupcakes with plastic spider rings in the frosting for all to enjoy, but really, that was the extent of the festivities.
It wasn’t until we moved to Oklahoma City, circa late 1990, that I can honestly say everything that I imagined Halloween to be came to a maligned fruition and then some. At the tender age of 11, I was on the cusp of being too old to celebrate by trick or treating, so that first year walking the neighborhood of Mayfair Village was both an eye-opening and mildly exhilarating experience for this former country boy.
Hours before, there were always rumors swirling around in class, kids passing tips from one another as to what neighborhood gave out “full-size” candy bars—it was always Nichols Hills, natch—as well as repeated stories about that one kid who went crazy after someone dosed a popcorn ball with L.S.D. This was also a time when Satanic Panic was en vogue, so bring your pets inside and look out for teens dressed in black, the news channels warned in unison, often with no validity.
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