Halloween stalk, by Sarah Jacobsen

Response to the following Ghost Writers/Researchers prompt: Think back to when you were a child and the excitement you felt before you went out to trick or treat. Your mouth watered at the thought of the delicious candy you could enjoy later. Describe how you would feel if you walked up to someone’s porch and received celery sticks instead of candy.

The lights in my memory flicker like the candle my mom used to put in the Jack-O-Lantern every year on Halloween. Those were happy times, spent mostly in gleeful anticipation of the long, adventurous hike through the neighborhood in search of candy.

Every year at 6:30 p.m. on October 31, my Dad would bring out the little red wagon, put a candle in it, and tell us kids to get our costumes together. We would scamper through the house, grabbing masks, props, and pillowcases to stuff with candy. We set out just as the street lights blinked on, practically vibrating out of our skins in excitement. The wonderful treats always felt just within our reach; we just had to be cute enough to win the hearts of our neighbors.

I recall the Halloween of fourth grade, when I was particularly proud of my homemade yard waste costume. I cut arm holes in a yard waste bag from Home Depot, wrapped a green feather boa around my neck, and sat still as my Mom used hairspray to turn my hair green. I was sure that nobody else was going to have as clever a costume as I did.

On that particular night, after we had made off with almost a full pillowcase of candy each, we came to the house of Mr. McGregor, an old man with a reputation for yelling at the neighborhood kids to stay of his lawn. (Once, he collected all of the Frisbees, balls, and remote-controlled airplanes that made their way into his garden and sold them in a garage sale.)

Mr. McGregor sat on his front porch with a bowl and a devilish smirk. A child dressed as a rabbit in a blue sweater passed me on the walkway up to the elderly man’s house. The rabbit boy was holding a plastic baggie of celery and he was sobbing.

“There’s no way I’m getting a lecture on healthy eating habits from old Mr. McKilljoy over there,” scoffed by older brother, turning around to head back to the wagon. My sister looked at me, hoping I would be easily dissuaded from free food of any kind. That’s all right, we all make mistakes. She read the pure determination on my face and sighed. We continued our trek up the sidewalk.

When we reached the porch, wending our way through the hordes of distressed children, my suspicions were confirmed. There was only celery in his bowl.

“Are you happy now? Can we go?” asked my sister, who did not understand my never-say-die spirit.

“No,” I responded, stepping up to stand in front of Mr. McGregor. “Trick or treat!” I yelled.

“Here, have a treat,” he snickered, reaching out to drop a baggie of celery into my open pillowcase.

“Thanks, Mr. McGregor!” I exclaimed, snatching the baggie from him and immediately biting into a celery stalk. “How did you know celery was my favorite?”

His jaw fell slack. How could he have anticipated this? A child? Liking celery? Unheard of!

“Dad is going to be so mad at you for eating anything before Mom does the safety check,” my sister said as we headed back to the wagon.

“True, but did you see Mr. McGregor’s face? Worth it,” I replied, finishing my celery stalk.