A Scary Halloween

I remember being scared on Halloween, 1946, in Stratford, Connecticut. I was six years old. Every evening the week prior Bob and Jim, two adults around the dinner table, would tell five-year-old Diana and me the goblins were coming. We didn’t pay much attention, particularly since we had no idea what a goblin was.

Halloween came. As Diana and I were engaged in our usual after dinner “find the thimble” search, a hand knocked on a kitchen window then disappeared. We gave it little thought, but noticed the adults were getting up from the table to respond to a knock on the door – a door which led to the back yard. The door opened and there stood a giant white goblin.

I ran, screaming, into an adjacent dark room and closed the door to hide. I tripped over the old trundle sewing machine. I was afraid of the dark but more afraid of the goblin.

It took much cajoling to convince me to open the door and come out. When I did, I saw a white sheet falling to the floor and Jim climbing down from Bob’s shoulders. The goblin wasn’t real after all. I calmed down.

I do recall hearing Bob and Jim saying they would never do that again. The fright their goblin caused was beyond what they had anticipated.