My son, Ethan, and his wife, Blythe, live just a few blocks down. Therefore, I make a habit of visiting on Sundays for dinner.
I stopped in front of their house, expecting a quiet evening like any other. But there were life-sized witches all over the yard: witches that looked disturbingly like me.
The clothes, the gray hair, the glasses. And there, right by the front door, a sign that read, “Beware of the real evil down the street!”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It was so crazy, so petty, but it stung in a way that words couldn’t describe. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
Blythe answered, smiling like nothing was out of the ordinary. “Edwina, you made it! Come in, dinner’s almost ready.”
I forced a smile and stepped inside. “Lovely decorations you’ve got out there,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Oh, you noticed?” she replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Just a little something for Halloween. The kids love it.”
But what really hurt wasn’t the decorations or the sign. It was what happened the next day. I was in my garden, tending to my roses, when I overheard two kids walking by.
“That’s her,” one whispered, glancing my way.
“The witch,” the other added, their voices low but loud enough for me to hear. “Mom says she’s real mean. We should cross the street.”
Over the next week, it got worse.
Children who used to wave and say hello now avoided me altogether. Some would even run to the other side of the street when they saw me coming.
Halloween had always been my favorite time of year. I loved handing out candy and seeing the little ones in their costumes. But this year, thanks to Blythe, the joy had been replaced by a deep sadness. I didn’t recognize my own neighborhood anymore.
I spent the entire afternoon making little goodie bags filled with candy, stickers, and small toys. All decked out in my glittery gown when I looked in the mirror, , I couldn’t help but smile. “This will do,” I said to myself.
The kids glanced at each other, unsure. I could see them weighing their options. Finally, one brave little girl, dressed as a princess, approached cautiously. Her wide eyes flickered from me to the candy and back again. I knelt down, smiling as warmly as I could.
“Hi there, princess,” I said, holding out a sparkly wand from my goodie bag. “Would you like a wand to go with your costume?”
Her face lit up, eyes wide with excitement. “You’re not a witch?” she asked, her small voice full of wonder.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Nope, just a fairy godmother for the night,” I said, waving my wand playfully. “Want to help me make some pumpkin magic?”
She giggled, and just like that, the ice was broken. More kids started to come over, their curiosity outweighing their fear. Before I knew it, my little pumpkin-painting station was packed with children, their faces glowing with joy as they painted and snacked on cookies.
By the time the sun fully set, my yard was buzzing with excitement. Children were running around with their painted pumpkins, munching on cookies, and showing off their goodie bags. It was the perfect evening.
But the best part? I didn’t even notice about Blythe’s house, just a few doors down, was eerily quiet.
She had set up her spooky witch-themed party, but all that was left were a couple of stragglers, glancing over at the buzz happening in my yard.
I caught sight of her standing on her porch, arms crossed. She was watching me, her lips pressed together in a tight line.
The last few kids ran up to grab their final handful of candy at night. One little girl, dressed as a cat, stopped and looked up at me. “This was the best H
