Something Wicked this Way Comes... or maybe went...

There is always a house in the neighborhood with to many Christmas trees, not three or even four but about 7 or 8. They may even be themed.

"This is the Disney tree. Now this one is the cat tree. And this one is the disposable income tree." They will tell you as you nod complacently at everything they say.

Their house will have a blow up thing in the front that may or may not sing which you will want to stick pins in when you see it. They may have moving white deer statues that are supposed to look graceful but in truth look odd.

Everybody loves that they have this person in the neighborhood while simultaneously pitying their neighbors. I have always had a feeling this is what people thought about my family concerning Halloween.

While most local families carve pumpkins or maybe hang little cute white cloth ghosts from the trees in their front yard, I was writing witty things onto Styrofoam gravestones with permanent marker for my Mom to put in the front yard or holding the edge of plywood as my Dad perfected the look of rustiness for the Celtic cross in the cemetery in the flower beds. I would stand behind my Mother steadying the ladder as she hung curtains around the garage which would turn into a thrown together haunted house.

The sad truth of the matter is that it would be more important for me to come home for Halloween than for Thanksgiving. And I have to admit to being far more excited about it. I mean I don't have the joy of planning out Thanksgiving a month in advance. (I'm going as Boudica the Celtic general this Halloween and am still trying to hunt down that perfect shade of blue body paint.)

Its always been this way as long as I can remember. The only house people were more excited to come to for the holiday was this one house down the street because they gave away sodas to the kids and Guinness to the parents. When I would take a friend down to listen to records in the basement or play the Atari (yeah, cause I'm just awesome like that) I would have to warn them about the severed heads and Fred.

Fred is a five and a half foot tall zombie thing my Dad built out of plywood, old clothes, and a House of 1000 Corpses mask. Oh yeah... he's holding a chain saw. We actually had to start putting a bag over his head during the off season because he was so creepy.

I can remember touring a friend trough the jungle of weirdness that is my basement.

"Why yes, That would be the plastic electrical tombstone section, and over here is the anamatronic ghouls, Thank you for noticing the coffin, it was just a pain to find."