I enjoy nothing more than a good old-fashioned supernatural horror film—something that keeps me in suspense and offers a little shock value. However, there’s something that fills me with more dread than the price of cheese this week, and that’s Halloween.

It’s not the idea of some skeleton climbing out of the Blowhole or the thought of a witch circling the tower of the Kiama Post Office. No, it’s the notion that Halloween is approaching and whether I need to have a bag of candy—sorry, lollies—beside the front door, just waiting in sheer anticipation for that knock from a group of children greeting me with “Trick or Treat.”

Let me share my fear and pose a question: wouldn’t you be scarred like I am if you found yourself in a similar situation?

I lived on a relatively quiet street in Nowra until I received that fateful knock at the door. It was a calm evening, and I was preparing dinner for my Cattle Dog X General, about to settle in for a classic episode of Gardening Australia, when I opened the door. 

Before me stood a group consisting of a little devil, a zombie, a princess, and someone in yellow, which I think was an attempt at a character from Pokémon. 

As I looked into their eyes, sparkling with anticipation and smiles on their faces, they held out their little buckets, waiting for something sweet to drop in. Fear set in as I realised I had nothing—zilch—because Halloween is not a holiday I observe.

As the smiles began to turn to frowns on the children’s faces, an idea struck me. I ducked back into the kitchen and rummaged through the pantry. When I returned, I triumphantly held various packets of cup of soups I had been saving for a rainy day—literally a rainy day.

Fast forward twelve months, and my partner and I were ready. We stocked up on various packets of fun-sized treats. Like clockwork, a knock came at the door, accompanied by the familiar chant of “Trick or Treat,” and we happily distributed chocolates, bringing smiles all around.

Eventually, the kids grew older, and the Halloween tradition slowly disappeared, leaving our quiet street to return to its former self—like spirits and ghouls returning to their graves as the clock strikes midnight.

But to this day, as October 31 rolls around, that fear strikes me like a pitchfork stuck into my derriere. Will this be the year I finally have a bag of flavoured snakes beside the door, or can I tempt another year with those packets of chicken noodle soup sitting in the kitchen cupboard?