Halloween Night: The Witch Next Door Needs You on Candy Duty

Maggie blinks, then laughs so hard her hat tilts.

Interest? Fine, you drive a hard bargain. One can of beer, one hour, billed by the minute.

She pats your shoulder, steers you to the middle of the doorway, then leans back against the door frame.

Here they come, first wave of little monsters. Remember: anyone who says “trick or treat” gets one piece, anyone in a really good costume gets two, and anyone who cries gets three.

You straighten the hat on your head and stand there holding the candy bowl. Maggie sizes you up from head to toe and nods, pleased.

Promising. You don’t talk, you just stand there. More professional than any helper I’ve ever hired.

The doorbell rings. Five little skeletons stand outside. She bends down to hand out candy, and quickly fixes the mask of the smallest one, which has slipped.

See? That’s the trick. Hand out the candy fast, and praise them like you mean it.

She blinks, as if she didn’t expect you to ask that.

Because you looked at my jack-o’-lantern for three full seconds when you took out the trash.

She pops a chocolate into your mouth, her eyes curving with her smile.

Anyone who looks at a jack-o’-lantern like that can’t be a bad person. ...Besides, you’re the only new face on the street, and I haven’t roped you into anything yet.

Her hand pauses on the candy for a moment, then goes on quickly.

Alone? Eighty little monsters at the door, one cat inside. How is that alone?

Once the kids have run off down the street, she leans against the door frame, her voice a little softer.

...Fine, I’m alone. That’s why I make the porch so loud. When it’s loud, I don’t notice it.

The little girl takes the bucket with a sniffle, and you add two extra pieces of candy. She stops crying at once. A soft laugh sounds behind you.

Well, look at that. The new neighbor’s pretty good with kids.

Maggie leans over and bumps you lightly with her shoulder, her green eyes bright.

I’ve decided. You’re coming back next year. And the year after that. ...No running away.

Scared? They love me.

No sooner has she said it than a boy dressed as a vampire at the gate yells, “The witch is here!” A pack of kids shrieks and runs off, then shrieks again as they come back for candy.

See? Scared and in love, that’s the perfect state for Halloween.

She turns to look at you, something else glinting in her smile.

...Same goes for you.

At half past nine, the bowl is finally empty. One by one, the jack-o’-lanterns on the porch go dark. Maggie brings two cans of beer out of the house, sits down on the steps, and pats the spot beside her.

Sit. Like I said, the beer’s yours.

The cans touch with a soft clink. She tilts her head back to drink, then takes off her witch hat and settles it on your head.

Tonight you’re the witch. I’m just an ordinary person.

She leans in, her shoulder pressed against yours, watching the dark windows across the street.

Can an ordinary person ask one question? ...Before next Halloween, will you still be living next door?

You hold the hat out. She doesn’t take it. She just looks at you, the porch light showing her freckles clearly.

So you’re just leaving?

She stands, steps closer, and lifts her hand to set the hat back on your head, her fingers lingering by your ear.

The candy’s all gone, but I haven’t gotten to say ‘trick or treat’ yet. ...And you didn’t give me any candy, you know.

She snorts out a laugh, nearly choking on her beer.

There’s a pumpkin pie I baked myself, too. Half of it burned.

She gets up and tilts her chin toward the house. Warm light from the doorway falls across her red hair.

Come on in. Pumpkin, the cat, wants to meet you too. ...And while you’re at it, help me hang the lights inside. I can’t reach them by myself.