10-25-00 Eastern Echo

Hobgoblin high jinks lead Haffey's down a dark road

We walked under a moon-less sky, a dizzying array of stars above our heads. If someone dared speak above a whisper, four voices shushed them in unison. We tiptoed to the porch of a neighbor's house, dropped our precious parcel on the doorstep, rang the bell and ran like hell. My kids couldn't help letting out whoops of joy as our feet touched dew spiked grass we could not see, the darkness was so complete. A devil's night prank? No. We were the Halloween Hobgoblins, delivering our pre-holiday goodies and good tidings to our neighbors. The bag we had placed on the doorstep was filled with stickers, candies, and a message detailing how to pass along the friendly visitor to any family not showing a Goblin prominently in their front window. Just the night before we had been visited by the Goblin. The doorbell rang and, as usual, the whole family scampered to see who had come to call. We opened the door to a little paper bag decorated with the now famous Goblin and his instructions for sharing the fun. It read: You have been visited by the Halloween Hobgoblin! Within the next nine days you must pass the Hobgoblin on to 3 of your neighbors or friends. Please copy this Goblin and attach it to a treat bag filled with goodies. Put one copy of the Goblin in your front window so you won't be visited again. Let's see how may houses the Goblin can visit before October 31st. Happy Halloween! The kids were psyched. "Can we do it right now? Can we make up three bags right now and sneak over to our friend's houses?" They were jumping up and down in their delight. My husband and I looked at each other dubiously. It was already 9 p.m. and frankly it had been a really bad day. The kids had been whiny and restless all afternoon, despite our efforts to keep them entertained. "No. Not tonight. We'll work on it tomorrow." Still, the kids sat around the kitchen table and laboriously copied the cutout Goblin and his happy message. Of course the first thing in the morning the kids were back at their Goblin making and arguing over whose house they'd choose to convey their goodie bag. When night finally came the kids gathered their creations and off we went. My husband David had convinced me to give up the writing for a short walk. I'd been sequestered in my office for over three hours, and I needed a break. Instead of getting merely a break from my writing, I actually got something to write about. When we first left our house we were all still very night-blind; the front yard was pure blackness to our unadjusted sight. The first thing my son Austin did was walk into a bush in our landscaping. Scraped but determined, we continued on. The first house on our agenda was that of our next door neighbors, the Beauchamps. My daughter Carlyn took HobGoblin honors, threading her way through the extensive landscaping with the skill of a trailblazer. The rest of us hid behind the trees near the road. She placed her bag and rang the bell. David and I hissed, "Run, run!" but she stood stock-still, a deer caught in the headlights. As foyer lights blossomed through the front windows Carlyn stepped to the side and melted into the deep bushes near the door. She was safe. The bag delivered. On to house number 2. My four-year-old, Parker took honors this time. David would assist in the delivery. Our friends the Powells had children near the age of ours, so we knew they'd enjoy our prank. My other two children and I made our way through the yard and alongside the house. We heard the bell ring and then David and Parker exploded around the corner. We all scattered like startled chickens. (Actually, we were both. Startled. Chickens.) Tripping over the toys left strewed in the yard, we congratulated ourselves on another fine job. Last on the evening's schedule were the Mandells; young Daniel Mandell is our son Austin's best playmate, therefore he would be the HobGoblin messenger. As the rest of us hid near the ditch I saw a light go on in their garage. Someone was stirring. Austin had just placed his bag and rung the bell so it was too late to abort this leg of Operation Goblin. I envisioned Austin, my accident-prone son, leaping from the porch and twisting his ankle, falling into a heap of wailing misery just as someone answered the door. Can you imagine what they'd think? "What good parents, those Haffeys, letting their kids play pranks in the dark of a school night! Hmmmph." I said a little prayer for Austin. I held my breath as he leaped, and landed with an athlete's grace, running full tilt toward our hiding place. Someone came and looked out the front window but did not open the door. Calamity! Austin would have to go back and ring the bell again. The light was still on in the garage, but so far no one had come out to investigate. Austin crept forward slowly, and as he reached the steps to the front porch our neighbor Steve lurched out of the garage, pushing the garbage can toward the road. He had a cordless phone wedged between his ear and shoulder as he struggled down the driveway. We thought we heard the words "David" and "golf" but we couldn't be sure. We were giggling too loud. Austin once again hit the bell and ran. We expected Steve to intercept him on the lawn, but it seems he didn't see our little greased lightning at all. Operation Hobgoblin was a success. We walked home with the glow of family and fun and new memories warming us against the night's chill. My daughter grabbed my hand and spoke spooky gibberish into the expanse of the neighborhood's stillness. "Oooooh, I'm so scared of the dark. Spooky, spooky." The boys walked behind their father, little shadows trailing behind the broad shoulders of my best friend, my husband. It was a night to write about. It was a night to remember.