(Saturday, October 31)

Only two kids came to our door last Halloween, so remote is our home ... down a long dark laneway that may, or may not, have a home at the end.

No lights guide the way.

Sometimes, in the darkest of nights, I too find myself stumbling into the bush while taking the dog for his last walk of the day.

The laneway has a slight bend to it. You must pay attention or be lost forever.

There are goblins to the left, ghosts to the right and an invisible door that leads to the Other Side.

Don't ever knock on that door.

The lane to our home reminds me of the lane that led to an old farmer's house when I was a boy and, on Halloween, the younger kids were told he had shotgun packed with rock salt — all to shoot you in the butt if you played any trick on him.

But he also had the best fudge in the world.

The old farmer wasn't spooky, but his laneway sure was spooky ... long, dark and foreboding — just like the lane to my home.

When I was young, Halloween was the best day of the year, next to Christmas of course.

I lived on a rural road, miles from the village. But, at the end of the night, I'd have enough candy in my old pillow-case carry sack to last until Christmas.

No one ever went through it back in those days to check for hidden razor blades and pins.

And the old farmer never shot anyone with rock salt either — although we used to say he did.