User blog comment:CrashingCymbal/Halloween Writing Competition 2013/@comment-5366673-20131027120706

October 31, 1997

I was a third-year in highschool at the time, so come Halloween us guys took the opportunity to make some noise in the neighbourhood without getting told off for once.

The costume and decorations we saw while walking around after dinner were nothing special, or at least I thought so until we got to the house of a young police officer at the time everyone just called Mike.

Mike was a serious guy, so I didn't take him for one to get into the 'Halloween Spirit', but we wanted to try our luck getting some candy out of him anyway.

It looked like someone had the same idea: another trick-or-treat goer was already standing in front of his house when we got there.

A girl with long black hair covering her entire face and wearing a messy old white dress. This was the standard look of a 'white lady'. Something we'd passed a couple times on the street.

This one, though, looked too real.

I could almost feel the greasiness of the hair on my hands just looking at it, but my friends didn't seem to care. It was thanks in no small part to their presence that I could walk up to that house, and by extension: whoever was standing in front of it.

I actually felt really stupid once we actually got there: she wasn't moving at all.

Mike might not have been as serious as I thought, to put up such a well-made decoration.

We couldn't actually get any candy from Mike, but the 'white lady' satisfied my need for some 'Halloween Thrills' that night well enough.

On our way out, I stopped and put my hand on the decoration's shoulder before Mike could close the door.

"Hey Mike! This white lady looks really good. Where did you get it?"

Mike's usual poker face only let up a little.

"White Lady? Where?"

I felt the cold shoulder under my hand shake a little.