I posted this over a year ago, but since it’s nearly Halloween, lets revisit, shall we?
It was cold that night, way colder than any Halloween should have been; so cold that my mom and her best friend, Melinda, didn’t bother to get out of the car while my best friend and I stomped the sidewalk. I don’t remember what we had dressed up as, just that my breath puffed out ahead of me and I could hear gravel crunch beneath the tires of my mom’s puke-yellow hatchback. It was 1985, maybe ’86, and Ruidoso New Mexico looked much the same as it does today–a tiny mountain town tucked between a million swaying pines, each house subtly creepy with a front yard blanketed in fallen needles and leaves.
Halloween was mystical back then. Every house sported a glowing pumpkin on its doorstep, some of them carved into funny, smiling faces; others wearing menacing grimaces that told trick-or-treaters to beware. Chrissy and I ran from house to…
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