For One Month, Nobody Thinks You’re Weird

I’d like to say something weird happened the other morning when I visited my bank. But I can’t. You see, it’s October now, and spooky season has officially arrived like a spiced pumpkin latte.

The truth is, I don’t really change much in October. Everyone else does.

I like the same things in July that I like in October. Give me Dracula, the Wolf Man, witches, ghosts, monsters, Ouija boards, and a good horror movie any time of year. My office pretty much looks like spooky season year-round. October doesn’t give me permission to enjoy any of those things because I never really asked permission in the first place.

What October does is give everyone else permission to join me.

I walked into my bank that morning, a small local bank where most of the people know me. The teller, manager, and assistant manager all came over to talk. That isn’t particularly unusual. They know about my books and podcast, and several of them read my work.

But almost immediately someone asked the question they had apparently been wondering about.

“Is this your favorite time of year?”

Of course it is.

I mentioned that my new book about Ouija and murder was coming out, and that was all it took. Suddenly we were talking about Halloween decorations, what they put up at their houses, what they do with their kids, and all the other things that come with spooky season.

Nobody thought the conversation was strange.

It was October.

That may be one of the things I love most about this month. For a few weeks, the normal limitations seem to loosen. People who spend the rest of the year being reserved, professional, sensible, or worried about maintaining a certain reputation suddenly get a little room to play.

The person who would never dream of putting a skull on their desk in April has one sitting beside the computer. Someone who normally dresses conservatively might put on a costume they wouldn’t be caught dead wearing any other time of year. Houses get covered in skeletons, gravestones, ghosts, severed limbs, witches, and giant monsters.

Nobody asks what is wrong with you.

It’s spooky season.

I don’t think October creates this fascination in people. I think a little of it was already there.

Most people probably have something strange, dark, frightening, childish, macabre, or just plain weird that interests them more than they normally admit. The reason they keep it quiet probably differs from person to person. Some don’t want to look childish. Others don’t want to seem morbid or superstitious. Some worry about religious judgment. Plenty of people simply have a reputation to maintain.

October temporarily takes that problem away.

For one month, you can step outside the person everybody expects you to be and nobody thinks much of it. In fact, they might join you.

Maybe that is also why adults seem to play more during spooky season.

We don’t give adults many opportunities to do that. Somewhere along the way, pretending became something children were supposed to do. Adults are expected to be responsible. We work, pay bills, mow lawns, raise families, and generally behave like grown-ups.

Then October arrives and perfectly respectable adults start putting twelve-foot skeletons in their yards.

And it’s fun.

Maybe that is enough of a reason to do it.

There is something else about spooky season that I’ve noticed over the years. It gives people an incredibly easy way to find common ground.

I can walk into a Spirit Halloween store and start talking to a complete stranger about a decoration. I don’t know who they are. They don’t know me. We may have absolutely nothing else in common. But one of us makes a comment about some ridiculous monster sitting on a shelf and suddenly we’re having a conversation.

That used to happen on a much larger scale on Halloween itself.

When I was a kid, you knew the people in your neighborhood. That doesn’t mean everyone was friends. They weren’t. But for most of the block, people at least knew each other in passing. More importantly, they knew which kids belonged to which houses.

I can remember being several streets away from home and hearing an adult yell, “Billy, I’m calling your mother.”

And they could.

They knew exactly who my mother was.

Halloween was built around that kind of community. Kids dressed as ghosts, goblins, witches, monsters, superheroes, and whatever else we could come up with, then wandered the neighborhood knocking on doors. Adults bought candy and decorated their houses. Parents walked the streets. Porch lights were on.

The kids were having fun, but so were the adults.

That part of Halloween has changed dramatically.

There are kids in my neighborhood today. My house is decorated and the lights are on, but I haven’t had a trick-or-treater come to my door in seven or eight years. There are organized events now, including churches and trunk-or-treats, and I understand some of the reasons parents choose them.

But something gets lost when nobody knocks on the neighbor’s door anymore.

I once told one of my neighbors that I hoped they never had an emergency where one of their children needed to knock on my door for help. I wouldn’t know the kid from Adam.

That bothers me more than the missing candy bowl.

Maybe that is why I notice those little October conversations now. The ones at the bank. The stranger in the Halloween store. The friend who texted me “Happy spooky season” on October 1.

For a little while, we have something easy to share.

I don’t think there is one great psychological explanation for why people love spooky season. I’m not sure there needs to be one.

Some people like being scared. Some love horror movies. Others like ghosts, witches, monsters, or the supernatural. Some want to decorate their houses. Some want to dress completely differently for one night. Parents want to watch their kids have fun. Reserved people get an excuse to loosen up a little.

Maybe some adults simply want permission to play again.

For me, spooky season has always been a little different.

I was drawn to the strange long before I ever understood why. A childhood experience left me asking a question that has followed me through much of my life: What the hell was that?

I never stopped asking.

That question eventually led me toward ghosts, monsters, witches, cryptids, the paranormal, and all the other things that have occupied so much of my life. I don’t need October to make those subjects acceptable to me.

What I enjoy is watching everyone else come over to my side for a while.

For one month, the strange becomes ordinary. The reserved loosen up. Adults play. Monsters appear on front lawns. Witches hang from porches. People who might normally walk past each other without saying a word suddenly have something to talk about.

Then November 1 arrives.

At my house, the decorations come down. That’s the deal with my wife. I can decorate beginning October 1, but November 1 it all gets put away.

Except my office.

Some things are apparently beyond negotiation.

I don’t spend much time worrying about whether I’ll get another October. Most people assume tomorrow is going to come. The life I’ve lived and some of the things my body has been through have taught me not to make that assumption quite so easily.

I’m here for this one.

The decorations are up. The horror movies are playing. The witches, ghosts, monsters, and skeletons are everywhere. People are talking to strangers again, even if it’s only about some ridiculous decoration they both happen to like.

And for a few weeks, nobody has to explain why they enjoy any of it.

So loosen that tie, put on the costume, and have some fun.

It’s October, after all.