By M. Keenan Braun

The Bronx, New York City. October 31, 1956, Halloween night.

We approached the apartment building on the corner of DeKalb Avenue. The door to the vestibule was locked but the panel of doorbells was within reach. So we pushed one - any one would do. Over the intercom came a woman’s voice, “Who is it?” In unison we sang out, “Trick or treat!” In reply to our chorus came a giggle and then a loud buzz, which signaled that the door had been unlocked for our entry. Together we scurried inside - the witch, the hobo, the fairy godmother and the pint-sized ghost.

We summoned the elevator to take us to the top floor. Ground floor was always our escape hatch. We were mindful that not all the occupants would warm to our Halloween visit. The elevator doors slid open, and up we went to the top. There we piled out onto the sixth-floor landing. On the first door in brass numbers we read “6A.” We stood lined up like little ducks as Casper the ghost reached up to ring the doorbell. He rang the grinding bell not once or twice but three times. From inside, we heard thuds and then a muffled cough. We stood in silence…waiting. Then the brass peephole hatch opened slowly to reveal a squinting eye that enlarged, as it pressed closer to us, threatening to pop out into our waiting hands at any moment. Movement quickened on the other side of the door as chains and latches came undone. We waited anxiously for our treats.

Finally, the Ogre appeared, flinging open the door with enough force to cause the plaster on the inside wall to crumble at his feet. We could barely see his face through flailing hands and arms above us. Only his long wispy white hair was highlighted in the dimly lit hallway. His bulging eyes flashed wild with rage as his wide-open mouth foamed with hollers of harsh obscenities.

“RUN!” the cry went up from one among us. In unison, witch, hobo, fairy godmother and ghost turned, tripping and falling our way into the safety of the metal stairway. Downward we tumbled as the Ogre continued to bellow threats from above, “Get out of here you blankety blank brats and don’t dare come back or I’ll #^”#**.”

As we sat huddled together in a corner of the landing below, quiet as mice, we listened to the silence above interrupted by shuffle, shuffle, slam and then a final click. A giant sigh of relief rose from our corner hiding place on the fifth floor. “Coast is clear…he’s gone back into his apartment,” murmured Hazel the Witch. “I can’t believe we let that old grouch ruin our chances on the entire 6th floor.” No one dared suggest we go back and play a trick this night. No one ever would.

Undaunted, we moved on from door to door, ringing bells just twice now and posing politely to accept our treats from mostly smiling faces. Five, four, three, two, one…down we went with treat bags bulging, exiting into the cool, crisp night air. We passed ghosts, ghouls and goblins - like ourselves - all in pursuit of Halloween treats and adventure.

Happy Halloween from New York City 1956