Many years ago I was five years old. My older brother, then nine, was in charge of me on Halloween night. Our two younger brothers were already in bed. Dad was working second shift. Mom was asleep, over-medicated for epilepsy. She was awakened early the next year by a very nice doctor and correctly medicated, but that night she couldn't be roused.

In kindergarten that day I'd made a jack-o-lantern out of orange construction paper. Nothing fancy, in fact mine was barely recognizeable, but I brought it home with a folded-over baggie of potato chips inside of it and I was proud. My brother said it was neat. He set it on the kitchen table where it waited for an adult to appreciate it.

Mom and Dad hadn't bought candy. My brother mentioned that to me. Not really to me, but in passing. I didn't know why anyone was supposed to have bought candy until kids in costumes started knocking at the door asking for it. My brother politely shooed them away and pulled me back from the window where I stood amazed at the cowboys and princesses running around in my neighborhood. He turned off the lights and all seemed well by candlelight at the kitchen table until someone pounded at the door. My brother thought it sounded urgent so he answered it.

The sound scared me. I didn't follow behind him. I was content to sit at the kitchen table and gaze upon my orange creation. I heard harsh words. I got up and peered around the corner. There were four big kids at the door. I don't really remember how big. Bigger than my brother. They didn't look like cowboys or anything. They wanted candy and they weren't going to leave until they got some.

My brother scrambled for things to give them. He found some cookies and crackers. A half a loaf of bread. No matter what he gave them they weren't happy. I walked up behind my brother and handed over my orange creation with the baggie of potato chips inside of it. I remember feeling scared but angry.