Something wickedly wonderful this way comes
Ahhh, October — the month when the air smells faintly of cinnamon and chaos, and the world collectively agrees that it’s finally time to start pretending our front porches are haunted. It’s my favorite month of the year and the glorious start of a new season — arguably the best season (sorry, summer). Halloween has always had my heart. Maybe it’s the spooky atmosphere, maybe it’s my lifelong love of horror movies — the classics, the campy ones, the meta ones like Scream — or maybe it’s just my inner child thriving on excuses to wear costumes and eat candy like I pay taxes for it.
But this year? Oh, this year is different. This year, I have plans. Big ones.
It’s my first Halloween in Lincoln County — my first Halloween in my very own house. And that means one thing: total, unapologetic, pumpkin-scented freedom.
Winnie (my newspaper-famous wiener dog and general partner in mischief) and I are going all out. Last year was our first Halloween together, and she was just five months old — a tiny, palm-sized puppy who had to shop in the guinea pig section at PetSmart. I dressed us up as “Bedtime”: she wore a teddy bear costume, and I rocked some fresh pajamas. It was adorable, low-effort, and perfectly cozy.
But this year? We’ve graduated. Twelve pounds of pure diva energy deserves something iconic. While I haven’t quite decided what our 2025 costumes will be, rest assured — I won’t leave my readers in the dark when it comes to this little wiener dog’s wardrobe.
And speaking of dark — Harrington nights are the perfect backdrop for my first Halloween as a home-renter. Naturally, I began decorating on September 30. (Self-control? Never heard of her.) Within days, my porch looked like a Tim Burton set collided with a fall Pinterest board. Then, as if the autumn spirits heard my plea for ambiance, a local friend surprised me by dropping off straw bales beside my garden one morning. I stepped outside, coffee in hand, and there they were — a rustic Halloween miracle.
I fully intend to make my house the candy destination of the neighborhood. I’m talking orange and purple lights, cobwebs, a spooky playlist, and me proudly stationed on the porch with a candy bowl the size of a salad bar. Kids can come twice — heck, three times. It’s my first year being the grown-up behind the candy bowl, and I’m determined to make it legendary.
To kick off spooky season, I ventured to Scarywood on opening weekend — where I learned two things: 1) haunted houses are still terrifying, and 2) I’m a terrible person to have on your zombie apocalypse team. At one point, a person in a pig mask charged us with a chainsaw (plastic, but emotionally scarring nonetheless), and I may or may not have grabbed my Air Force friend by the shoulders and thrown them in front of me. (In my defense, it was an Army reflex — self-preservation and delegation.)
Somewhere between roller coasters under the stars and trying to spin the Tilt-a-Whirl fast enough to defy physics, I realized how fun these holidays can still be as an adult. Growing up doesn’t mean outgrowing joy — or the thrill of finding the perfect Halloween decoration aisle at Dollar General. It means you get to create your own traditions: casseroles in the oven, scary movies on the TV, handing out candy on your own front porch with a proud little wiener dog by your side.
Maybe adulthood isn’t all bills, back pain, and early bedtimes. Maybe it’s also straw bales, fake cobwebs, and laughing at yourself when you scream louder than the 10-year-old next to you.
And this year — in my first house, in my favorite town, with my favorite four-legged sidekick — I finally get to celebrate Halloween my way.
It’s not just spooky season. It’s my season.