Most people have fond memories of Halloween.

Not me. I couldn’t enjoy it after I saw the boy wearing the Power Ranger mask.

I can remember a few years when I was little and enjoyed it. My parents would walk hand in hand with me through the neighborhood. My eyes darted around in fascination. Dozens of ghouls and goblins laughed in delight as they darted from house to house, heavy sacks of candy slapping at their knees. I couldn’t wait until I was old enough to go with my friends.

The big day finally hit when I was in fourth grade.

“You can go with your friends, Derek,” my father said hesitantly. “But you’ve got to be careful! Home by eight!”

I nodded with excitement and darted out the door. My friends and I met two blocks from my house and prowled the neighborhood with delight. None of us had been trick-or-treating without our parents. The night seemed full of possibilities.

After two hours of nonstop door knocking, our candy bags were weighing heavily and it was close to curfew. Our group grew smaller as we walked. One friend or another would wave goodbye and cut off onto their street. Soon I was walking alone.

I was four blocks from home when I saw the little boy wearing a red Power Ranger mask. He was standing alone near a line of trees, his head darting side to side in a panic. Even from a block away, I could hear his sobs.

“Can you help me?” he said as I got closer. He looked like he couldn’t have been any older than five. “I can’t find my brother.”

“Umm… I guess,” I said hesitantly. “What’s your name?”

“Danny,” he whimpered.

“I’ve gotta get home soon,” I said and looked at my watch. It was a quarter till seven and I only had fifteen minutes to get home. I wanted to help him, but I was nervous to break curfew my first time out on my own. “Where do you live? Is it very far away?”

The little boy tried to talk but more sobbing poured out. His shoulders shook violently and candy sloshed from his bucket. He squatted to pick it up but only dumped more onto the ground.

“Do you know your address?” I asked. He just kept scooping the scattered candy back into his plastic pumpkin bucket. Looking down at my watch, I saw as time slipped away. In frustration, I reached out and grabbed the kid's wrist, and pulled him to his feet.

“Come on,” I said. “I’m taking you home with me. My parents can call the police and get you home.”

The boy went rigid and began to tug against me. I turned to ask him what was wrong but he thrashed wildly. My grip slipped and he stumbled backward onto the concrete. His reassembled bucket of candy scattered across the sidewalk.

“No!” he shrieked. “No! I’ll be in big trouble! I wasn’t ‘posed to go anywhere without my brother. Mom and Dad will be mad!”

“It’s not a big deal,” I said. “They'll just be glad you’re home. Let me help you up.”

I began walking toward him but he scuttled backward. Before I could reach him he was back on his feet and running down the street.

Shrugging my shoulders, I turned and headed home. I walked in the door with two minutes to spare. My parents hugged me and asked if I had a good time. For a moment I considered telling them about the lost boy but decided against it. I assumed he made it home and didn’t want them to hound me about it.

That night I barely slept. I couldn’t help but wonder if the boy made it home. Someone must have come looking for him. His brother probably heard him screaming when I tried to help him.

The next morning at school I sat nodding at my desk. Morning announcements were blasting through the speaker but I didn’t register them. I was struggling to stay awake.

Until they mentioned the boy.

“Finally, a five-year-old boy, Daniel Fireline, was reported missing last night. He became separated from his brother and never returned home. If you have any information…”

I never told anyone.

_________________________

I moved into the house on South Kentucky Avenue three years ago. My wife and I had gone through a reasonably civil divorce. Will was only two at the time. We had shared custody, but I knew he would stay there more.

The schools were better on that side of town.

Moving into the new place hadn’t bothered me very much. I had grown up only a block away. The neighborhood was shabbier than it was when I was a kid, but it had a comforting familiarity.

I decided to skip Halloween for the first two years. As nighttime approached, I would cut all the lights and sit in bed watching TV. Even without the lights, the kids would knock at my door. I could hear them shouting for my attention, but I ignored them. They would eventually leave.

As it turns out, my ignoring them came with a price.

Two years in a row my house was egged and toileted papered. I can remember other kids doing those kinds of things when I was younger, but I had never participated myself. It took me nearly a week to get the dried yolks off of the siding and to gather the final scraps of white toilet tissue out of the trees.

Against my desire, during my third year in the house, I decided to pass out candy. I thought it would be a small price to pay not to spend a week undoing the “trick” portion of the ritual. I bought a few sacks of snack-sized candy bars at the grocery store and dumped them into a cheap orange bowl.

Just as dusk began to set in, the hordes of children converged on the neighborhood. I did my best to act cheery as I dumped candy into their bags. To my surprise, I enjoyed seeing them in their costumes darting from house to house.

About an hour in the doorbell rang again. I stood from my recliner and walked toward the door, scooping up the bowl of candy as I went. When I opened the door, there was a little boy dressed in jeans, a blue hoodie, and a clown mask that was roughly two sizes too large for his tiny head.

“How are you doing tonight, buddy?” I asked as I grabbed a handful of candy from the bowl. His orange bucket was still hanging by his side and he looked at me in silence. “Hold your bucket up and I’ll give you some candy!”

The little boy continued to stand there in silence. No parent or older sibling waiting on the sidewalk for them. He was alone.

“Are you okay?” I asked with a lump in my throat.

Without a word, he lifted his pale. I tossed the candy in and smiled. Assuming he would move along, I wished him a happy Halloween and closed the storm door between us. Walking into the hall, I sat the bowl back on the table. I was about to head back to the recliner when I saw the kid out of the corner of my eye.

He was still standing on the porch, staring in through the storm door.

A knot formed in my stomach. He stood rigid like a mannequin. I would have thought he was some cheap prop or decoration if I hadn’t seen him move moments earlier. It was just a kid, but his unsettling presence sent chills up my spine.

I headed to check on him when he suddenly turned and darted off of the porch. As he met the end of the walkway, he stumbled and dropped his bucket of candy. Concerned, I began to walk faster toward the door to help him. Before my hand hit the handle, he pushed himself up and darted down the block.

Another half hour went by. A smattering of trick-or-treaters came and went. The crowd was beginning to thin. Some of the neighbors had turned off their porch lights and shut the doors. They must not have had the same fear of eggs and toilet paper that I had gained.

Another ring of the doorbell and I headed to the door. Looking into the bowl, the candy was almost gone. There was probably only enough for about a dozen more kids and I was considering just splitting it up between these lucky kids and calling it a night.

When I pulled the door open, a single child stood outside. A rubber pirate mask with an eye patch and a fake gold earring looked back at me. I laughed at how comically large it was on the little kid.

“Happy Halloween!” I exclaimed as I gathered up some candy from the bowl. The child stood like a statue, hands at his side. That’s when I noticed the plastic orange bucket at his side, rubbing against a pair of blue jeans. Then the blue sweatshirt.

It was the same kid as earlier.

“Hey buddy,” I said with irritation. “Weren’t you here earlier? I’ll give you a little more candy, but this is the last time.”

I tossed the candy in and it pelted the bottom of the empty bucket. That late into the night, he should have been overflowing with candy. It was like he hadn’t been to any other houses after he fell on the sidewalk, dumping his stash.

Unlike the time before, he turned to leave. I expected him to break into a run but he walked calmly to the end of the block and around the corner. Out of sight.

Something felt off.

_________________________

I ran out of candy at about eight that night so I turned off the porch light and headed into the living room to watch television. It hadn’t been the miserable experience I expected, but the strange kid still rattled around in my mind.

Occasionally I would glance out the window to watch as the costumed children marched down the street. Clusters of them still darted to houses with illuminated porch lights. Their buckets were overflowing and they chattered like magpies.

During a commercial, I pushed myself out of the recliner and headed toward the kitchen. As I was about to exit the living room into the hallway, I heard a tapping on the window. When I turned to look there was only the briefest glimpse of a silhouette darting out of view. I walked to the window to catch a glimpse of the prankster, but when I arrived they were nowhere in sight.

As I looked out, I heard a knock at the door. I sighed in exasperation. No porch light on Halloween was the international sign for No More Candy. I had played my part most of that night but I started to worry that turning kids away would result in the third year of egg-covered siding and toilet paper-filled trees.

Trudging to the front door, I loudly exclaimed “Sorry kids! No more candy. I ran out about a half hour ago. Sorry!”

I turned the knob and opened the door. There was no one on the porch. Scanning the street, I could see a few children in the distance, but for the most part, the block was empty. Hesitantly, I pushed open the storm door and stepped onto the porch, and heard a crunching noise beneath my feet.

I looked down and saw a red Power Ranger mask splintered into dozens of pieces beneath my shoe.

It looked just like the one the lost boy had on all of those decades ago.

My pulse spiked and my chest tightened. Though I had never had one before, I was sure it was what a panic attack must feel like. My vision became blurry and an overwhelming sense of dread filled every inch of my body.

Then I heard the sobbing.

“Why… why… why didn’t you help me?” I heard a small voice say from behind me. Turning to look into the hallway, I saw a young boy in jeans, a blue hoodie, and a head full of messy auburn hair. His skin was sickeningly pale and the hall was filled with a nauseating mixture of mildew and the sweetness of decay.

It was Daniel Fireline. The little boy who had disappeared.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you saw me? They hurt me, Derek. They put me in the dark and no one came to find me.”

I tried to speak but only a dry croak came out of my mouth.

“My Mommy and Daddy are still so sad,” he said. His tiny feet made tapping noises on the hardwood floor and he began to walk toward me. One of his pale hands stretched out toward me as I stumbled backward and fell against the storm door. “I’m still there… in the dark. It’s scary and I don’t like it.”

“I’m… I’m sorry…” I muttered in a weak voice. “I was a kid. I tried to help but you ran. I thought you’d make it home!”

He continued walking slowly toward me, hand outstretched. Tears ran down his pale skin, leaving streaks in the dirt smeared on his cheeks. His eyes were milky white, filled with rage and fear.

“What can I do?” I screamed. “Please! Let me make it right!”

Danny stopped walking toward me and dropped his hand back to his side. His tears ceased and he wiped away the dirt from his face with his sleeve.

“I don’t want to be alone there anymore,” he said softly. “It’s dark and I hate it.”

“I’ll do anything you want,” I whimpered.

His head tilted to the side as though he were deep in thought. The milky gaze of his eyes drifted to my left. He was staring at a picture by the door.

A photo of my son and me.

“I’ll take him,” he said, pointing to the portrait. “He can keep me company. Then I won’t be alone anymore.”

I jumped from the floor to run to the boy. To beg and plead for him to take me. To tell him that I would stay with him.

Before I could reach him or speak another word, Danny faded away like a mirage.

_________________________

By the time I arrived at my ex-wife’s house, there were already a half dozen police cars lining the street. The wash of blue and red lights illuminated the night like an arcade. Sarah was standing on the porch talking to the officers as I pushed my way through the crowd.

Sarah ran to me and threw her arms around me and I pulled her in close.

“He’s gone,” she wept into my ear. “We were at the last house of the night and I was talking to the lady at the door. I only took my eyes off of him for just a minute and he was gone.”

I tried to speak, but again, no words come out.

“The officers have a few witnesses that saw him though,” Sarah said softly. “He was walking into the park holding hands with a little boy in a blue hoodie and a Power Ranger mask.”