I was probably in fourth or fifth grade. Old enough to feel like I’d outgrown it, mostly.

Then my friend showed up at the door. He had a mask on, a superhero, I think. And a paper grocery bag. That’s what we had on hand.

“Let’s go trick-or-treating.”

So I went rummaging through my toys.

I found a mask. A creature. A white skull face with a black hood, sort of felt or fur. It covered my whole head. It was left over from a costume I’d worn a previous year.

I put it on and we went.

I might have decided I was done with Halloween, but there was still a mask in the toy box. Now, why wouldn’t you always have one on standby? It’s like keeping a black shirt in the trunk of your car for the night you end up at a club you hadn’t planned on. Pull it out, throw it on, you’re good to go. Maybe some shoes to replace the sneakers.

It was a classic Halloween night. We ran around the neighborhood and kept bumping into people we knew. Every time, we’d stop and pass on what we’d heard: where the best candy was, who was giving out the large candy bars, which houses to avoid.

It might have been the last time I went trick-or-treating. I don’t remember going later. Except there might have been a year in high school when a different friend and I drove around and trick-or-treated as teenagers. It wasn’t the same.

The fun had been running around with a friend. Less about the trick-or-treating, and less about the candy.

I keep a whole bin full of costumes on standby.