Ghosts, Mischief, and Democracy
A True Story: The Haunted House Next Door + Enter to Win A Thanksgiving Giveaway + Your Vote Matters!
The Haunted House Next Door
My childhood bedroom had three windows, but I only dared use two. The third faced the haunted house next door, its blinds perpetually drawn except for those rare moments when curiosity overcame fear. Just ten feet across our narrow driveway through that window stood a testament to decay—a house where squirrels had become the only permanent residents.
"You see the holes in the roof?" my father would ask, wielding his favorite teaching tool— the rhetorical question. "The rain comes in and rots the wood. The floors are so weak that if you step on them, you'll fall into the basement. Do you want to end up stuck in the basement?"
It was his way of keeping us safe from trouble.
Despite my Dad’s ominous warnings, my brothers bravely ventured closer. One day, they whispered that they had taken their flashlights and peeked through the broken windows by the front door. They told me that the stairs to the second floor were partially missing, and when they looked inside, they thought they saw a ghost.
Every year, Halloween transformed our quiet suburban street into a stage for teenage rebellion, and the front lawn of the haunted house was the gathering point for costumed troublemakers. Armed with pillowcases full of candy, eggs, and shaving cream, they were ready to participate in a tradition I later learned was unique to New York, New Jersey, and parts of Pennsylvania: mischief night.
Some regions celebrate this tradition the night before Halloween. Smashing jack-o-lanterns and performing harmless pranks like swapping porch furniture from one house to another. In our town, mischief night was celebrated on Halloween.
As darkness fell, my parents would turn off the lights on the first floor of our home and make sure the doors were locked. They knew kids would “ring and run,” ringing doorbells, hiding, and watching as adults stood at the door with a bucket of candy. We never opened our door after dinner. Occasionally, there were reports of eggs flying at the unsuspecting openers, but mostly, it was a moment for kids to have the upper hand and a good laugh.
From my darkened bedroom, peering through the windows facing the street, I'd watch the older kids assemble with their arsenal of toilet paper rolls gleaming white in the darkness. They planned their routes precisely, sparing the elderly neighbor's house but ensuring the soccer coach and cheerleaders would wake to trees mummified in Charmin.
In our town, the tricks were naughty, but in some areas, they were dangerous. In Camden, NJ, mischief night is celebrated the eve of Halloween. Small fires were typically set in trash bins or leaf piles in the middle of the street. But in 1991, the evening turned dangerous. Camden was a troubled city with high poverty, a declining economy, and rising violence, and teens expressed their frustration to the extreme. The local fire department was overwhelmed by intentionally set fires—over 100 of them—and crews from Philly and surrounding towns were called in to help extinguish the flames. Police cars were met with flying eggs and Molotov cocktails as this legendary mischief night turned dangerously violent. Today, Camden is the safest it's been in 50 years, underscoring the work Mayor Victor Carstarphen has been doing to turn the city around.
On Halloween night, my fear ran deeper than being a victim of the pranks that plagued my town. As groups gathered on the haunted house's lawn, I worried their presence might awaken whatever spirits dwelled within. What if, when the teens departed for their evening of chaos, those ghosts decided to pay me a visit? Those nights, I slept with my little head buried under my big pillow, creating a fortress against the supernatural.
As years passed, the haunted house underwent a transformation. New owners gutted and renovated it, erasing its eerie past. The house taught me that fear and excitement often share the same address. Community traditions—even mischievous ones—bind us together, and sometimes the scary things in life become the most meaningful memories. Today, the house next door looks like any other on the block. When I’m home visiting my parents, I still glance at that third window, remembering bygone Halloween nights and the ghosts that may or may not have lived next door.
Did you grow up with a Mischief Night tradition? If so, please share your memories in the comments section.
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Words of the Week
“Act as if the whole election depended on your single vote.” —John Wesley
The Polls are Open!
Get out there and vote! The polls are open in New York and my husband, Michael, and I voted on Saturday. Most states offer early voting. If you’re unsure of when the polls are open in your neighborhood, you can learn more here.
On the key issues of abortion/IVF, the economy, and healthcare voters trust Harris more than Trump yet recent polls show the candidates in a dead heat.
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Another great read! We did have mischief night in NJ. It was the night before Halloween
Yes, I remember it too!