A good few of us know what it is to do something for old time’s sake. Whether its digging up old action figures, visiting the playground of our old elementary school, or complaining to no end how the original Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles series should be released on DVD, it’s a great comfort to do something that we did when we were younger. This is probably a case of denial, but I was overjoyed when I got my chance to defy maturity on Halloween of 2003

Halloween 2003 will probably be best remembered by the unseasonably warm temperature of around 75 degrees. It was the perfect night to run around in thin, poorly-made costumes, almost completely unprotected from the elements, going door to door, begging for free candy. It would have been perfect, that is, if it wasn’t for the torrential downpour that occurred for most of the trick-or-treating hours. Someone definitely does not like Halloween.

I had planned on spending Halloween with my girlfriend, who had been invited to a club by some coworkers with the festive intention of getting completely drunk. Surprisingly, she was more enthusiastic about the alcohol concept than I was; I was a mere pawn in all of it.

Long story short, my girlfriend was feeling a bit under the weather, so we opted to have a nice dinner and call it a night. It took me some time (three seconds) to realize that this meant that I might have a chance to go out on Halloween. After dropping her off, I hurried home, fighting the rain and the clot of trick-or-treaters scurrying for shelter, ideas running through my twisted mind about what I was going to do on this night. Of course, terrorizing innocent children was at the top of the list, so my fate was basically sealed.

I had no qualms with this plan. During my high school years, C and I took great joy in scaring kids. Our best, and lamest, attempt involved us taking turns lying next to a sidewalk in dark suits and grabbing at children after they got their candy. This was the kind of intricate scheme that required the thought-intensive planning that only two high school outcasts were capable of.

The astonishing thing was, we actually managed to scare a few kids. My best scare caused a boy, who was about three-years-old, to run screaming down the sidewalk. I imagine that the poor kid is either in therapy by now or a pre-teen psychotic murderer; he could not have possibly escaped our grasp unscathed.

So I have a soft spot for frightening kids on Halloween. Motivated by this, my mind raced for ideas about what I could do to scar the little trick-or-treaters for life. I thought of elaborate pranks, such as having my hand fall of my arm or my entire head popping off. There were four major problems with my planning, though, namely:

Time: I had less than two hours to plan the entire event. It took C and me a good chunk of time to plan our horrific masterpiece. Okay, maybe three minutes, if the two of those that were spent laughing about how screwed up the kids would get as a result of our prank count.

Weather: For being such a perfect night for being outside, especially given the time of year, the rain was more than enough to make many parents out to be the bad guy as they took their disappointed children back home. Those parents, always thinking about what’s best for their family, even though the kids moan on through the night, abused children.

Location: My block is rather large and stretched out, and our end doesn’t get a lot of trick-or-treaters. You could hand out large ice cream cakes and afford it, assuming you can afford one. On the plus side, you would have a large ice cream cake left all for yourself.

To get any victims, I would have to go into one of the nearby subdivisions. Without a home field advantage, my selection of tricks would be limited to whatever I could carry and what wouldn’t get me arrested for displaying in public. In other words, the flaming crossbow scare tactic was out.

Kids Today: I have a firm belief that due to the wonderful technological and social advances of today, kids are becoming stupider and more desensitized to everything. Stupidity notwithstanding, I highly doubt that my humble bag of tricks would faze a modern American child. If I pretended my hand fell off, a kid would probably point and laugh, and then proceed to throw Tootsie Rolls at me. This is unacceptable, as I prefer Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.

It doesn’t need to be said that, overall, the odds were against me scaring the make-up off of the trick-or-treaters. I persisted, however, and the moment my foot entered my house, I immediately knew what visage would assist me in tormenting the adrenal glands of the Oregonian Halloweeners: Jason Voorhees.

Something about Jason of the Friday the 13th movies simply fascinates me. The idea of an immortal psycho killer build like a UPS truck holds a certain appeal to me. I've never been a fan of horror movies, but my girlfriend began to coax me into them, and I was basically a fan of Jason after seeing the tenth movie (that wet cracking sound we just heard is entourage of horror fans the world over grimacing simultaneously).


I had purchased an imitation Jason mask some years back, and since I have a broad frame, I was set for the basic look. I opted for a flannel shirt, even though it was technically a more “classic Jason.” For the sake of the costume, it worked out pretty well.

I wasn’t satisfied completely with my overall menacing appearance, so I figured I’d spruce it up a bit. My first attempt was with an alien hood and mask, with the purpose of hiding my eyes and the back of my head with black. The effect was not very good, and the gleaming, sliver lining of the hood made Jason confused rather than helping with his threatening manifestation. Plus, the sickly sweet smell coming from the mask didn't exactly provide a feeling of brutal rage, coming closer to the feeling a having rubber fumes next to your airway.

The next mask I tried was a goblin mask. This one would have certainly worked well, since it had a putrid skin look that was similar to Jason’s. The lone flaw was that I could not actually see from inside this mask. I figured that this would be an important sense to have, what with walking around on the street at night with cars zipping around and all.

After trying a pair of sunglasses on in order to hide my eyes, only to have the mask cease to touch my face, I decided that, for better or worse, the hockey mask itself was the best idea. I pondered over whether or not I should wear monster hands. That didn’t turn out well; it made Jason look like he acquired a severe hand infection.

My final dilemma was what sort of weapon to take with me. Even though Jason is certainly destructive without a weapon, having one on hand does wonders for the self-image of any mass murderer. I chainsaw would work, but it would be non-functioning, and not many people would be afraid of someone with a chainsaw that doesn’t work. Kitchen knives are much too small and without much impact. I figured a katana might work, but it such a graceful weapon seemed out of place for a powerhouse like Jason Voorhees. It did conjure up an interesting concept, however: Samurai Voorhees.

Fortunately, I had a plastic cleaver that I got for free at a garage sale. While I usually have issues with plastic weapons because they are either too flimsy or not realistic enough, this one looked fairly convincing, and with the rain glinting off of it, it played the part even better. My maniacal outfit complete, I set out into the night to find my hapless victims.

There was no question in my mind that I needed to go to my old trick-or-treating grounds located in Lyn Park, a subdivision that has been around about as long as I have. As I indicated, my city is fairly spread out, so instead of forcing their children to work for their candy, parents graciously drive them to a tightly-packed subdivision (sometimes more than one, what this how efficient people are these days) so they will have the highest candy-to-effort ratio. Given that trick-or-treating only lasts two hours, I don’t blame them.

I fondly remember going around Lyn Park, usually dressed as a ninja, and getting candy. It was a really nice place to go begging for hand-outs, and since there were about one hundred trick-or-treaters out, well-prepared residents could be expected. Unlike the other kids, I walked there myself, braving motorists with shattered nerves from children who insisted on walking by the road and dressing in black, much like I did.

Like the good old days, I decided to walk over the Lyn Park. This is when I began my role as a reasonable facsimile of the famous serial killer zombie, trudging in a purposeful matter and breathing heavily. Part of this was for effect, and the other part was, I should mention, that Lyn Park was about a quarter of a mile away, and at the clip I was going, it was clear that Jason was going to need a severe workout if he was going to be up to par with his previous stature.

My goal was to play the role as well as I could, stomping ominously forward as if I was tracking down promiscuous teenagers. This entailed completely ignoring the quickly-clearing rain, puddles and cars and simply charging on through. I believe I played the part well, despite the fact I would have gotten jungle rot if I stayed out any longer.

My efforts were rewarded when I finally came upon the Lyn Park sign and all the ill fated guests that it contained. I treaded down to the main section of the subdivision, preparing to gather many a stare, when I was greeted by: nothing.

What I beheld made me lose all respect for today’s youth, which wasn’t all that much to begin with. Because of the downpour (that had stopped by that time), the parents apparently opted to take their drenched children home. I imagine the immense disappointment of going home early assured that there wouldn’t be a dry eye among the children. The acid rain from the local oil refinery likely didn’t help matters.

Having walked all the way there, I decided to make the most of things and stomp around the block as planned. I did encounter one group of trick-or-treaters, but judging by their general age group and attitude, it seemed that if Jason Voorhees were to attack them, they would laugh at his costume and make moronically witless remarks while throwing Bottle Caps at him. I’m pretty sure he would kill them anyway, but the teasing might leave Jason with a few mental scars, and we all know he doesn't need any more of those.

After stalking the neighborhood and leaving with a sense that if anyone stopped me, I would actually try to kill them, I exited around the back of the subdivision, walked through a field, and entered another. After going through a nearby church yard, I was home after a somewhat disappointing experience.

Since Jason never seemed to have a problem finding people to kill, I had to figure out how Jason would deal with the no-body count letdown. After some consideration, I figured he would cook up a frozen pizza and then kicked back to watch some anime’.

Overall, Halloween of 2003 wasn’t as exciting as I hoped, but the thrill of dressing up as another identity, particularly such a deranged one, made it a great time all in itself. It was even enough to placate myself from the night of zero body and candy counts.

If you're interested in seeing where this entire mess ended up, be sure to check out Zasada's big Halloween article, found here.