Mrs. Beinhorn

The kids have all come for their candy. Most get driven to the neighborhood and dropped off while their parents tail them in the car. Others aren’t big enough to walk (or eat candy) and their mothers carry them to the door. Many don’t as much as mumble at the door.

I did hear some scary sounds emanating from down the street. Didn’t investigate.
My most memorable Halloween memory from my youth was walking about with only one neighbor and he insisted we go up to Old Lady Beinhorn’s door. Her small cottage was on the very back of her lot and it was a good 200 feet up the driveway. I’d never actually seen or met her, and I was scared.

I don’t know why I was scared, but the kid I was with convinced me. We got there and knocked. The door creeked open and the light issued out.

She was so happy some kids had shown up, she invited us inside, and dumped the humongo sized Hershes bars in out bags, several of them. Then some sugary sweets to boot. I got more there than the rest of the block.

I’m sure Mrs. Beinhorn, the widow of the Patriarch of our neighborhood (Beinhorn Terrace Estates), is long gone from this world, but I still remember her.