Sun kept trick-or-treaters away

There must have been some trick, because there are plenty of treats left over.
Halloween isn’t a huge event at our house, but we usually get our share — or more — of trick-or-treaters.
But this year, something weird happened.
I blame Congress.
I’d also put some of the blame on public safety efforts — perfectly well intentioned — that have moved Halloween activities into the daylight hours.
Here’s how it played out Saturday.
My wife had stocked up on a substantial inventory of candy to hand out. (One year, we were reduced to passing out things from our freezer; another year, we simply turned out the porch light because we were tapped out.)
But the light, it seems, makes all the difference.
As per tradition, we had our porch light on to signal that we would welcome kids in costume and hand out treats.
Trouble is, thanks to Daylight Saving Time not taking effect until early November, that porch light wasn’t visible to kids marching past our house.
And march they did, but they didn’t stop at our place.
We thought we’d put out enough signals.
There was a plastic skeleton hanging from a tree by the front walk. There was a cow skull on the front porch with glowing, lighted eyes.
(Don’t ask me why we own a cow skull. It’s a long story. Normally, the skull resides in the garage, where it adds a certain amount of atmosphere. But it always makes an appearance at Halloween.)
Still, with trick-or-treating starting at 5 p.m. and Daylight Saving Time pushed back, folks didn’t catch on that we had three large bowls of candy right by the front door to pass out.
Another visual clue also wasn’t working because of the Daylight Saving Time change. We have a lamppost along the front walk to the house, but it’s controlled by a sensor. It doesn’t go on until it gets dark. And it was slow to get dark Saturday.
Our total for the first hour: Two.
The first was a charmer of about 4. Instead of “trick or treat,” his opening line was, “I am Batman,” delivered with appropriate dramatic flourish.
But most folks simply walked past as if our house had suddenly become invisible.
Should I have stepped out and beckoned them in? That seemed a little too Stephen-King-creepy, so I held back and waited.
The lamppost came on a little after 6 p.m., and still we waited.
About five minutes later, two of our neighbor Pat Gibson’s grandsons showed up. They’re always welcome at our house, in the backyard, on the playset or shooting baskets in the driveway.
So instead of saying, “Pick one,” as I held the bowl, I told them to take as much as they wanted.
They did, but there was still an awful lot of candy left, and we had about 45 minutes to go.
And then, the floodgates opened.
Suddenly, our invisible house became visible.
That was some trick.
Are there some treats leftover? Sure.
But they’ll disappear fast enough this week at the office.