Neither a Trick Nor a Treat

On Halloween night, my kids and I approached the final target in our forty-house candy shake-down. Their goal was to get one last treat, mine was to be friendly with the neighbor. Earlier that night in a courtyard, teenagers dressed as zombies over-acted their parts, moaning and holding their wrists up high with hands flopped down. They chased the Trick-or-Treaters, making some of the younger kids suddenly ask their parents if they could go home. This was the height of scariness for the evening, or so I thought.

The quest for one last treat turned into a true scare. I walked my masked Skeleton Guy and my Tigress up the driveway of the biggest house in our neighborhood, which spans a full six lots. The bright porch light shone from behind the owner's hunched shoulders, obscuring his face in darkness. He wasn't dressed in a white bathrobe -- his usual outdoor attire. The old man did not respond when my kids said "Trick or Treat?" but due to his age and curmudgeonly reputation, I didn't think much of the non-response. He hadn't bothered with a bowl like our other neighbors, but had bought a bag of candy which he patiently held open.  As the kids slowly made their selections, I watched the candy bag begin to shake in his hand.

A few moments later, I started to think our neighbor - in a shirt with an upturned collar that could have been part of a vampire costume - was putting on a little ghoul show for the kids. He began to jerk and hunch like the teenagers who'd turned their courtyard into a haunted house. A Halloween ham, I thought. But, then things got scary in a very real, not Halloween way. He said, "I'm going to fall."

"Are you acting?" I asked, fully convinced by the shirt, lighting, and body movements.

"No, I'm going to fall." he repeated.

I still couldn't see his face, but I began to believe him at that point, so I grabbed his arm, letting him put his weight on me. Down he went, in a very controlled way. First to his knee, then seated, then, while I was still holding him firmly, he fell back until he was lying down on his stone porch. Suddenly, the nice old man who gave us candy might have created the scariest Halloween display in the neighborhood. He might have just died.

I asked if there was anyone in the house, partly to see if ... well, if he was dead. He replied to my relief, that his wife was in the house. I asked if he had any heart or medical conditions I should know about. "None," he said. I was torn. I didn't want to leave my kids outside alone or have him expire while I hunted inside his house for his wife or a phone. I yelled for his wife multiple times and got no answer. I couldn't hear any evidence of her in the house. Not a TV, not kitchen noises, not her voice.The man reassured me she was indeed inside, though I was skeptical. I was about to conquer my fear of entering a stranger's home, find his phone, and dial 9-1-1.

Then, the strangest thing happened. The man got up by himself and said, "Well, that's over. You're a sweetheart." It was like a friendly version of Dawn of the Dead. Below him were scattered, flattened Three Musketeers and Milky Way bars. He was still clutching the big plastic bag so I helped him put the candy back in. He seemed coherent again.

He insisted he'd tell his wife what happened and that he'd be OK. I let him believe I was leaving for good. I walked the kids home, dropped them off there with my husband, then quickly returned to his house to check in. He answered his door again. Oddly, there was still no sign of his wife but I knew she was not a ghost and did actually live there. I insisted again that I call 9-1-1, but he re-assured me that he'd collapsed momentarily last year, too, but none of the tests revealed anything.

I knew he was a retired medical doctor so I left, telling him to call me if he needed anything. It was an odd parting that left me wondering if I'd done enough or if I should not have taken his word that he'd be fine.

Today he was out in his bathrobe, as usual, rolling in from the curb his blue recycling bins. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Alix writes for www.mednauseum.blogspot.com, a blog devoted to research supporting dietary and environmental causes of chronic illness.

An original Silicon Valley Moms Blog post.