The Internet’s Halloween Horror Story Has A Big Problem

Every October, as Halloween draws near, the same posts start popping up on social media. Where have all the trick-or-treaters gone? Is the tradition dying? Are the kids even doing this anymore?

Every time I see this argument, I find myself a little confused. “They’re right here,” I think as I prepare my crew for another night of going door to door, collecting candy and making memories.

To hear the internet tell it, in-person trick-or-treating took a nosedive after 2020. An unofficial USA Today online poll conducted in 2023 found that 74% of more than 17,000 respondents said fewer trick-or-treaters came to their homes that year. Smart-home tech company Vivint reported similarly sparse numbers, with an average of just 1.95 trick-or-treaters per home, based on an informal survey of doorbell camera footage from across the country.

Reddit, naturally, has plenty to say about the supposed decline. One person responding to the question “Why does it seem like [fewer] kids trick or treat these days?” lamented, “Yea it was a low count this year. Really disappointed.”

“Times have changed,” another person concluded.

But not everyone was experiencing the same decline. One commenter reported having more kids than usual for two consecutive years and eventually having to turn off the porch light after running out of candy. I’m happy to report that here in my little corner of suburban Pennsylvania, the trick-or-treaters are doing just fine.

Sure, local organizations host trunk-or-treat events, giving families another way to celebrate. But around here, those events haven’t replaced the quintessential Halloween tradition of ringing doorbells and collecting miniature candy bars. Or full-size ones, if you’re lucky. 

Every year, we take my five kids to my in-laws’ exceptionally walkable neighborhood and spend two full hours hitting as many houses as we can. Our town holds trick-or-treating on Halloween itself, from 6 to 8 p.m., even when October 31 falls on a school night. Who cares about bedtimes on Halloween?

We’ve been out in less-than-ideal conditions, too. In 2019, a severe cold front brought wind, flash flooding, and localized downpours. Turnout for trick-or-treating that year was low, but it wasn’t zero. We didn’t reschedule Halloween. We put on our ponchos and made the best of it. Thankfully, the weather has been more cooperative since then.

On Halloween night, cars creep down leaf-strewn streets as waves of children and parents make their way from house to house. We pull wagons decorated with orange lights for visibility and stocked with juice boxes, wet wipes, extra bags for overflow candy, sweatshirts, and flashlights. Every year, firefighters arrive in their truck to hand out candy on the same familiar streets, delighting the little ones. Plenty of parents dress up, too. Some houses have no decorations at all; others go all out, complete with walk-through miniature haunted houses.

It’s a scene that feels almost like a time capsule. Halloween in our town is a little glimpse of the past, a vestige of my own 1990s childhood that, thankfully, hasn’t changed all that much.

My parents, transplants from New Jersey, were surprised by some of the local traditions when they moved here in the early 1980s. They braced themselves for Mischief Night, the October 30 tradition of egging houses and draping yards in toilet paper ahead of Halloween. But that kind of mayhem wasn’t part of life here and never has been.

What delighted them even more was the quiet, unwritten code of Halloween night. A lit porch light meant you could ring the doorbell and expect candy. A dark porch meant the residents weren’t home or weren’t participating. Either way, you kept walking. Some people left out bowls of candy that said “take one.” Sometimes those bowls were empty, but more often than not, they were full, with honesty prevailing for another day.

No one had to post a sign or explain the rules. Everyone just knew what to do. 

I don’t remember ever explicitly teaching my kids this custom, but they know to skip the dark houses and head for the ones with their porch lights on. It’s a small thing, but there’s something lovely about a tradition that survives without the need for threats and warnings. 

My in-laws live in an established neighborhood with a mix of ages, and that’s one of my favorite parts of the whole experience. Elderly neighbors open their doors, delighted to see the little ones in their costumes, and hand out candy with the kind of enthusiasm that makes you think they’ve been looking forward to the visit all day.

It’s sweet and innocent, and it makes me wonder whether those neighbors are just as happy to see us as we are to see them. How often do we visit our aging neighbors anymore? Do we ever stop by just to say hello? And for some of them, when was the last time their doorbell rang?

Halloween offers a rare, uncomplicated reason for neighbors to connect in this age of digital isolation. There’s no small talk required beyond a cheerful “Happy Halloween!” and a thank-you for the candy. Everyone is dressed up and in good spirits. It makes you wonder why it can’t always be this way.

After two hours of collecting treats, we all head back to Nana’s house for the main event: the great candy comparison and trade. All 14 cousins cram into the living room to sort through their sugary loot and see who scored the best stuff. Last year, the big hit was baseball card packs, another nostalgic surprise. 

For one special night, we tuck away our phones in favor of old-fashioned family bonding, with a generous side of processed sugar. 

It’s possible that trick-or-treating really has faded in some neighborhoods. The online polls and doorbell camera counts suggest that some people are seeing fewer kids than they used to. And yes, the cost of candy is outrageous, and the arguments over what ingredients it contains are valid. But that doesn’t mean the whole country has lost the magic of Halloween. 

At least around here, it’s alive and well. The kids still race from house to house, and the neighbors still open their doors. The firefighters still turn on their sirens and delight the littles. And 14 cousins still gather around Nana’s living room to compare candy hauls. 

If trick-or-treating is becoming a thing of the past in other towns, I’m sorry to hear it. Because this is one tradition I hope never goes away.

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This article is part of Upstream, The Daily Wire’s new home for culture and lifestyle. Real human insight and human stories — from our featured writers to you.

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