For this Halloween horror story, we need to go back to a time when trick-or-treating was a free-for-all.
Back when kids grabbed their sacks and hit the pavement, not returning until well after dark and hoarding their stash sometimes clear into the new year — if they had self-control and a good hiding place.
Back then, in the ’60s and ’70s, a “nice” house was defined not by its size, landscaping or newness. It was defined by the kind of candy the owners were handing out.
In a neighborhood dominated by Mary Janes, Smarties and Bazooka gum, word of a Snickers or Hershey bar giveaway spread fast among my peers, even without cell phones and social media. Halloween became a kind of competition in families with lots of kids.
At the end of the day, we’d drag our exhausted, frozen selves home and begin the theft-control audit. My siblings and I would sort the candy and document each pile.
Often we’d trade — two Pixie sticks for a Nestle Crunch, four Bazookas for a Charms Sweet Pop or a box of Lemonheads for a jawbreaker.
It was tedious, but necessary work. And if you drove a good bargain, the payoff was sweet.
At the end of one particular Halloween, my sister and I, who shared a room, went to bed with our sacks at our feet. Can’t be too careful, we reminded each other.
Next morning, I awoke to a disturbing discovery: almost all of my Snickers bars were gone.
More Top Picks Best Portable Ice Makers
You may recall, back then, Chicago was king of the candy world. Among the treats locally produced was the caramelly, nougaty, peanutty Snickers bar. It seemed everyone loved them, which of course landed them high on the theft list.
I turned to the prime suspects — my brothers.
“Give them back,” I demanded. They denied everything.
All day at school I seethed and devised ways to get even. A counter steal of baseball cards or Creepy Crawlers goop? A trap? A prank?
I was still scheming when I returned home and saw on the chores chart that my assignment that day was to vacuum the living room and our parents’ bedroom.
Back then, my dad loved the saying, “There’s never enough time to do it right, but there’s always enough time to do it over.” Being a task master kind of kid, I usually opted for overkill the first time around.
As I careened the sweeper across their bedroom, I tugged open my dad’s closet door, just to get all the way to the edge of the carpet.
Out tumbled a paper bag filled with Snickers.
What?!
I considered revenge. I considered calling him out at the dinner table, which would have caused a panic among the troops.
But then, I decided to simply take back my treasure. It’s not like he could file a police report claiming someone stole his stolen goods.
I carefully wrapped each bar inside a sock, stored the socks inside a bag and put the bag inside my pillowcase.
Not a single word of the Snickers swipe or switcheroo was ever spoken.
Within a few weeks the bars were gone, each one of them tasting better than the last.
To this day, the burglar is mum. But if you ask what kind of snacks he’d like from the store, he always says, “Throw in a few Snickers bars.”
Donna Vickroy is an award-winning reporter, editor and columnist who worked for the Daily Southtown for 38 years.