I now realise how odd my children must be. It happened in my local supermarket. It was mid-October and we had wandered in to pick up some vegetables and a few odds and ends. We were confronted with a sight that to many is unsurprising. It was just 'normal' Halloween stuff.
The thing that really stood out this year was not the evil-looking merchandise designed to keep children awake for a month, but the blood-spattered T-shirts which seem to be new for 2016. My kids really didn't like those. I didn't like it them either.
We took the long way round that aisle. If you're unfamiliar with the layout of Tesco Extra in Yeovil, it meant going through homeware, into the electrical goods and out into the bakery section near the toiletries. This is how we managed to avoid running the gauntlet of the avenue of death and despair.
When it came to paying at the checkout, I said to the young lady that the gory items on the display were not only puzzling but unpleasant and distressing. And that my kids also found them to be so. She was surprised that we had a problem with them. So my kids must be odd.
She didn't say this, but was genuinely surprised that we felt the current orgy of Fisher-Priced-Violence was inappropriate. She was not minded to raise it with anyone and we didn't want to make a scene, so we left. My kids don't want us to return to this zombie apocalypse masquerading as a food store until November. I don't blame them.
Why is Hallowe'en now like this? Hallowe'en has switched from spookiness, which is tiresome enough, to blood-spattered, internal-organ-removing horror. It has quadrupled in size in the process. I'm not one to harp on about what happened back in my day, but back in my day, in the 1980s, Hallowe'en was meant to be just a bit spooky. People put on bedsheets and ran around saying 'Wooooooo!' There were cobwebs, the odd witch's hat made out of cheap black card, some apple bobbing and that was it. There was no question of bloody violence.
This was back in the days when Children's BBC refused to broadcast Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, unless they changed it the 'Ninja' to 'Hero'. Yes, the actual word 'Ninja' was banned.
Nowadays, children seem entirely conversant in the language of horror, and all things related like vampires, wraiths and lycanthropes. This is completely normal. I occasionally wonder what would happen if there were to be a genuine zombie apocalypse in my home town. It will be a total non-event. At the sight of the risen dead walking in schools and playground, the kids would tut, roll their eyes and complain that the whole thing was a bit hack.
My revulsion to all things Hallowe'en is, I confess, partly one of personal taste. I've never watched horror films, or video nasties – another product of those innocent 1980s. In my teens, some friends offered me the chance to watch the original Freddie movie, Nightmare On Elm Street. When I asked what it was about, and they told me, I was very puzzled that anyone who ever wanted to sleep again would want to watch it. When it comes to horror, I like it very, very mild. The early episodes of The X-Files – before it went all alien conspiracy – are about as far as I go.
My family's revulsion to Hallowe'en must, in some ways, be related to our Christian faith but we cannot hide behind that. The Bible has zombies rising from the graves on Good Friday, the Witch of Endor, the Angel of Death, demon-possession and all kinds of distressing manifestation of spiritual realities. Maybe that's the source of my reservation. Spiritual forces – both good and evil – are real and we trivialise them at our peril. But I realise that warning about trivialising sounds a bit rich coming from a comedy writer like me.
My frustration also comes from the fact that Christians who go along with Hallowe'en, or combat it with 'Light' parties, are missing out on a greater celebration. October 31<sup>st is Reformation Day, marking that day on which Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses to Wittenberg Cathedral's door. It was like an early messageboard system and technically makes Luther a troll. But given the extraordinary events that ensued, and the opening up and rediscovery of the scriptures – as well as the cleaning up of the Catholic church – surely we have something worth celebrating, especially next year when it's the 500<sup>th anniversary?
Don't wear a blood-spattered T-shirt and scream blue murder. Put on a habit and shout 'Here I stand!' Why not practice this year? And then on 5 November, we can all join together in celebrating Guy Fawkes, and making light of his attempt at religiously-motivated mass terrorism. Given how politics is going right now, it could prove strangely cathartic.
James Cary is a comedy writer (Bluestone 42, Miranda) and author of Death By Civilisation.
