“And sometimes if nobody questions them, they start believing anything they want must be a rule.”
The boy thought.
“So you should always question rules?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Know the difference between a rule and somebody’s opinion.”
The boy nodded slowly.
Then:
“Candy size definitely wasn't a rule.”
The homeowner laughed.
“No.”
“Definitely not.”
Another year passed.
Halloween returned.
Willow Creek decorated earlier than ever.
Pumpkins.
Skeletons.
Inflatables.
Purple lights.
Orange lights.
Fog machines.
One family projected dancing ghosts onto their garage.
The new HOA board sent exactly one Halloween notice:
Please keep sidewalks clear and electrical cords safely secured. Have fun.
That was all.
No candy standards.
No giveaway rules.
No competitive generosity policy.
At 5:30 p.m., the homeowner placed the familiar orange bowl on the porch.
Full-size candy bars filled it.
His daughter arranged them carefully.
Then taped up a new sign.
TAKE TWO. SAVE SOME FOR THE NEXT KID. HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
Her father read it.
“Looks good.”
She smiled.
The first children arrived at six.
Then more.
The little boy from the previous year returned.
He had grown.
No striped costume this time.
He was dressed as an astronaut.
His sister was a vampire.
He stopped at the bottom step.
Looked toward the bowl.
Then toward the homeowner sitting nearby.
“You watching it this year?”
The homeowner laughed.
“Very closely.”
The boy took two bars.
Then looked toward the street.
“No pink lady.”
“No.”
“Good.”
His sister nudged him.
“Come on.”
They ran toward the next house.
The homeowner watched them disappear beneath orange porch lights.
Nothing dramatic happened.
No police.
No shouting.
No fake notices.
No adults confiscating candy.
Children moved between houses.
Parents chatted in driveways.
Teenagers laughed too loudly.
A toddler cried because someone dressed like a werewolf scared him.
Normal.
At 8:00, the Treasurer stopped by.
She was no longer Treasurer.
Now President.
She wore a cheap witch hat.
The homeowner pointed at it.
“Very official.”
She adjusted it.
“Community standards.”
He laughed.
She reached toward the candy bowl.
Paused dramatically.
“Am I allowed?”
The homeowner stared.
“Two.”
“Only two?”
“Rules.”
She smiled.
Then took exactly two.
“No exceptions for President?”
“Especially not.”
They both laughed.
She became serious.
“Hard to believe that was a year ago.”
“Feels longer.”
The new President looked around the street.
“Things are quieter.”