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One typical autumn afternoon, we headed to Wal-Mart to pick out curtains and a rug. As we made our way to the checkout, we couldn’t miss the massive Halloween display: an animated skeleton with a menacing look stood beside a wall adorned with various masks, including a werewolf with razor-sharp teeth and a zombie missing half its skin. Everything felt like a spooky invitation to confront our fears.
“Mommy! Can we get some scary Halloween decorations for our home?” My seven-year-old daughter, Opal, viewed the terrifying exhibit with the same enthusiasm one might reserve for a line of cheerful elves at Christmas. It really got her into the Halloween spirit.
The next ten minutes were spent persuading Opal away from a sign that read “beware” in what looked like dripping blood to less alarming items, like a large pipe-cleaner spider. She pleaded for a skeleton door-knocker, and I finally got her to settle for a cute little pumpkin for the front window. She was not impressed.
The rack of kids’ costumes was right across from an array of tombstones, toy weapons, and plastic body parts. Opal happily chose a princess costume, but not before inquiring about the tombstones.
There will always be moments when Opal’s eager-to-grow-up mind urges her toward things her deeper self isn’t quite ready for—this is a natural part of growing up.
I explained that dead bodies are buried underground, and families place headstones with names so they can remember them and leave flowers. Just like how we buried her pet fish and marked the spot with a special rock.
By this time, my eight-month-old baby had snatched a small sombrero and was happily chewing on it like a dog with a bone. This certainly wasn’t the conversation I was prepared for at that moment.
Opal nodded as if it all made sense and then turned her attention to a shelf of afro wigs. On our way home, she said, “Mom, I really want to make the house super scary for Halloween this year. Can we do that?”
Let me clarify—I absolutely love autumn. Jesse and I got married just three days before Halloween in a beautiful, woodsy venue with a roaring fire and cornucopias on the tables. I cherish the gradual change of leaves and the cooler mornings and evenings. I look forward to the structured schedule of school days and weekends filled with hayrides and pumpkin picking. I also love celebrating my daughter’s October birthday.
And yes, I adore Halloween. I enjoy wearing costumes and seeing familiar faces in unexpected outfits—like a neighborhood dad dressed as a Mexican wrestler, complete with a mask and gold tights. It changes the way I see him, which I find amusing. The delight of adults fully embracing Halloween carries me through the mundane daily routines of the rest of the year.
However, I could do without all the gore and grimness. Ignoring it isn’t an option with a curious child in tow.
Frightening young children is not necessarily the best approach to help them confront their fears of death and other scary topics.
I agreed that we could indeed decorate the house for Halloween, using spider webs, pumpkins, and the charming little skeleton couple we’ve had for years. But no body parts or anything truly terrifying. “Awwww, Mom! Pleeease!”
When we arrived home, we discovered a box of Halloween decorations in the garage—most likely a gift from an aunt who buys clearance items post-holiday and sends them our way. Inside was a cardboard graveyard scene made for a party, complete with tombstone place cards and bat napkin holders. They were quite cute and, thankfully, free of any blood or gore. So, we grabbed some tape and got to work. Within half an hour, Opal’s room was adorned with cardboard tombstones.
Everyone was happy.
That night, however, she spent most of it awake with nightmares about the dead rising from behind the tombstones.
Confronting Our Fears with Care and Insight
For most of the year, we filter what we expose Opal to.
When she’s in the car, I turn off the BBC News when they discuss war and death. Jesse quickly changes the channel when Opal’s around and the COPS show comes on. Yet for this short season of Halloween, over-the-top death imagery seems to be everywhere—even in the small pharmacy when picking up Q-tips. It’s impossible to avoid.
It’s just Halloween, right? It’s simply a tradition shared by many cultures, one that continues year after year. But I’ve begun considering whether there’s a thoughtful way to navigate the often contradictory visuals of Halloween.
This is part of our cultural landscape. Plus, there’s a darker side to life—the reality of death—and Halloween can offer a chance for kids to confront feelings they might be shielded from throughout the year. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Yet, when they are young, how can we allow them to engage with this experience while still keeping them anchored in the safety of reality?
When we walk with the kids to school and pass a skeleton hanging from a noose, we smile widely and say things like, “Ooh, that’s scary!” before adding, “It’s just pretend,” as if nothing’s amiss. I’m starting to realize this could be quite confusing for our little ones.
Fortunately, we live in a small town where Halloween costumes tend to lean towards Minions and fairies rather than horror-themed outfits. The kids on our block get together to trick-or-treat in a chaotic group. So far, we haven’t had to explain a creepy vampire showing up at our door, reciting “trick or treat” in a deep, haunting voice.
But the scary imagery is still out there. Opal notices it and can’t unsee it. We can’t erase it from her surroundings, nor do we want to; it’s part of our culture. And while life has its darker aspects—like the inevitability of death—Halloween might serve as an opportunity for children to face emotions they often avoid. This isn’t inherently negative. The challenge is finding a way to let them explore this experience while ensuring they feel secure
Cindy Dell Clark, an associate professor at Penn State studying Human Development and Family Studies, emphasizes that terrifying young children isn’t necessarily effective in helping them cope with fears about death and other frightening topics.
Perhaps, as she suggests, there’s a gentler way to approach the season without the need to sanitize it entirely.
Children generally struggle to distinguish between fantasy and reality until around the ages of six or seven. Even as they grow up, specific images can provoke fear based on their personal experiences. For instance, a realistic Pet Semetery scene in a neighbor’s yard might distress a child who recently lost a pet, while another child who just attended a grandparent’s funeral might be haunted by thoughts of coffins.
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and the scattered tombstones in the yard of the local recreation center.
However, these chilling experiences, especially those tied to broader community traditions, can actually help children face the fears they are likely to encounter at some point.
In the past, talking with Opal about what to expect beforehand has eased her anxieties and prevented new ones from forming. This situation is no different—currently, our dinner conversations explore topics such as the origins of Halloween and the spookiest costumes we’ve ever seen!
The Fear Beneath the Fear
As a parent, it’s ultimately my responsibility to determine if an experience is too intense or unsuitable for my child. In simpler terms: no blood-dripping scenes or fresh-kill displays. Yet, there will always be moments when Opal’s desire to grow up may push her to seek experiences that her deeper feelings aren’t ready to handle—that’s an unavoidable part of maturing.
Deciding when to let Opal choose what she feels comfortable with and when to step in is a fundamental aspect of parenting, and it’s certainly not a precise science.
I recall being five years old, watching Michael Jackson’s Thriller with older neighbor kids. One of them even offered me a spot on her lap, saying, “I’ll keep you safe.” I ended up having nightmares for weeks and still vividly remember the terror I felt as that long video kept playing. However, I believe I preferred that type of fear to the embarrassment I would have experienced if my mom had stepped in and kept me away from this rare moment of being included in the older kids’ fun.
As for Opal, she refuses to take the tombstones out of her room, despite the nightmares. She is navigating her fears in her own way. For the moment, we’re allowing her to explore that vulnerable space, knowing she can easily come to our safe, warm bed just across the hall.
That said, I believe there’s much more behind the nightmares than just cardboard tombstones. A new school year, a new gymnastics class, and the accompanying fears and expectations are all swirling around her. Perhaps those tombstones give her emotions a name and a way to express them?
Maybe this is why Halloween has its charm, despite my protective parenting instincts telling me otherwise. As Opal encounters these fake fears during October—whether on the way to school, while shopping with her sister and me, watching mildly scary movies, or while trick-or-treating—she’ll be surrounded by her strong shield of friends and family. Together, as we confront our fears, she will have a cozy, warm bed to retreat to at the end of each day.
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