Little ghosts, goblins, witches, and superheroes. Ironic celebrities and zoo animals. Whatever you can think of, Halloween has it all.

But it’s not the same Halloween a lot of us remember. Far gone are the days of true Trick-or-Treat.

If you put in some work across most towns on Halloween night, with children looking for the experience, you can probably find some neighborhoods where you can still get a taste of the good old days.

The rule used to be simple. If your outside porch or main door light was on Halloween night, you expected trick-or-treaters.

In my day; my trick-or-treating career ended more than 20 years ago, having that light on meant you were ready. Alternatively, no treats available meant you were willing to deal with the consequences of the “trick” end of that little chant the older kids would fulfill, and a few homes in Sturgis would inevitably require a little clean-up on November 1st; fortunately, the eggs on the siding could be cleaned by the toilet paper in the trees.

That was the contract. You turned your light on, you were part of it. You were in the game. If you didn’t want to be bothered, you turned it off, and no kid worth his pillowcase would knock. We understood that in second grade.

Now, in 2026, the rules are all but forgotten. If you’ve taken little kids around on candy hunts the last few years, few things are more disappointing than going from lit house to lit house, with no answer, and less time than you had before. You walk up the steps, you ring the bell, you can hear someone inside watching TV, the porch light is blazing like a runway, and nothing happens. The kids look up at you like you have an answer, and you go to the next one. In the back of your mind, you might hope for a little TP/Egg justice from someone else’s older kids later.

Alternatives to traditional trick-or-treating have appeared, such as Trunk-or-Treats and nursing home events. They can be a lot of fun for your kids, but something about the short, efficient, assembly-line-style candy fuel-up takes something away from the traditional candy hunt.

I get why they exist. For parents of little ones, especially in a spread-out place like Western South Dakota where it might be 15 below with a 30-mph north wind, a parking lot full of open tailgates is safer, warmer, and a lot more predictable.

But it’s like going to your grocery store instead of getting your November deer tag. The store is cheaper, faster, and less of a hassle, but that was never the point of hunting in the first place; and a faster, more efficient candy acquisition was never the goal.

The goal was the hunt itself.

It was learning how to navigate your own town in the dark. It was figuring out which house gave the full-size Snickers, which one gave the toothbrush, and which one let you come inside the porch to see the Halloween village. It was your older cousins telling you to hit the houses on the hill before everyone else picked them clean.

Maybe most importantly, it was the one night a year where every neighbor, whether you liked them or not, had a reason to open the door and be a neighbor. Where it felt like community.

I took my kids out last year, and we did both. We hit the trunk-or-treat at a church around 4 p.m., which was great. They were polite, they got a lot of candy, and we were done in 20 minutes. Then we went to a nursing home and the elderly folks there seemed to really enjoy the costumes; but then we got out in a real neighborhood after dark. We walked. We were cold. We only got a third of the candy. They had ten times more fun.

They remembered the house with the guy in the full skeleton suit who jumped out of the bushes. They remembered the lady who let them pick from a bowl the size of a kiddie pool. They don’t remember a single open trunk in the parking lot.

If you’re able, turn your light on, and mean it. Buy the extra bag of candy, even the cheap stuff. Sit by the door if you have to. Put out a bowl if you can’t answer, most kids are still honest enough not to take it all.

If you have kids, try to give them at least one block of the old way. Let them walk and knock. Let them get a little cold and a little tired and come home with a sore pillowcase strapped on their shoulder.

The porch light is the simplest invitation we ever invented. We should use it while we still remember what it’s for.

Happy Halloween.

Collin Duprel is a guest columnist for the Rapid City Post. Opinions expressed may not necessarily represent the views of the Rapid City Post, its affiliates, or advertisers.