I never wanted to be one of those uncool, Ned Flanders-like people who doesn’t celebrate Halloween. But I became just that. Here’s my advice: Never become friends with working exorcists if you wish to preserve your ability to enjoy the holiday. I’ve got stories.
The first exorcist I ever met was also the first one to tell me to stay in on Halloween. In 1989, working the police beat at the Baton Rouge Advocate, my first job out of journalism school, I saw one of my colleagues come into the newsroom as stiff and white as a starched dress shirt.
“What happened?” I asked. He waved me away and sat at his desk. I followed him and pressed.
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