Blank stares.

"Jason," an adult voice corrected from outside the front door. I peeked out over Michelle's shoulder at the collection of trick-or-treaters waiting patiently for their treats. A parent stood off to one side, chaperoning the evening's activities.

"Oh, that's right," Michelle laughed, "Michael was from Halloween, with Jamie Lee Curtis." Two young boys stood out front in hockey masks flanking a small girl sprouting white wings and a halo. Their eyes were wide with uncertainty, still not understanding who Michael was.

"Here you go." Michelle leaned down for the young girl, holding the bowl of candy out for the small angel. Their mother smiled as the girl backed away slowly.

"What do you say?" her mother cued.

"Thank you," the little girl responded robotically.

"Jason's such an easy costume," I added to the conversation after the small crowd of children had moved on. "Grab a hockey mask, throw on an old shirt, done."

Another group moved in front of our doorway, holding bags heavy with candy out towards us. "Trick or treat," they mumbled and muttered. The overwhelming smell of perfume wafted through the doorway.

Out front, waiting impatiently for their candy, a group of three young girls dressed, and apparently scented, as their favorite female pop singer picked through the bowl of candy, searching for the prize treat.

Over the course of the evening, we had visits from dozens of Jasons, a handful of Britneys, two eyeballs, a mad scientist, countless rubber-masked demons, an impressive bat, and the cutest costume of the evening, a McDonald's small fry. We went through nine bags of candy by the time our pumpkin candle's burned down and we closed the door.

Just another Halloween here in town.