For several years our rural kids came to the houses in golf carts. I dressed in my finest witch attire and held my python over my shoulder. As they rang the front bell, I'd lean over from the side porch and ask, in my creaky witch voice, "Who's that ringing my bell." As they approached, and saw the snake, they'd freeze. I'd ask again, what they wanted, and timid Trick or Treat" would be whispered. "Well, why don't you just come over here and see what you can find in my cauldron," I would advise. As they got closer to me, and the snake, they'd reach blindly into the cauldron, (they were maintaining eye contact with a 12 foot snake, after all). They'd grab their treat and run, posthaste, to the awaiting golf cart.
The treats were probably received with mixed emotions. Candy was not on my agenda. Instead I always grouped several strands of Mardi Gras beads together and attached a little sign, It read, "Genuine New Orleans Voodoo beads. Great to wear to ward off evil or to trade for other charms."
Business dropped off, the kids got older. Now, no one comes. We don't even turn the light on. The snake died last November, after spending 23 years with me. She was about 18 feet long. Many kids were entertained by that snake. I took her to schools for programs. I do miss her, but a woman my age has no business with a constrictor that size.