My family was putting the final flourishes on our front-of-house Halloween decorations when we reached a stalemate over two plastic skeletons.
Our overriding philosophy has always been to prioritise cute over hardcore scary. Were those skeletal figures going to spook the youngsters? Our two daughters made the final call to demote the ornaments to the lolly table, giving any visiting kids some breathing room.
Welcome to Salisbury, Queensland. We may not have a murky history of druidic sacrifice like our English namesake, but for one night a year we practically turn into Stephen King’s town of Derry, with old-fashioned scares at every turn – and free chocolate.
Depending on which road you take, the approach might send a shiver down the spine. We’re bordered by the dense scrub of Toohey Forest, so in the moonlight the eucalypts give off a Blair Witch vibe. With headlights to guide your journey through the dark corridor, you might catch a fleeting glimpse of something uncanny. Those toy animal tributes to roadkill can take on a startling aspect if you’re not expecting them.
Inexplicable things do sometimes happen in Salisbury. In late 2023, a vicious localised storm rolled in without warning, toppled our washing line and destroyed the trampoline. Trees and powerlines came down around the neighbourhood. The kids remember the unnatural howling noise, the rattling windows, and sleeping through a humid night without power.
Don’t be fooled by Google Maps: Salisbury’s footprint is smaller than they’d have you believe. When you look at where people actually live, dispersed between industrial complexes, train tracks and a green corridor tracing the contours of Rocky Water Holes Creek, it’s quite enclosed. You either live in the irregular polygon on the east side of Orange Grove Road, or you hang your hat in the satellite of Rosebank Square.
Salisbury was once dominated by World War II manufacturing. The War Industries Heritage Trail passes through roads named for their function, like Assembly, Chrome and Precision streets. Walk through there now and you may spot the distinctive saw-tooth roof architecture of the era, alongside the unmistakable progress of gentrification, with new apartments going up, and an espresso bar in a building that once made munitions.
Northsiders enjoy banging on about their local food culture as if it were definitive. But there are no less than five cafes in my suburb, each with their own strengths, identity and take on coffee. One even roasts their own beans. There are craft breweries, several bakeries (from French fusion to Sri Lankan), and an old-school butcher shop. You can get pizza, American-style barbecue, and just-like-homemade Indian tiffin meals. Order a halal snack pack at Kebabland or Billy’z Kebabs, and eat it next to a hungover uni student. My suburb punches well above its food division.
It was a Facebook thread on the local grapevine page that got us started with Halloween. It may have been in the wake of social distancing restrictions relaxing in 2021. I put our street name down in the comments and drove to the local supermarket for bags of fun-size treats and last-minute decorations. We’ve been locked in ever since.
I see more houses joining in with every passing year. You see children dressed in the typical costumes of superheroes and Disney princesses, but my favourite costume was from two years ago: a prescient kid knocked on our door dressed as the dreaded Cost-of-Living, complete with an $18 bottle of olive oil.
The weirdest house we have ever visited had a woman looking banged up, trapped in a cage and pleading for help. Dark stuff – until she offered you lollies. A parent at another house had his slasher tropes mixed up: wearing Jason’s mask while carrying a Leatherface chainsaw and dressed in Michael Myers’ trademark blue coveralls. While I disapproved on the grounds of film fidelity, kids were petrified and loving it.
Horror is often a metaphor for something: usually an anxiety that gets distilled into the supernatural. I think we celebrate Halloween as a Salisbury community because we share a collective understanding that it is hard yakka raising kids.
We’re all living in tough times with lots of uncertainty. Social support networks aren’t what they used to be, money is tighter than ever, and it’s easy to feel isolated. Halloween might seem pretty naff to some people, but for our family it is a small way to invite people into our home, to share and to have a good time as the year starts to wind down. Sometimes these small acts can help anchor you to something and make you feel like you belong somewhere.
So, if you find yourself in Salisbury after dark on All Hallows’ Eve, you may knock on a weatherboard house that looks like all the others. If you’re greeted by a couple in matching Mr and Mrs Potatohead costumes, hello and welcome! Take as many mini-packs of Nerds as you like – and happy Halloween.