The Magic That Stays Behind

Some houses just feel enchanted. Not because of ghosts or spells or cursed dolls in the attic (though that would make a killer blog), but because of what lingers long after the owners move out—love, memory, and a touch of theatrics.

There’s one house here in Charlotte that’s earned the nickname I gave it years ago: The Halloween House.

It started with a family friend of ours. She turned her yard into a gothic wonderland every October—grinning skeletons, fog machines, the works. When she sold the place, the decorations stayed behind, like the house refused to let the season end.

Wallpaper on the ceiling, charm in every creak…if I’m honest, I still regret not fighting harder to buy it when it went up for sale. We just weren’t in the right place back then. Timing is a witch.

The home was flipped, painted over, and sold again, but whoever owns it now didn’t just continue the tradition—they summoned something bigger. Each year, they add more decorations, building on what came before until the whole yard looks like Halloween itself took up residence.

The house is just down the street from my mom’s, so we get to see it all the time. The only downside? People stopping in the middle of the road to take pictures. I love the enthusiasm, but please—just pull over.

---

Trick-or-Treat Destiny

This year was Evie’s first Halloween where she really got it. She pointed out every pumpkin, every spider, every ghost on a string. But the moment we drove past the Halloween House? Instant awe.

“Halloween house!” she squealed, her whole face lighting up.

So naturally, when we went trick-or-treating, we had to stop there. There was a long line—everyone wanted a piece of the magic—but we waited. Evie stood frozen in pure wonder, tiny pumpkin bucket in hand, like she’d stumbled into a real-life fairy tale (or Tim Burton film, depending on your aesthetic).

It wasn’t just a house that night. It was the moment.

---

The Spirit of the Thing

Some people see Halloween as a day for candy and costumes. Others—people like us—see it as something more. A season that reminds us how fleeting wonder can be, how important it is to pass it on.

The Halloween House isn’t just a landmark. It’s proof that traditions can outlive the people who start them—that magic, once made, tends to stick around.

And I think that’s kind of beautiful.