Slept through the trick or treaters, I think. Down in Tim's basement, I never heard the door, if there was a knock by some ghoulishly-attired children, well I was either asleep or I didn't hear them.
In somewhat scary-ass news there was a red beer can downstairs that still felt cold that neither Tim nor I knew who had drunk it. To complicate things, it was a Hawaiian lager that I remembered from his birthday back in August. To further complicate this complex mystery Tim lives in a house with a basement and all basements in america have an air of horrible sex crimes or at the very least, a butt-slapping patois alluding to S&M shenanigans. Needless to say, I slept peacefully and unencumbered by demons in the night.
I did watch part of Paranormal Activity a time before so the sudden beer can emergence was like a scene straight out of their surveillance footage that would give one pause. Not a great series, but effective in establishing a mood.
A slightly nightmarish upbringing involving my sister peddling slasher movie storylines is documented in this essay here: http://jmwwjournal.com/Moritz.html