I grew up in the Halloween capital of the world. It's nothing like I remember it.

You'll never catch me at a haunted house or watching a horror movie with my eyes open.

Halloween is my favorite holiday anyway. Why, you may ask?

I lived the first few years of my life in the Minneapolis suburb of Anoka – dubbed the "Halloween capital of the world." I went to the parades, carved pumpkins and bundled up in the Minnesota cold to go from door to door.

My parents are known for their decorations around our neighborhood. We are the last house to close shop for trick-or-treating and, with four kids in the house, our costume bins were always bursting at the seams.

So when I was asked if I wanted to go to the Halloween capital of the world for a story after over two decades of being gone, it was more than an assignment. It was a homecoming.

I came back to Anoka thinking I'd write about the local haunts and the dozens of themed events throughout the month. But I quickly realized it was so much more than that.

More than just ghosts and gouls

As an adult, my greatest hope was that the celebrations reminded me of the magic of my childhood. My worst fear was that it was going to be a tourist trap of kitchy trinkets and apathetic residents.

The red-brick town is full of quaint, sparse Halloween motifs; a themed mural; two giant pumpkins; and a ghost tour I took – one where I heard a voice or two behind my shoulder. The Halloween committee plans year-round for numerous parades and community activities in October. But I was surprised to see scarcity of a grander Halloween ambience.

From the "Midwest nice" interactions I had with locals, it was clear to me that Anokians didn't pride themselves on playing pretend behind masks or attracting tourists. Their spirit came from their drive to be with one another, just the way they were.

Where I failed to see extravagantly decorated homes, I saw costumed children on their parents' shoulders and open doors with laughing friends. Instead of voodoo shops and witches potions, there were free family-friendly events and merchandise proceeds being given to local scholarships.

Instead of watching strangers jump scare one another, I saw community members wave to their loved ones who marched on Main Street, just like my own mom did when she snapped a picture of my dad and I in the grand parade all those years ago.

After 20-some odd years of my love for Halloween and coming back to where it all started, I can say with confidence that the magic it creates for me was built on community rather than candy – and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Sam Woodward's role is supported by a partnership with Pivotal and Journalism Funding Partners. Funders do not provide editorial input. Want to send her a note? Email her at [email protected]