Tis the night—the night Of the grave's delight, And the warlocks are at their play; Ye think that without, The wild winds shout, But no, it is they—it is they!

'Tis now the very witching time of night, When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out Contagion to this world.

Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog.

My fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir
As life were in ’t. I have supp’d full with horrors.

I don't know that there are real ghosts and goblins, but there are always more trick-or-treaters than neighborhood kids.