Lat­er to­day, peo­ple around the world will don masks and cos­tumes to cel­e­brate Hal­loween — a night of thrills, fright, and fan­ta­sy. For some, it’s harm­less fun. For oth­ers, es­pe­cial­ly in so­ci­eties where re­al dan­ger lurks out­side the the­atre, it’s a trou­bling re­minder that fear isn’t al­ways fic­tion­al. Some Chris­tians al­so cau­tion against par­tic­i­pat­ing in what they see as a “cel­e­bra­tion of dark­ness.”

Hal­loween, which be­gan as All Hal­lows’ Eve — the night be­fore All Saints’ Day — was once a time for Chris­tians to re­flect on the lives of the saints. Its ori­gin is from the old­er Celtic fes­ti­val of Samhain, when spir­its were be­lieved to cross in­to the world of the liv­ing.

To­day, the hol­i­day’s shift to­ward the macabre and oc­cult has drawn crit­i­cism. In 2019, Pope Fran­cis warned that Hal­loween’s “neg­a­tive cul­ture about death and its glam­ouri­sa­tion of evil can lead peo­ple astray.” For those who have faced re­al-life tragedy and trau­ma, hor­ror en­ter­tain­ment can feel mean­ing­less, even of­fen­sive.

Yet, for mil­lions, the ap­peal of fear per­sists. Hor­ror is one of the most prof­itable gen­res in film and en­ter­tain­ment — from ear­ly mon­ster clas­sics to mod­ern psy­cho­log­i­cal thrillers like Get Out. Psy­chol­o­gists say fear can be strange­ly ex­hil­a­rat­ing. In a con­trolled set­ting, such as a film or haunt­ed at­trac­tion, it re­minds us that we are alive. Shared fear, whether through movies or Hal­loween events, builds con­nec­tion — the same thrill peo­ple get from roller coast­ers.

Swiss psy­chi­a­trist Carl Jung be­lieved each per­son car­ries a “shad­ow,” the dark­er side of the hu­man psy­che. Hor­ror, in a sense, helps us face that shad­ow safe­ly. By con­fronting our fears sym­bol­i­cal­ly, we in­te­grate them rather than re­press them. For Hol­ly­wood and the en­ter­tain­ment in­dus­try, this fas­ci­na­tion with fear has be­come big busi­ness — turn­ing the mon­ster in­to mon­ey.

A strik­ing ex­am­ple of this can be found in Der­ry, Ire­land. Once a small re­gion­al event, Der­ry’s Hal­loween Fes­ti­val is now the largest in Eu­rope, at­tract­ing more than 120,000 vis­i­tors each year. The four-day cel­e­bra­tion in­cludes ghost­ly trails, fire­light pa­rades, gi­ant pup­pets, mu­sic, and fire­works. The event not on­ly fills ho­tels and restau­rants but al­so show­cas­es lo­cal artists, mu­si­cians, and com­mu­ni­ty groups. It’s a cre­ative and eco­nom­ic suc­cess — prov­ing that fear can in­deed fu­el pros­per­i­ty.

Which rais­es an in­trigu­ing ques­tion: why can’t Trinidad and To­ba­go do the same?

We al­ready have the imag­i­na­tion, artistry, and the­atri­cal flair that Hal­loween thrives on. Any­one who has wit­nessed Pe­ter Min­shall’s 1980 car­ni­val mas­ter­piece Danse Macabre knows that our lo­cal cre­ativ­i­ty can ri­val any­thing abroad. Our Car­ni­val and folk­lore char­ac­ters — the Blue Dev­il, Soucouyant, La­ga­hoo, La Di­a­b­lesse — are the very essence of folk­lore hor­ror. With the right mar­ket­ing, we could build a unique­ly Caribbean Hal­loween ex­pe­ri­ence in­cor­po­rat­ing our own cul­ture and myths with the for­eign char­ac­ters.

Imag­ine the Mag­nif­i­cent Sev­en trans­formed in­to haunt­ed hous­es, each telling a dif­fer­ent sto­ry from our folk­lore. Parts of the Queen’s Park Sa­van­nah could host themed zones, where our Best Vil­lage com­mu­ni­ty groups can bring lo­cal leg­ends to life — from the mys­te­ri­ous Soucouyant to the haunt­ing La Di­a­b­lesse. Rock and met­al bands such as Klav­i­um, In­sert Coin, and Cir­cle Square could head­line night­ly per­for­mances, cre­at­ing a fes­ti­val that blends fright, mu­sic, and mas.

We could in­vite oth­er Caribbean rock bands to par­tic­i­pate. Let us al­so show­case our tal­ent for this genre of mu­sic.

Be­yond the spec­ta­cle, the eco­nom­ic po­ten­tial is sig­nif­i­cant. A Hal­loween-themed fes­ti­val could at­tract re­gion­al tourists and cruise ships, pro­vid­ing in­come for cos­tume de­sign­ers, ar­ti­sans, food ven­dors, and mu­si­cians. It would ex­tend our fes­tive cal­en­dar be­yond Car­ni­val, Di­vali and Christ­mas, cre­at­ing new op­por­tu­ni­ties for lo­cal busi­ness­es and artists dur­ing the qui­eter months.

Hor­ror en­ter­tain­ment, at its core, acts as a mir­ror. It lets us con­front what we fear — and what we de­ny — in a safe, cre­ative space. By giv­ing it our own lo­cal touch, we could turn those shad­ows in­to some­thing bright for our econ­o­my and cul­ture.

Per­haps, with vi­sion and imag­i­na­tion, Trinidad and To­ba­go can make the world come here — not just for Car­ni­val, but for a Hal­loween cel­e­bra­tion like no oth­er.