This is the final scene taken from bad videotape on Halloween night. The saucer lights are chasing across the saucer's top, the scan lights are panning back and forth through clouds of smoke generated by the fog machine, and a loud, deep hum can be heard for several hundred feet in all directions. In seven years of living at our home, we never had as many trick-or-treaters as we had that night. People came by the car-load. Visitors spent up to 10 mintues or longer in front of the house just to watch a scene that didn't do anything. We ran out of candy and had to send a friend out from our impromptu Halloween party to scour empty shelves at a local market. A couple of parents pulled out cell phones in an attempt to encourage friends to come and see ("These guys got a REAL spaceship in their yard! You gotta come see this!") Folks who build haunts for Halloween take great pride in being able to really scare their trick-or-treaters, and of course, getting compliments from their visitors. In my case, I took pride in the fact that even though my display was quite passive, it didn't stop kids from yelling "Woah! This is the coolest house ever!" A man dressed in a Star Trek uniform came INTO our house to find me and shake my hand. "I had to tell you, this is so cool! You did an amazing job! THANK you for doing this!" And a girl who came to the door exclaimed "You guys have the best house of anyone around here! I mean, who does..." (she gestures toward the saucer and throws up her arms at her loss for words) "...THIS for Halloween! Nobody!" She was probably no more than 10 years old. A nice surprise at the end of the evening was picking up the candy bowl to put away what little candy was left and finding a laminated piece of paper that was left there during the commotion of trick-or-treaters. It was a "Certificate of Excellence" left by a group that calls themselves the Bay Area Haunters Association. Who would have thought...