The children think he is somebody's father.
That is the whole of it and it is more than enough. A tall man come up out of the glare in a good dark suit with a skull for a face, and every one of them has priced that mask in the drugstore aisle and knows to the penny what it ought to have cost, and this one is better. This one is seamless. The devil in red flannel throws up two fingers to match him, and the skeleton in the printed smock does it a half-second behind, and the witch is laughing so hard her pillowcase is dragging.
He does not knock at a single house. They notice, and decide he must be finished for the night, and follow him anyway, because a costume that good is worth following.
The dog knows. The dog has been screaming for a block and a half and not one of them has turned around.
