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In this Halloween episode of 7 Minute Stories, Aaron shares a true story about getting lost deep in the woods with no phone, no compass, and a rising sense of panic. What begins as a peaceful evening walk turns into a confrontation with fear itself—and a rediscovery of the real meaning behind Halloween. By the end, you’ll see how an ancient story about courage and transformation helped him find his way back home.
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The Team:
Story created & performed by: Aaron Calafato
Senior Audio Engineer: Ken Wendt
Additional vocals: Cori Calafato
Art: Pete Whitehead
Original Theme Music: thomas j. duke
Additional Soundscape Design: Isaac Gehring
TRANSCRIPT
I was lost in the middle of the woods. It was getting dark, and I’m not gonna lie—I was scared. It reminded me of the fear I had when I was stuck in a haunted house when I was about twelve years old. Well, it was actually more of a haunted classroom. It was just kids dressed up as ghosts. But the point is, fear is fear. Only this time, I wasn’t in some haunted classroom. This was real. And as soon as that fear started kicking in, that’s when things started taking a turn.
Since this story is coming out on October 30th, one day before Halloween, it’s that very interpretation of the origin of Halloween that gave me the spark to get out of that situation—and be able to tell you this story today.
I always go for walks in the woods. I love walking in deep woods because I feel a deeper solitude, a deeper peace. One night this fall, I went out sort of late, about an hour before sunset. I figured I could get a walk in before the sun went down, enjoy that nice magic-hour light, and still make it back before dark. I know this park like the back of my hand.
So I pulled up, got out of the car, and put on my walking shoes. That night, I don’t know why, but I was feeling extra confident—maybe even arrogant—and I said to myself, you know what? I’m not gonna bring my phone. I didn’t have a compass or anything. I told myself I was too reliant on technology. As a kid, I felt like I had better survival skills. I’d go outside, get lost somewhere in the neighborhood, and find my way back using landmarks. “Ah, there’s the Dairy Queen on the corner. I’ll just cross the street.” You just figured it out. So I wanted to test myself to see if I still had those instincts.
I set off on my usual path, then decided to take one I hadn’t taken before—a rugged path that started as a trail but eventually split into four different trails. I picked one that was basically no trail at all. I said to myself, I know where I’m at. These woods can’t be that big. And then I realized—holy shit—I actually didn’t know where I was.
It was getting dark to the point where I couldn’t see far ahead, and I didn’t recognize anything. I’d gotten so caught up in my own head that I lost track of where I came from and how to get back. That’s when the fear started to set in. Wait a second. I don’t have a phone. I don’t have a compass. I could just keep walking—and I know I will—but what do I do when it gets completely dark? Am I going to sleep out here? My family’s going to think I’m dead. Maybe I’ll survive the night. But what if I don’t? What if I freeze to death?
I’m not a survivalist. I’m not a homesteader. I’m just an arrogant guy who didn’t bring a phone or compass on a walk I probably shouldn’t have taken—on a trail I definitely shouldn’t have taken.
And that’s when the sounds started. Behind a series of trees, I heard a commotion. What kind of sound was that? Was it human? Animal? Something else? It got louder—more ferocious. Then I realized there was a fight happening. Branches snapping. Leaves rustling. I started sprinting.
The wind picked up, and I heard a scream—one of the creatures must have killed the other. A fight to the death. And what if that creature—the one that won—was coming for me next? I looked around and saw a clearing—a pond, a swampy area—and a figure started to move. Slowly. It looked like a living stick man. Its legs were long, and then suddenly it opened its arms—and I swear to you—it began to fly.
I was running again. It was flying behind me, screeching like a dinosaur. Think of the raptors in Jurassic Park. I could hear it above me. Was I dreaming? Was this a nightmare? Was I still in that haunted house when I was twelve?
As I ran, fear turned to panic—and panic to paralysis. I couldn’t move. I stopped dead in my tracks, the sounds of the woods caving in on me. The sounds of the night closing in. I clenched my fists, closed my eyes, and thought, I’m a forty-year-old man. Why am I petrified like this? If anyone saw me, they’d laugh.
And as I stood there, fists clenched, eyes shut tight—it was the exact same pose I took when I was in that haunted classroom in Mrs. Stennent’s fifth-grade class. I was freaking out, and my friend Mike came over, took off his ghost mask, and said, “Hey, don’t worry. It’s just me.” He led me out of there. That memory—Mike taking off his mask—reminded me of something. The story of Halloween itself might be the key to getting out of this.
See, Halloween began as a Celtic pagan festival. The Celts believed that on the night of October 31st, the boundary between the living and the dead grew thin—allowing spirits to cross over. But rather than purely fearing it, they honored it. They lit fires, made offerings, and wore animal masks—not to terrify others, but to confuse and ward off wandering spirits. It was their way of facing fear directly.
As Christianity spread through the Celtic lands, the church repurposed this festival and called it All Hallows’ Eve—the night before All Saints’ Day. It became a time to remember the holy and the departed. Over time, All Hallows’ Eve was shortened into what we now call Halloween.
And I realized—the essence of Halloween wasn’t about indulging fear, but transforming it. Recognizing that death is part of life. Accepting it. But not surrendering to the fear of the unknown. It was almost an act of defiance. So in that moment, I thought, why am I succumbing to the very thing I should be defying?
It didn’t matter that I was probably five miles from my car. The point was—I had succumbed to fear, and now I had to face it. That thought got me walking again. I wasn’t paralyzed anymore. I walked and walked. I even prayed a little. Then I saw a rock and a tree that looked familiar. A sign. Then another. Until finally, I made it back to my car.
Confidence restored. A little humiliated. Very grateful. And with a new way to interpret Halloween—not just as pop culture and candy and scary movies, but as a tradition about facing fear, warding it off, and finding the courage to take the next step in front of you.
Oh, and that flying creature? It turned out to be just a giant crane. But that night, it was closer to a pterodactyl—or maybe even a monster.
Happy Halloween. I’ll talk to you next week.
