It’s Halloween time and the season for scary stories. I just happen to have a few. It was 9 p.m. one October night and I was processing Cub Scout badges at the dining room table while my 10-year-old, Henry, sat opposite doing homework. My irrepressible adopted older son, Rory, age 12, had been banished to his room earlier that evening for a now forgotten, but at the time, tragically common act of misbehavior. Henry and I heard it at the same time: Someone was on the front porch. We looked at each other with alarm. As a single parent, I was fortunately religious about keeping the doors locked.