DURHAM -- Skeptics doubted that candy-happy kids were really stacking up 50-deep at Scott Proescholdbell's porch, parading so steadily to his doorbell that his hand shifted from treat dish to treat bag nonstop for two hours.
So 10 years ago, he bought a hand-clicker to measure the flow on West Club Boulevard, Durham's trick-or-treating circus.
He hit 404 in 2001, despite the anthrax scare. He reached 536 a year later, then 741, then 809, then 954 until last year, when the crush of goblins and ghouls at his front door reached 1,564 - nearly three times the size of the U.S. Congress.
"We keep a dedicated counter-person on my porch," said Proescholdbell, an epidemiologist by trade. "When we get tired, we ask someone else to do it."
In the past decade, trick-or-treating on Club Boulevard has grown so legendary that the neighbors arrange for off-duty police officers.
Kids arrive from Bahama, 10 miles away, and sometimes by bus.
The crowds are thick enough that neighbors sometimes print out maps of nearby streets, pointing out particularly good candy houses.
No avail.
"They were giving away whole huge Hershey bars off Club just to get kids to come," said Robin Kirk, a veteran of the madness. "It's better than Franklin Street for the younger generation."
Until darkness falls on All Hallows' Eve, this stretch of bungalows near the N.C. School of Science and Mathematics looks almost spook-free. A few pumpkins. Some spider webs in the bushes. In Raleigh's Oakwood neighborhood, you find faux mummies hanging from the trees, whole yards pockmarked with fake graves.
But on Club, they wait.
There's no need to advertise. Tradition draws the hordes. Once one kid in a witch costume hears that the neighbors on Club buy their candy in giant Costco bags, the news spreads to every ghoul in school.
When Proescholdbell holds a Halloween party, the guests bring candy to stock the basket. Monday will be overwhelming for anyone who answers a doorbell unprepared. Remember Dawn of the Dead? Picture the zombies standing four feet tall, toting sacks.
On the outskirts, just a block away, the night is calm by comparison. But it's still a crowd worthy of a Moroccan bazaar stacked against most blocks.
Every year, artist Galia Goodman reconstructs Harry Potter lore in her yard off Club along with her partner Meredith Emmett. Kids will wait in line for 10 minutes for a turn at the sorting hat, and adults enjoy beer and wine inside at a makeshift Three Broomsticks pub.
They used to offer trivia until attendance passed 500.
"Around here," Goodman said, "they call us 'The Wizard Aunts.' "
More on Club has not always been merrier. A 14-year-old girl was struck by a car there while trick-or-treating in 2006. Neighbors say that along with police, they now post volunteers on the corners.
Some backlash has risen. Not everybody on Club celebrates the arrival of a small town's worth of costumed kids. Not everyone wants a two-hour ghoul parade across their porch.
But those people just switch off their lights, scowl and harumph until November comes.
