Every October, the relatively mild-mannered people in my neighborhood celebrate spooky season like they invented it. The decorations are so elaborate that you'd swear Jack Skellington leads the town council. And I'm not referring only to the viral Brobdingnagian Home Depot skeleton. These people decorate as if they've never left a Spirit Halloween animatronic on the store shelf.

As neighborhood Halloween preparations began this year, my thoughts turned to trade shows because we in the business can relate nearly anything to it, and woe to the non-industry folks who get stuck in conversation with us at cocktail parties. Walk this haunted path with me and see if you make the same connection.

People from other towns – even other states – descend on my neighborhood because of its bewitching reputation. And the very thing that lures people to leave their cozy homes in search of terror is the same thing that draws people into trade show booths: the magnetism of shared experiences and the desire to see something new within the comfort of the familiar. And like the homes in my town, neighboring booths vie for attention and one-up each other year after year until a trade show casts a spell on all those who enter.

This year, one of my neighbors spent hours lining a parade of creepy dolls with blacked-out eyes along his front walkway in an ominous march to the street. Another yard has transformed into a haunted masterpiece where animatronic clowns bathed in strobe lights deliver jump scares to passersby – traumatic for our community coulrophobes. In another yard, a burlap maze hides everything from curious onlookers except the screams of terror that emanate from within. My son refuses to visit one horror-movie- themed house because the owners once dressed their small daughter like Samara from "The Ring" and let her silently skulk near the trees, glowing in her white nightgown. And I can't blame him. There's nothing more frightening than a too-quiet 5-year-old.

The jewel in my neighborhood's Freddy Kruger fedora, however, is the Halloween house, a display that gained national attention the year it debuted. One summer day, sawhorses appeared and the sounds of construction echoed on the street. After six months of work, the homeowner erected a full-size facade of Michael Myers' childhood home in front of his own. Its details echoed a film set, from its shabby-yet-cared-for covered porch to the hand-sewn curtains in the windows. A convincing statue of Dr. Loomis stood on the porch next to a smaller statue wearing a satin clown suit. The homeowner sometimes came outside in Michael Myers' iconic mask.

The folks in my community work for untold hours and spend heaps of cash preparing for this annual celebration. And then, much like the creatives in the events industry, they start to plan for the next year even before the last blood spatter is wiped from the walls. Because they're hooked on the sense of community they build that lasts long after the sugar rush is gone.

In our annual Sizzle Awards issue, we celebrate some of the magic-makers in our industry. This year's competition was hotter than Carrie's prom and the winning designs proved that the best trade show experiences can drive a wooden stake through the hearts of even the most bloodthirsty competitors (Sizzle Awards). And don't miss our Q&A with industry rebel Jessica Sibila (Rebel with a Cause), along with the other tricks and treats within our pages.

Next time you're on a show floor, take a moment from the frenzy to be captivated and appreciate the community that event marketers cocreate. I hope that enchantment carries you through the days when it seems like the only treats left in your bag are a sleeve of Necco wafers and a toothbrush. E