WALPOLE, Mass. — After ringing the front doorbell, 7-year-old Jack Carfarelli stood by silently, holding a plastic pumpkin while tugging nervously on his skeleton costume. The door opened into a darkened classroom, where a scary-looking witch knelt, candy bowl in hand.
"Happy Halloween," said the witch.
Jack, a child with autism, appeared anxious yet still said nothing. Around his neck hung a small touch-screen computer. He hesitated, then activated the machine's vocalization app to say "Trick or treat!" on his behalf.
Halloween trick-or-treating, a holiday ritual millions of families will partake in this weekend, seems about as simple as such rituals get. A costume or mask, an old pillowcase and flashlight, some well-rehearsed politeness, and presto: a bagful of treats to take home, along with happy memories.
But for students at the League School of Greater Boston, which serves children on the autism spectrum, no ritual is ever quite that simple, no social transaction as straightforward as a giggly boo for a chocolate bar. Each step must be painstakingly choreographed. Each unexpected encounter — Is that scary witch real? Are those barking dogs going to attack me? — needs accounting for.
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