Rita Glossner: Last I see him, he was digging around in your yard. You got to stop planting things he wants.
Frankie: Like our mailbox? [laughs] [clears throat] So, where was the last place you saw the little guy?
Rita Glossner: Why you asking so many questions?
Frankie: I'm just trying to help.
Rita Glossner: I don't need your handouts.
Frankie: Okay. I think I'll go back inside now. [goes to close the door]
Rita Glossner: Yeah. You do that. You just keep looking down at the rest of us from your ivory tower. [mailbox scraping] Where the hell have you been?!
Diaper Glossner: None of your damn business! Here's your stupid maxi pads. [scraping continues]
Frankie: Okeydoke. Well, all's well that ends well, I guess. [chuckles] Happy Halloween.
Rita Glossner: I'm taking this pumpkin. You don't need both, one percenter.

Frankie: Well, this is depressing.
Sue: I know! Where all the princesses and puppy dogs and flower-pot babies?
Frankie: Yeah, we're just getting the gross, pimply teenagers with the meaty hands, going, "gimme, gimme." You know, that's why I don't buy name-brand candy anymore.
Sue: You never brought name-brand candy.
Frankie: Yeah, but now I'm justified.

Frankie: I'll tell you whose fault this is. The Glossners. They've been terrorizing this neighborhood for so long, they've scared away all the good trick-or-treaters. Rita lets those kids run wild. They egg people's houses, smash pumpkins. They call me Mrs. Dreck. No wonder nobody wants to bring their adorable kids here.
Sue: [sighs] I guess this neighborhood is just not considered classy anymore.
Frankie: [sighs] It's so true, Sue. So true. [drinks the last drop from a carton of wine] Stupid Glossners. Somebody should really get them someday. Somebody should give them a taste of their own medicine.
Sue: You mean like writing a strongly worded anonymous letter to the editor?
Frankie: No, I'm talking about really giving them a taste of their own medicine... doing to them what they do to other people. [sighs]
Sue: You're not...
Frankie: Not unless you are.
Sue: Only if you are.
Frankie: Oh, I am.
Sue: I'm not sure what we're talking about, but the way we're saying it sounds like fun. [both laugh]

Rita Glossner: Aaaah! You're nuts, lady! Aaah! Oh!
Frankie: What's the matter, Rita? Are you scared? Am I scaring you, huh? Huh?! Well, now you know what it's like.
Rita Glossner: Aah! Aaah! I-I don't know what I did to you. Please don't hurt me. Was it 'cause I took your pumpkin? 'Cause I can give it back. My... my boys drew some penises on it, but they'll wash right off.
Sue: Mom! Mom, stop!
Frankie: Get out of here, Sue. If you're too much of a wuss, maybe you should go back to college with all the other wusses.
Rita Glossner: I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. [breathing heavily] All's I got is boys. You don't know what it's like being the only woman in a house full of boys. They... they don't listen. They don't think. I-I can't control them. They're like animals.
Frankie: No. I do know what it's like. I know what a house full of boys can do to a woman. [Rita sighs] I'm... I'm so sorry.
Rita Glossner: Aah! Don't touch me! You are a monster!
Frankie: No, no!
Rita Glossner: Help! Help! She's a monster!
Frankie: I-I-I... I'm not a monster. I'm not. I'm really not. [echoing] I am not a monster!

Brick: [imitating Rod Serling] Three little pigs, their house destroyed, now running from home to home. Will they ever find what they're looking for?

Hutch: Axl, hey, can you come here for a second?
Axl: Ah, you just got to jiggle the faucet. Nothing ever works in this house. I'm thinking about filling out a comment card.
Hutch: Uh... It's not the faucet. There's something in your backyard. [thunder crashes]
Axl: Oh! Damn it! It's that stupid trick-or-treater.
Hutch: Or maybe... It's the real Grim Reaper.
Axl: It is not the real Grim Reaper. I'll handle this. [bangs on the window] Get off my lawn! God! What is it with this guy? He's just standing there like...
Hutch: Like the real Grim Reaper?
Axl: It is not the real Grim Reaper. It's Halloween. Obviously, it's a costume. If it were any other night, it could be the real one.
Hutch: Or it's the perfect night for him to go out, 'cause no one would suspect that he's the actual Angel of Death! [thunder crashes] [both scream] Damn, I wish I was back in Chicago. See, everybody thinks big cities are scary, but all the really messed-up stuff happens in the country. D-did he just come closer? [thunder crashes] Is he staring at us?
Axl: I don't know. I can't see his face.
Hutch: Does he even have a face?!

Axl: All right, here you go. We keep the refrigerator at 80 degrees to save money, so it might not be as refreshing as you'd like.
Hutch: So, uh, I guess we should... go back upstairs?
Axl: Or we could stay down here and enjoy our pop. [both sighs]
Hutch: So, what's with the blade on a stick? That's a terrible way to die.
Axl: Oh, there's worse ways to go than that.
Hutch: All I know is I don't want my obituary to include the sentence, "They found most of him."
Axl: Or, "Found behind a wall in a clown's house." That'd be bad, too.

Hutch: [shudders] Okay, can we just stop talking about death?
Axl: Hey, you're the one who started talking about getting whacked to death by the Grim Reaper.
Kenny: The Grim Reaper doesn't kill you.
Axl: Ho-ly crap.
Kenny: The reaper is a hooded skeleton with no discernible facial features. He doesn't kill people. He comes to collect their souls, which he pops with his scythe before he escorts them to death. Also, when I put my name on something in the fridge, that means it's mine.
Hutch: What do you mean "he escorts people"? Is, like, the Grim Reaper an Uber driver for death?
Kenny: Guess the only question is, whose soul is he here to collect?
Hutch: Well, I would say it's Axl's since he lives here.
Axl: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey, I do not live here. I live at college. Plus, you guys live here just as much as I do. [thunder crashes]
Hutch: Unless we don't. [all scream]

Brick: [imitating Rod Serling] Three men who wanted all the comforts of home with none of the responsibility. Can you be fed, nurtured, and paid for like a child and still be a man? That's a question that shall be pondered whee, whee, whee, all the way home.

Mike: Let's see. Bingo! You nailed the Mars Bar. Got a Milky Way, an Almond Joy, the ever-elusive Charleston Chew. I think you got everything on Cindy's list. I think we can just pack it in and...
[Brick notices a page of a book blowing across the path. He follows it to the doorstep of a house.]
Cynthia: Oh. Are you Rod Serling from Night Gallery?
Brick: Yes. Yes, I am.
Cynthia: Let me get you a treat.
[Brick notices a portrait on the wall of a young boy who looks like him]
Cynthia: Happy Halloween.
Brick: Mm.