I’m a Marblehead transplant. In fact, I moved here for this very job. This is my first time experiencing Halloween in Marblehead, or rather, the spillover of Halloween from Salem.
A couple of weekends ago, I decided to do the full Salem thing. I took an Uber into the city to save myself from the $50 parking fees, got my palm read by a woman who told me I was “on the cusp of change,” and spent $17 on a spiked apple cider that was more cinnamon than spirit.
All in all, it was pretty fun. Worth the hype? Probably not. But still, there’s something electric about Salem in October, that mix of history, theater, and chaos that only a place so steeped in witch lore could conjure.
What surprised me most, though, was how different it feels just 10 minutes away.
Living in Marblehead during Salem’s Halloween season has given me a whole new perspective on the festivities. Around the third week of September, you can sense the shift — the air gets cooler, the leaves crisp up, and the hum of excitement begins to creep across the North Shore.
Traffic thickens, the line at Jaho Coffee stretches out the door, and suddenly the quiet backroads of Marblehead feel like a secret passage to peace.
Being here feels like standing in the eye of a storm, close enough to hear the buzz, but far enough to still catch your breath.
My friends in Salem text me things like, “It’s pure chaos down here,” while I’m sitting by the harbor, sipping tea and watching the masts sway gently against a sky that’s turning the color of pumpkins. The contrast is beautiful.
Sometimes I’ll drive into Salem for an evening just to feel that charge. The energy is contagious — crowds in elaborate costumes, the smell of kettle corn mixing with crisp sea air, the chatter of ghost tours echoing through cobblestone streets.
It’s fun, in small doses.
But by the time I’m heading back along Lafayette Street, I always feel that deep exhale of coming home.
Marblehead in October feels quieter, softer, less haunted house, more homes with glowing windows and the sound of laughter behind them.
Families carve pumpkins by the fireplace, kids dart from door to door on the narrow, historic streets, and neighbors wrapped in scarves chat on sidewalks. There are no tour buses or megaphones, just the crunch of leaves and the rhythm of the tide.
We’re so close to the most famous Halloween haven in the world, yet life here moves at its own easy pace.
Maybe that’s what makes Marblehead special this time of year: knowing we can dip into the magic whenever we want, then retreat to the calm of the coast.
I think I’ve found my favorite way to celebrate Halloween. Not in the crowds or the costumes, but in the quiet spaces just beyond them.
