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You know it’s her.

It’s that voice, as distinctive as a signature, one that’s stopped people all over Greensboro and coaxed them to ask the same question.

“Aren’t you the costume lady?’’

She is. She’s Memaw to her five grandchildren. But to so many others, at least two generations of local folks, she’s the Costume Lady of Greensboro. She’s Mrs. Halloween. She’s Juanita Dunlap.

You’ll find her up two flights of stairs off North Elm at Eastern Costume. She’s always in some sort of Halloween get-up. Ghosts on her sweater. Skeletons on her ears. And always a quip on her lips.

Then, there’s her voice. Half screech, half cackle, all Southern and full of sass.

She can’t whisper. Never could. Never will.

“The woman wants to be beautiful and sexy,’’ she yells to co-workers Wednesday as a woman waits for a  Halloween costume. “Tell me what we need to put her in.’’

She’s worked at Eastern Costume for, it seems, forever. She’s even had customers walk into her shop and say, “You dressed my daddy up.’’ That always gets her.

But she never thought she’d be at Eastern Costume for so long. Years ago, she told the store’s owner she’d give up driving a school bus and become his manager for “a little bit.’’

Well, a little bit turned into a lot longer. Next week, Juanita Dunlap will celebrate her 30th Halloween at Eastern Costume.

It could be her last. She’s 67, and she’s trying to slow down after breaking her left ankle and right hip two years ago. She and the owner are looking to find a buyer for the business, and if no one comes forward, they plan to auction off the costumes in January.

That’s a lot of costumes — 35,000 costumes. She has a name for them: “my babies.’’

She’s built many. She’s put together many. And she’s bought many. Every one has a story. Like the silver robot. She saw it at a costume convention in Las Vegas, and she knew she had to have it. She chased the guy down.

“My husband said, 'You don’t need it.’ Well, guess what? I got it,’’ she told a costumer as he stepped into the big silver boots the other day. “Some things in this world I win.”

She supplies costumes nationwide for colleges and theater groups. But starting every September, she becomes the seamstress of imagination, the woman in large, round eyeglasses with the measuring tape draped around her shoulders who knows every stitch in her huge inventory.

And with every customer, she has something to say.

“You don’t look like the pope type.’’

“She needs some cleavage. Give her some boobs.’’

“If you say this is what your wife wants to wear, I want to meet her. But I don’t want you to meet my husband. We’re not that trainable.’’

“I do not go get my costumes out of jail. Haven’t done so in 30 years. And I don’t want to start. So remember. Be good.’’

And so it goes, for hours and weeks, months and years, near 17 steel-pipe racks, where her costumes are a forest of fabric and her heads include a one-eyed purple monster with a unicorn horn.

This is the world of Juanita Dunlap, the world of our Halloween.

“If the good Lord is willing and creeks don’t rise,’’ she likes to tell costumers coming in for their costumes, “I’ll be sitting on a beach next Halloween tickled pink.’’

Her son in California doesn’t believe her. So, you ask. And the truth comes out.

“The day I sign the papers, I’ll probably bawl, and they’ll have to call the police and drag me out with me yelling, 'I don’t want to leave!’ because I know everybody doesn’t have the opportunity I’ve had.

“I’ve had a job I’ve absolutely loved.’’

Contact Jeri Rowe at 373-7374 or jeri.rowe@news-record.com