Another gourd… I just don’t understand kids these days.
I did my best Uncle Rico impression and chunked it into the woods to rot alongside its brethren. That makes 27 perfectly good gourds that have gone to waste this month. Not that I’m exactly sure what gourds are for anyways.
During my walk to work I noticed that once again, I’m not the only victim of this stupid prank, they got old Mr. Toms house too. I never would have imagined as a kid that I’d one day be sympathizing with the town grump but here I am.
To be fair I’m not nearly as crotchety as he is, I just toss the vegetable into the woods and carry on with my day. It’s become part of my morning routine. Ole Tom on the other hand has really embraced his inner Ebenezer. Judging by the stains and gourd residue on his front porch he’s turned this into a game of botanical whack a mole. What’s worse is he probably enjoys it. I know firsthand from my childhood that hateful indignation towards anything fun is his favorite pass time, especially around Halloween.
But that’s water under the bridge. Now that I’m older the boogeyman has taken on much more insidious forms, like taxes, my broken-down car, and perhaps most pressing, the razor thin profit margins at the sandwich shop. Which is why I’ve started walking there … in the cold.
Honestly, I think Banyon’s been thrilled by the sudden death of my crappy old four runner. He’s all smiles and tail wags as we make our daily five-mile trek to work. Although I sometimes feel like he’s the one walking me, on account of my short attention span. I know he gets frustrated when I walk at the pace of a confused grandma but in my defense my town can be pretty distracting this time of year.
Even though I’ve seen it 27 times, it’s hard to ignore the insane fervor with which the locals prepare for Halloween. Every October, like a rhythmic force of nature, hundreds of tombstones rise out of suburban yards, front porches are infested with fake cobwebs, mannequin witches stand on patrol on every rooftop, and the smell of rubber masks permeates the air. To make a long story short, it’s a trick or treaters paradise, or at least it would be, if my town allowed trick or treaters. In fact, they don’t even allow kids to go outside on Halloween night.
I’ve never understood the reason for the strange unspoken rule that’s frustrated me my entire life. I thought I’d go through some sort of initiation when I got older, and I’d be let in on the secret, but it only got worse. Every time I ask someone what’s going on they either stare at me like I’ve got a corn cob growing out of my forehead, or resort to straight up gaslighting.
For example, just last week, I ran the million-dollar question by Ms. Kathy when she came in to order her usual plain turkey sandwich. Historically she’s very nice and one of my best customers, but as soon as I brought up Halloween, I could see the angry micro expression crack beneath her makeup as she wrinkled her crooked nose. She plastered a fake smile on her face gave me a line that went something like, “Darling, what do you think is more likely? Everybody in town being involved in a Halloween conspiracy or one man’s cheese falling off his cracker”.
I’m used to being framed as the “crazy guy”, but it does still sting a little.
An hour or so after opening the shop, I was pulling some fresh bread from the oven when I heard the jingle of the doorbell. I knew exactly who it was based solely on the fact that they were walking like they owned the place, even though they most certainly did not. Mayor Hawthorne strolled right up to my counter looking like the lead of a 1970’s TV drama. He resembled a, slightly broader, middle-aged Burt Reynolds, but with sandy blonde hair streaked with grey. I’d heard him say on more than one occasion that he was the tallest, smartest, funniest, and prettiest member of his whole family. I couldn’t verify that, but he probably could have thrown most arrogant in there as well.
“Well, if it isn’t ole Sandwich Dean, how are you doing this fine and beautiful morning”.
I hate it when he calls me that.
I looked past him at the cold overcast sky and bleak forest across the street. “I’m alright, how about yourself?”
“Oh, I couldn’t be better, little Jimmy hit a home run in last night’s game, the great pumpkin lighting is tonight, and to top it all off the Crumpton gazette just published a story about my charity for the homeless.”
I usually try to zone the mayor out but something he said piqued my interest. “I’ve never heard of that, what is it?”
“Dean I’m sure you’ve seen the dirty vagrants that try to leach off our town.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Between you and me and Carl the bus driver I’ve been packing them up like sardines and shipping them to a Denny’s out in Dothan. Every hundred dollars donated is one less hobo you will ever see in the city of Crumpton.”.
“No umm, I meant the great pumpkin lighting…”
“Oh that. It’s just an old forgotten Crumpton tradition. The town elders are insisting that we bring it back. From my understanding, there will be a bunch of pumpkins there, somebody will say something, and then we get to light them. I get to light the biggest one.” He did his best jack o lantern impression as he said that last part. “You should come on down, it’ll be in the graveyard across from Christ Church at 8 o’clock.”
“The graveyard? And I thought nobody was allowed to go out after dark.”
“Well, it is Halloween.” He said with spooky jazz hands, completely ignoring the second half of my question.
I nodded and silently considered making an appearance. I don’t generally like crowds, but I might finally be able to get some answers on my towns weird Halloween rule.
I’d planned on closing shop early and going home since everyone usually locks themselves in their houses on Halloween night. But for the first time in my life, people seemed to be breaking the rule. I’d ventured out a few times when I was younger out of curiosity and never found anything unusual. Although I never stayed out too long. There’s something deeply unsettling about a completely silent town at night. We all heard stories of kids that disappeared, but I figured they just moved away and some of the older kids made the stories up to scare us.
I thought about all those old stories as the leaves crunched beneath our feet and paws as we walked from streetlight to streetlight, connecting the dots on the way there.
I was admittedly starting to get creeped out, so I pulled out my phone and turned some music on.
I’ve been in a classic rock mood lately and went through a few of my favorites on the way there. Must Be the Season of the Witch by Donovan started playing just as the Christ Church steeple came into view. It seemed a little too fitting for comfort.
We veered off the road and made a B line toward the cemetery. As we got closer, I began to make out hundreds of figures standing and ambling around in the moonlight. Banyon let out a low growl as the first figure came into focus. A walking skeleton with a pumpkin in its hands.
“It’s ok buddy, it’s just a costume”, I assured him.
Soon we found ourselves amongst witches, wolfmen, vampires and every other monster mankind has conjured up. Every one of them carried a carved pumpkin.
Nobody told me this was a costume party.
People were standing around in small groups, having private conversations. I felt like the new kid on the first day of school. Or in my case, any other day of school.
Suddenly a booming voice overpowered all the chit chat and commanded everyone’s attention.
“Fellow ghouls and goblins, witches and warlocks, ghosts, skeletons, and every other creature of the night, welcome to the lighting of the great pumpkin.”
Bram Stoker’s Dracula, formerly known as Mayor Hawthorne, stood atop an impromptu stage and summoned his most spooktacular voice.
“We have known 27 years of peace and prosperity”, he said as he spread his arms wide, “It is with timid deference that we gather on the eve of this hallowed succession… In remembrance of the last I ask you to light your pumpkins.”
The sound of lighters flicking and matches striking cut through the air as countless glowing smiles came to life around me.
The mayor continued, “Even in the night, a shepherd must protect his flock”. He then pulled a long knife from his belt and cut a deep slice in his free hand. The crowd roared with applause and howls as he held his hand high above his head and let the blood stream down his arm.
And with that the mayor jumped off the stage, or what I thought was a stage. And a witch with a crooked nose approached with a lit pumpkin. It was burning so bright that it must have been filled to the brim with gasoline. She handed it to the mayor, who proceeded to smear his bloody hand across the flaming pumpkin. In the orange glow I could now make out what he’d been standing on. It was a giant wooden jack o lantern.
With a dramatic spin and heave he threw the flaming pumpkin into the mouth of the giant jack o lantern and a great fire exploded back out of the eyes and smile of the carved face.
The whole thing was swallowed up in flames and everyone kept their reverent eyes on the burning pumpkin effigy. Except for the mayor, who was staring right at me.
Apparently, he knew a hell of a lot more about the Great Pumpkin Lighting than he let on.
Banyon instinctively backed up.
“What do you say we get out of here buddy.”
He whimpered and we turned to leave.
On the way out every one of my strange neighbors gave us a wide berth as if they either respected or detested us. I felt an overwhelming feeling of attention on my back, so I threw my hoody up in a feeble defense, and we walked into the darkness.
It was hard not to look over my shoulder on the way home. I knew once I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop checking so I kept my eyes forward and my ears on high alert.
I don’t know what in the hell that was all about. Maybe I shouldn’t ask any questions about Halloween, or maybe I should just move to less psychotic town.
I didn’t see a soul as I power walked my way back home. I was too freaked out to get distracted by anything like I usually do, so we were making good time. That is until I reached Ole Tom’s house. His front door was wide open…
I called out to him, but nobody answered. I debated just minding my own business and going home but I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to him, even if he was an old grump.
Dead leaves blew into the hallway as I creaked up the stairs. I stopped at the threshold and raised my fist to knock on the open door but froze before my knuckles hit the wood. There was blood spattered at the end of the hallway. This is not good.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and stepped into the house. I crept to the end of the hall and leaned around the corner expecting the worst but to my surprise there was no dead body. What I did find was a kitchen in complete disarray. It looked as if a drunkem Tasmanian Devil with a penchant for domestic violence had been released in the small room. Beyond the overturned kitchen table was a blue jacket. I recognized it as the one that the old man always wore. Poking out of the corner of one of the front pockets was a crumpled letter.
My hands trembled as I unfolded it and read the hastily written words.
Dean,
I don’t have much time. I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out sooner. I thought I was cursed to carry this burden alone. They never told me anything. They made me think I was crazy until it was too late… They made me keep it. They turned me into a monster… into a killer, but it would have been far worse if I didn’t do my part. Through me I believe it’s limited to one night a year, but I think my time is up and I think they’ve chosen you to be
The letter abruptly ended.
I didn’t know who to call or trust. If the mayor was in on this, then the cops probably were too. Hell, the whole town was probably in on it.
Behind me I heard Banyon yelp and scramble to run out the front door. Before I could turn around a blinding pain erupted from the back of my skull and everything went black.
When I came to, I thought I might be partially paralyzed but gradually my foggy brain put the situation together. I was tied to a chair in the middle of Ole Tom’s garage and two figures were before me.
Mayor Hawthorne sat atop a large brown chest covered in what appeared to be pale worn leather, next to him stood Ms. Kathy.
“What’s happening?” I said
“You’re fulfilling your destiny Dean.” Said the Mayer.
“I…I don’t understand. What did you do with Mr. Tom?”
“He achieved his purpose at the great pumpkin lighting.” Said Ms. Kathy with that same fake smile I’d grown to hate.
“What are you saying? Did you kill him? Are you going to kill me?”
“Are you familiar with the story of the Crumpton Booger?” said the mayor.
“Yea we all heard that story as kids… I used to think that’s why we didn’t go out on Halloween when I was little.”
He laughed, “Then you’ve had the answer to your question all along. He is the reason we don’t go out on Halloween. All except for the children that are disobedient. And those damn hobos.” He spit on the ground in disgust.
“They are sacrificed for the greater good”, chimed in Ms. Kathy.
Mayor Hawthorne continued speaking as he stood and turned to unlock the chest. “I understand that the grief was hard on ole Tom all these years. Embodying something much greater than yourself. Consuming the offerings. Understanding that if he doesn’t do it none of us will make it to next Halloween. But it is an honor to be chosen. Once the bond is made then it will return every year until the next cycle.”
He moved to the back side of the chest and slowly opened the lid. Then they carefully backed up a few paces, through the open garage door, and into the night air.
A soft chittering, like a long hand strumming dozens of fingers on a table, began to emanate from the chest. Slowly a thick and gnarled stem emerged, and I now knew, from the stories I’d heard as a child, what would follow. A large, decrepit pumpkin climbed out of the chest and skittered towards me on long stringy entrails that acted like insect legs.
I screamed bloody murder as the grotesque, bulbus, parasite teetered in my direction. I strained and pulled against the ropes with all my might, but they wouldn’t budge. It was getting closer, and, in my desperation, I tried to push myself away with my feet, the only part of me that wasn’t tied down. I began to helplessly fall backwards and just before I lost sight of the pumpkin a blur of fangs and fur flew into the open garage.
Banyon crashed into the demonic vegetable as my world turned upside down. I heard the mayor and Ms. Kathy yelling and tussling with my dog and Banyon was barking and snapping in return.
The chair hit the garage floor and was crushed under my weight. As it collapsed beneath me, the ropes tying me down loosened up and I scrambled to my feet throwing them off me.
The mayor grabbed Banyon who had clearly gotten a few good bites on his bloody arms and turned to chunk him out of the garage. Banyon went flying and hit with a thud, but the mayor didn’t notice what was crawling up his leg until it was too late.
I yelled for Banyon who darted in the garage and behind my legs.
We stood in horror as the pumpkin scurried up mayor Hawthorne. He made desperate attempts to pull the thing off him, but the spindly legs would stretch and then overpower him, pulling itself closer. It crawled up his body like a massive and misshapen centipede. In a flash it was clinging and climbing over the side of his temple, and it muffled his screams as the smiling the jack o lantern fell in place over his head.
He stood in abject horror for an endless second before the transformation began. Once it started it happened quickly. It was like all his life force and most of his body mass was being sucked into the jack o lantern. His body shriveled and withered to a brown and lean form. The pumpkin filled with mass until the inner workings of a mouth formed and large solid black eyes filled the eye holes.
The figure doubled over, and a sickening and half-finished laugh erupted from its throat as its vocal cords formed.
Slowly, the Crumpton Booger stood, and Banyon and I opened the door to Ole Mr. Toms house and stepped inside, slamming it shut behind us.
Ms. Kathy’s scream was cut short by the sound of a bone crunching fleshly splat.
I locked the door and prayed that we’d be safe if we followed the rules. Don’t go outside and don’t trick or treat on Halloween night.