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riving north on I-35, Kyle McMullan and his family were on their way to spend Halloween with his grandmother in the small town of Gallatin, Missouri. Now that his daughter Christy was almost five, he and his wife Elaine thought her old enough for carefully supervised trick-or-treating. He wanted Christy to experience Halloween as something other than the vandalism that typically spoiled the tradition in their suburban neighborhood in North Kansas City each year. Gallatin was isolated and small enough so that Halloween should be a safe, fun venture.
As the car approached the Winston exit, Kyle reached down, held up a white paper bag, and wagged it at Christy and her teenaged brother Alex who were sitting in the back seat. “Anyone want another Maid-Rite?”
Fifteen year-old Alex wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Those things suck. All they are is loose hamburger slapped on a bun with a little ketchup or mustard and maybe a pickle or onion. You and mom act like they’re freakin’ steak, or something. Give me a Big Mac, any day.”
Christy raised her cute, mustard-smeared face and said, “They’wre yummy.”
Alex turned his head and glared at his little sister. “You would say that. But that’s ‘cause you’re such a wuss.”
Christy looked at her brother for a couple of seconds with misty brown, moonlike eyes, and started to cry. Gripping the steering wheel in barely-suppressed anger, Kyle glared at his son in the rearview mirror for what seemed the hundredth time since they’d left home about two hours, ago. “Alex, I know you didn’t want to come on this trip. But if you keep this up, you may find your butt more grounded than the Hindenburg when we get back home. Now, leave Christy alone. Do I make myself clear?”
Alex rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, already. But I still don’t see why I couldn’t have stayed home and gone
trick-or-treating with Kevin and Mark.”
Elaine turned her head sharply and glared at her son. “You know why: because ‘trick-or-treating’ last year included knocking over four mailboxes with Kevin’s baseball bat, and smearing cow manure on windows at the junior high. Your father and I were never so humiliated in our lives! You’d better be thankful that our neighbors and Principal Hughes all let you and you friends work off the damage. You could have ended up in serious trouble. Bashing mailboxes is a federal offense.”
Alex threw up his hands in frustration. “But I told you guys a million times that I didn’t do it. All I did was go along.”
“Your mom and I believe you, son,” Kyle said. “But we want to make the point once and for all that Halloween is not an excuse to act foolishly.”
Alex slumped his shoulders in defeat. “I know. But, jeez: spending four whole days at grandma’s is major dullsville. Heck, dad, she doesn’t even have cable, much less any video games. I’ll die of boredom up there.”
Elaine turned her head and smiled at Alex. “Not if I can help it.” Then she reached over and rubbed her husband’s shoulder. “Honey, I just had an idea: after we get into town, why don’t we stop at Bert’s Grocery and see if he has any pumpkins? If he does let’s buy some, take them to Grandma Julia’s, and we can carve some Jack-o-lanterns. That would be a really fun thing we could do as a family. Afterwards, Julia and I can make pumpkin pies.”
Christy scrunched her face into a sudden frown, almost as if she’d tasted a sour pickle when she was expecting the taste of ice cream. “What’s a Wack-o-wantern, mommy?”
Alex snorted and was about to unleash another hurtful verbal barrage on his younger sister when a stern look from Elaine silenced him. Redirecting her gaze at her daughter, she smiled and said, “A Jack-o-lantern is a pumpkin with a face carved into it, sweetie.”
Christy thought about Elaine’s statement for a few moments, suddenly smiled, and said, “Okay, mommy. I’m going to sleep, now.”
“Thank God,” Alex mumbled. His subdued remark was rewarded with twin glares from Kyle and Elaine.
“You will behave this weekend,” Alex’s father said, issuing the statement as a warning. “Please remember that Grandma Julia’s 78 years old. This may be the last time any of us get to see her.”
Little did Kyle know just how prophetic his last statement to Alex would prove to be. |
Later after exiting Highway 6, turning into the Bert’s Grocery parking lot, and shutting off the engine, Kyle turned to Elaine and said, “While you and the kids are rummaging through the pumpkins, I’m going to see my old buddy Bert, and get caught up on local gossip.”
“Sounds good,” Elaine smiled, pulling her windbreaker tighter around her with a shiver. “Don’t be too long, it’s cold out here.”
“I told you to bring one of your winter coats,” Kyle said. “Looks like it’s going to be a nasty winter this year.” Glancing into the store, he added, “Ten-to-one Alex is trolling the video games, rather than getting groceries. Guess I’d better get in there and crack the proverbial whip.”
Inside the store Kyle removed his glasses, which had suddenly fogged. Squinting, he turned toward the chaotic sound of video games to his left in a small alcove. Three local teens huddled around a Blast Master game like vultures hovering over a kill. Alex was not among them. Smiling to himself in relief, Kyle found a few minutes to track down and chew the fat with his old high school friend, Bert Howe. Kyle was happy to find that Bert and his family were doing well. Gallatin was a small enough town so that it didn’t attract “big box” stores, which would have forced Bert out of business. But it was large enough so that the town and surrounding rural population combined kept Bert’s family financially well.
After everyone was back in the car and they were about to leave, Alex said, “Hey! What gives? You guys didn’t get me a pumpkin?”
“You seemed so disinterested in participating that I didn’t think you wanted one,” Elaine said.
Alex lowered his head in shame. “I-I know I’ve been kinda pissy. But, yeah, I’d like one. Carving a Jack-o-lantern can be fun, and it’ll help pass the time.”
Relieved by his son’s change in attitude, Kyle reached into his right pocket, fished out a ten, and handed it to Alex. “Tell you what: go pick out a pumpkin, and I’ll run your mom and Christy up to Millie’s Gift Shop on the square. We’ll come pick you up in say, forty minutes. How’s that sound?”
“Great, dad, thanks,” Alex replied, stuffing the money into his windbreaker and stepping from the car.
“If it gets too cold, wait inside the store,” his father said.
“Will do,” Alex replied, slamming the door shut. For a moment, he watched them drive away. But a cold wind gust lent urgency to his legs, and he trotted toward the far side of the parking lot with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets to ward off the chill.
A few paces later, he halted, surprised. “What the?” Earlier, he could have sworn that the pumpkins that had been for sale had lain in a grassy, roped off area next to a late model pickup. Now, they resided on the flatbed of a rusted, dented truck that looked as if it had survived Armageddon. Admittedly, Alex hadn’t been paying much attention when his family first arrived in the parking lot. Still, he could have sworn. . . . Shaking his head, he resumed his advance.
To the right of the battered flatbed, a large, tattered tent had been erected. Most likely, the seller was inside with the flaps drawn to keep out the chill. Alex walked to the entrance and drew back a flap. “Hello? Anyone home?” Receiving no answer, Alex poked his head inside and found the place empty. “Probably in the store. Can’t blame him,” Alex said, shivering.
Retreating to the flatbed, Alex hopped up and approached the piled pumpkins to get a better look. Halfway to the front edge of the pile, a line of low, scudding clouds riding a biting northwest wind blotted out the sun like a curtain coming down at the end of a play. The sudden change in lighting gave the pumpkins a sinister, bloated look; they seemed to—breathe. Shadows between them leaped forward as if alive.
Goosebumps sprang up and ran willy-nilly over Alex’s body like hounds in search of a fox. Just as he was about to turn and leave, a cold, gloved hand touched his lower left calf. Alex yipped and jumped into the air. After landing, he wheeled and saw the source of his fright: a bent, gnome-like old man smiled up at him through black, rotting teeth. “Didn’t mean to startle you, boy.”
Alex thought the hideous old fart was lying. Far back under the bill of the old man’s battered ball cap, bottomless black eyes seemed to twinkle with delight, and perhaps something else far less wholesome. Alex couldn’t see the old geezer’s eyes clearly, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Regaining a sliver of his composure, Alex lied, “That’s all right, mister.” Pointing at the pumpkins, he asked, “These yours?”
“They’re under my care.”
The old man’s odd reply creeped out Alex even more. After a few moments of awkward silence while he waited for the old man to say something further, Alex finally managed to clear his throat and said, “I-I’d like to buy one, if that’s okay.”
The old man fixed Alex with his strange, unsettling eyes for a few seconds, and smiled again. A fresh round of goose bumps crawled over Alex’s body. “Why, sure, sonny,” the old man said, shuffling forward. “What kinda Jack-o-lantern you want to make? Funny? Sad? Scary?” Scratching the stubble on his chin, the old man pulled a sly grin and answered for Alex, “You look like the kinda feller that wants to scare the livin’ shit out of someone, if I do say so, myself.”
Startled by the old codger’s blunt crassness, Alex said, “Why, I, er . . . yeah. Guess you’re right.”
Hobbling further along the flatbed’s side, the old man beckoned Alex to follow. “Got just the perfect one,” he said, pointing a palsied finger at the pile. “That one there.”
Alex shuffled forward, bending at the waist. “Where?”
“It’s buried underneath, close to the left side. You’ll have to dig it out. You’ll know when you see it,” the old man cackled.
Wishing he were anywhere but here, Alex numbly bent and dug into the pile. After pushing aside several pumpkins, Alex saw the one the old man had been referring to. Plainly, there could be no other. Weighing thirty pounds, the thing looked positively diseased. Deep orange in color and sprinkled with irregular large, black blotches, the massive pumpkin displayed a large, knotted protuberance high along one side, giving it the appearance of having a Neanderthalic brow. Directly beneath, the pumpkin sagged sharply inward in an “O”, creating a pinched, puckered look like that of some nameless monster that sucked the life juices from its victims with a suction cup mouth. Lower still, another massive protuberance jutted out like the jaws of a bone-crunching carnivore.
Despite his gnawing fright, Alex smiled. “Yeah. Not only yeah, but hell yeah!” With a little careful carving, he could turn the pumpkin into a monstrosity. Rubbing his hands in sudden glee at the thought of literally scaring the pants right off of his sister and pissing off his parents as a bonus, he turned to the old man and asked, “How much?”
Smiling back with a hideous smile that seemed far too large for his face, the old man said, “For you, it’s free.” |
When his family returned to pick Alex up, it was dusk and the dreary, fading light allowed Alex to conceal the pumpkin beneath a tarp in the back of the station wagon without anyone getting a glance. At first, he thought his plan wouldn’t work. But everyone was so excited about the gift they’d bought for Grandma Julia that the subject of his pumpkin never arose. His snoopy, little bitch of a sister Christie had worn herself out shopping, and was fast asleep in the back seat. Best of all, Alex had pocketed the money his father had given him to pay for the pumpkin.
Despite having gotten away with it (whatever “it” was, exactly—Alex’s mind wasn’t very clear on that), he had a sudden twinge of guilt.
Why had he vehemently thought of Christie as a bitch? True, like any younger sister, she had her moments. But for the most part, she was a good kid. Briefly, Alex felt ashamed about his sister and the money.
Then, a sudden flare of anger quelled Alex’s remorse. If he returned the money to his father, then how would he explain the large pumpkin he’d taken? And his cruel thoughts about Christie had been revealed only to himself. In no way had he hurt her, and he’d felt ashamed afterward. As far as he was concerned, his remorse wiped his mental slate clean.
And what could possibly be wrong with carving a really nasty-looking pumpkin on Halloween? Many people before him had done so and many others would, long after he was worm food. Alex finally decided that the weird old man had freaked him out worse than he thought, and put the matter to rest just as they pulled into Grandma Julia’s driveway.
When everyone piled out of the car, Alex volunteered to bring in the pumpkins. His father readily agreed, and Alex was left to the task while everyone else went indoors. After placing the other pumpkins on a table on the back porch, Alex hid his ghastly treasure beneath the backyard stairs. Rubbing his hands in glee, he smiled and looked forward to carving it when no one was around, and shocking them later. |
At nine-thirty Halloween morning, everyone gathered in the kitchen to carve their Jack-o-lanterns. Starting with Christie’s, everyone, including Alex, got involved.
As Kyle prepared to make the first cut on Christie’s pumpkin, she looked up at her father with innocent eyes and asked, “Won’t that hurt it?”
Kyle put the knife down, picked his daughter up, and hugged her, struggling hard to keep a straight face. “No, sweetheart. Pumpkins are plants. They don’t have feelings.”
With Christie convinced, her Jack-o-lantern soon became a cute little one-toothed thing with a wavery grin and innocent, moonlike eyes. Elaine’s pumpkin was carefully transformed into a loving motherly effort, including eye lashes drawn with a Magic Marker. Kyle, breaking form, went for a somewhat scarier, more traditional look.
The event went off flawlessly, except while making Christie’s Jack-o-lantern. Kyle had briefly placed the carving knife on the counter after finishing, and paused for a sip of coffee. While his back was turned and everyone else was talking, Christie, unnoticed, wandered to the counter and pricked her index finger on the tip of the blade. Without a whimper, she walked to her father. Tugging on his shirt, she gazed up at him with her soft brown eyes misting slightly, held out her finger and said, “I cut myself.” After a withering stare from Elaine to her husband and Christie’s finger had been lovingly wrapped by Grandma Julia, the affair had blown over.
After everyone’s Jack-o-lanterns were carved except Alex’s, Christie turned to Alex and asked, “Where’s yours?”
Smiling, he bent and rubbed her blonde curls. “I’m gonna carve mine sometime this afternoon.”
“Why?”
“It’ll be a big surprise,” Alex said. “Just wait and see.”
Elaine turned to Alex after tossing pumpkin seeds in the trash. Wiping her hands, she said, “Well, don’t be too long doing it if you want the filling used for pumpkin pies. Grandma and I don’t want to be trapped in the kitchen all evening.”
Touching her Daughter-in-law’s shoulder lightly, Grandma June said, “You go ahead and run over to the Croesen’s and visit, dear. This kitchen’s crowded enough with one person cooking as it is.”
“You sure?” Elaine asked.
Nodding, Grandma June smiled and said, “I’m sure. Now shoo. Go have some fun.”
Just then, Kyle walked into the kitchen. “Did I hear you say that you wouldn’t carve your pumpkin until this afternoon, Alex? I thought you were going over to the Croesen’s with us. You used to be gaa-gaa over Sheila. I thought you’d want to see her.”
“Changed my mind,” Alex said, shrugging his shoulders. “Anyway, that was three years ago. Sheila’s up here, and we’re in K.C. Distance kinda snuffed that. And besides,” he continued, “I’m really pumped about making my Jack-o-lantern. Anyway, I can go visit Sheila tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Kyle said. “Just stay out of grandma’s hair. She’s gonna be busy baking pies all afternoon.”
“Sure thing, dad. You guys have fun at the Croesen’s. And tell ‘em ‘hi’ for me.” |
Around twelve-thirty that afternoon after telling his grandmother where he was going, Alex slinked out the back door while she was watching television in the living room. Quickly, he knelt and retrieved the pumpkin from beneath the stairs. Standing, he grunted and hoisted it to his right shoulder and quickly carried it to the garage and carefully placed it on the work bench. Returning to the kitchen, he retrieved the carving knife and hustled back to the garage. Setting the knife on the counter, Alex flipped on the light. “Holy jeezly, what a mess.”
After his grandfather’s passing six years ago, his grandmother had left everything exactly as it was. Crammed with expensive woodworking and metalworking tools worth a small fortune, the shop was now buried in clogging dust and festooned with cobwebs. Craning his neck, Alex started when he saw an abandoned wasp nest the size of a dinner plate five feet above his head. “Gross.”
Despite the mess, Alex was determined to carve his pumpkin. Glancing around, he spotted a metal trash can and dragged it to the work bench. After dusting off the counter, he grabbed the knife and bent low, studying the object. In the shadows cast by the overhead lights, the thing looked creepier than ever. Two perfectly-spaced narrow depressions just beneath the massive brow ridge gave the impression of wicked eyes sunken in pools of murky darkness.
After shaking off the jitters, Alex decided to carve a ring of razor-like teeth into the puckered area of the face, much like the rasping teeth of an eel. But just as he held the knife less than an inch from making the first cut, he wavered. He had a queasy, gnawing feeling that he was doing something wrong.
No: not just wrong, his primal conscience warned.
Something evil.
Perhaps even something deadly.
For several seconds, Alex warred with his newfound fright while the knife wavered in his hand. “Fuck it,” Alex said finally, and plunged the knife into the pumpkin. Immediately after penetrating the rind, bubbles hissed around the edge of the buried blade. “What the . . . ?” Startled but curious, Alex bent closer and slid the knife from the gash to get a better look.
Immediately, a noxious cloud of black gas erupted from the wound and surrounded his face. Caught unaware, Alex inhaled sharply, filling his lungs. Gagging and clutching his throat, Alex dropped the knife to the floor and retched in a desperate bid to clear his lungs. His efforts were fruitless.
Coughing and wheezing, Alex staggered away from the counter toward the garage entrance. If he could escape the noxious cloud, he might have a chance.
But the gagging, mysterious substance clung to him as if alive. Only five feet from the garage door, Alex dizzily slumped to the floor and desperately yelled for his grandmother. But the cloying gas that was choking him seemed to have solidified in his throat. All that came out was a muffled, gurgling wheeze.
The last thing Alex thought he heard before passing out was icy, evil laughter coming from somewhere behind him; it seemed to echo in his mind endlessly, long after darkness had taken him. |
At six-forty p.m., the McMullan family returned from their visit with the Croesen’s. Topping a low rise a quarter-mile from Grandma Julia’s driveway, Elaine pointed toward the house and said, “Look, honey. The lights are off.”
“Could be a temporary power outage, or maybe her main breaker blew,” Kyle replied. After pulling into the driveway, he turned to his wife and said, “Open the glove box and hand me the flashlight.” Elaine did so and returned her gaze to the house with a worry line creasing her face. Kyle patted her on the thigh and checked the flashlight to see that it was working. “Don’t worry. It’s probably nothing serious, but you and Christie stay here while I go check it out.”
Nervously, Elaine shook her head in agreement, thankful that Christie was asleep in the back seat. Just as her husband was about to leave the car, she impulsively grabbed him and pulled him back. She wanted to tell him not to go, but instead she said, “Just be careful in there, okay?”
Kyle smiled, leaned over, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Don’t worry. I doubt I’ll have to play ‘Don Quixote’ in there.” Before she could reply, Kyle opened the door, trotted across the lawn, and took the steps two at a time up to the porch. From there, he slowed his approach.
Elaine rolled her window down in an effort to hear him, should he say anything.
After a brief pause, her husband glanced back once, waved encouragement, and disappeared across the threshold. The blinds weren’t drawn, and Elaine easily marked his progress as the flashlight wavered about.
First, she saw Kyle search the living room. After that, she watched as the flashlight’s beam made its way up to the second floor, where it disappeared. Elaine subconsciously chewed her nails while five minutes dragged by. Just as the suspense grew to be too much, she saw the beam reemerge in the window at the back of the second floor. She heaved a sigh of relief two minutes later when she saw the light bouncing its way back down the stairs.
Maybe Kyle would come back out and tell her that everything was all right.
He did not.
Instead, he directed the flashlight down the hallway leading to the kitchen. Shortly after, the light disappeared, consumed by the confining, solid walls.
Elaine held her breath as the light faded and vanished. |
For what seemed the umpteenth time, Kyle shouted for Alex and Julia. So far, he’d seen nothing wrong, and had begun to wonder if they had left.
Perhaps Julia had become ill, and Alex had driven her to the health clinic in town? While Alex was not legally old enough to drive, Kyle knew that he was quite capable in an emergency because Kyle had been giving his son lessons on the sly for months.
But he knew that he was wrong: Julia’s old Ford Taurus was sitting in the driveway in front of the garage.
So where could they be? Calling for them again, Kyle advanced down the hallway. The only sound in the house was an occasional creaking floorboard as he edged forward.
Halfway to the kitchen, Kyle became consciously aware of the smell for the first time: pumpkin pie. Nothing unusual about that. Julia had been baking pies all afternoon.
But something about the odor troubled him. While it smelled much as he remembered it from countless times before, there seemed to be a foreign, coppery smell—something that he knew he’d smelled before, but which seemed very wrong, here.
Without knowing exactly why, Kyle grew suddenly nervous to the point of being jittery. Steeling himself, he advanced to the kitchen’s threshold. “Alex, Julia?”
Again, no answer.
Kyle swept the flashlight’s beam methodically around the kitchen, and that’s when he saw the pies. He knew Julia had planned on baking quite a few, but not this many. Pies lined every window sill and covered the stove. Pies by the dozens crammed every counter and the kitchen table. Pies sat on chairs like crusty visitors.
Very suddenly, Kyle knew that he didn’t want to go in there, but he didn’t know why. Scoffing at his nervousness, he willed himself forward. Halfway to the edge of the kitchen table, he thought he heard muffled, repeated rustling behind him. Wheeling, Kyle sucked in his breath, and stabbed the flashlight’s beam into the hallway. He discovered nothing.
“Get a grip, asshole,” he muttered angrily to himself. Dismissing the subject, he turned and redirected his attention to the orgy of pies in the kitchen. Walking to the edge of the table, Kyle examined them more closely. At this range, he noted that they seemed off-color for pumpkin pie; they all had a rust tinge to them unlike any pumpkin pies Julia had ever baked, or any he had ever seen.
Stooping low, he examined the nearest pies closely. Lumps of varying sizes floated in them, concealed by a thin film of pumpkin. Julia’s pies were always silky smooth, he remembered. Puzzled, he took a fork from a nearby drawer, returned to the table and poked at one of the pies, peeling back the surface over one of the larger lumps.
Due to the poor lighting, it took Kyle a few seconds for his mind to accept what years of medical training were literally screaming at him. “Oh, my dear Good,” he whispered, when he could deny the truth no longer. Slowly, he straightened and gazed at all the pies around him while his mind worked feverishly and his heart pounded in his chest, terrified of the possible answer.
With panic clutching his throat like murderous hands, he swept the kitchen’s contents once again. If the lumps in the pies were truly what he thought they were, then where in God’s name was the rest? Where were the . . . ?
Before he could finish the unthinkable, ghastly thought, sharp stabs of pain lanced both of his Achilles tendons simultaneously. Hamstrung, he screamed and fell to the floor, no longer able to stand.
The flashlight rolled from his hand beneath the table in front of him, thumping to rest against the base of the kitchen trash can, hidden beneath. Despite the burning pain in his legs, Kyle grabbed the flashlight and yanked it back.
He was about to roll over and direct the light behind him to see what had caused his injuries when he saw the long, wandering stream of blood spilling down the trashcan’s side. Unable to resist, he fanned the light upwards, and discovered the answer to the earlier, grisly question he had been about to ask himself. Jammed among a jumble of human rib bones, the bloody, rounded end of a human femur jutted from the near side of the rectangular trash can, hidden beneath the table.
Screaming, Kyle rolled to his left and wriggled backwards away from the hideous discovery.
And that’s when he found Julia and Alex.
Or what was left of them.
Propped against the wall and nestled on folded, deflated cushions of their own skins, the severed heads of Julia and Alex stared at him sightlessly from gouged, bloody sockets. Toothpicks had been driven deep into Julia’s toothless upper and lower gums, giving her a ghastly, vampiric look.
Screaming insanely, Kyle wriggled backwards in a frantic effort to deny the horror. Babbling incoherently, he turned to yell a warning to his wife and daughter.
But just as he was about to shout, he came face-to-face with Alex’s hideous Jack-o-lantern, now come to life. By its side, equally alive, was the small, one-toothed Jack-o-lantern he’d carved for Christy. Beneath both Jack-o-lanterns, twin nests of diseased, black vines writhed like angry snakes.
Begging for his life, Kyle cowered under the table as Alex’s Jack-o-lantern advanced with an evil, razor-toothed smile, clutching the bloody carving knife in a black, writhing vine growing from its head.
With his hands pressed to his eyes, Kyle heard Christie’s Jack-o-lantern ask in a mocking, little girl voice, “Won’t that hurt him, daddy?”
“No, little sweetheart. They’re only people. They don’t have feelings,” the horror gargled.
Just before the knife pierced his right ear and lanced his brain, Kyle heard the shattering of safety glass and the first distant, frantic screams of his wife and daughter.
The carving had begun. |
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