Back in July I lost my friend, Billy. He died quite suddenly and unexpectedly at the far-too-young age of 42. His absolute favorite holiday was Halloween. He was a somewhat quiet, genuinely kind, and easy going guy which is why it always cracked me up that he loved horror movies and to be scared out of his mind. It was his thing. My thing was sending him images and videos of creepy and whimsical DIY Halloween decorations, my way of saying, “hello,” and “thinking of you.” A thing that I have caught myself wanting to do more than a dozen or so times over the last couple months.
Since I couldn’t do it, I decided to pen him a little Halloween story instead. It’s not particularly horrific, you won’t jump out of your skin, but I think it’s a good homage to the kind of person he was or at least I hope it is.
Seeds
Leah looked out the window. She’d spent the whole morning and first part of the afternoon with the rake and leaf blower. She was dusty, a bit sneezy with watery eyes, and had a blister on her right hand in the vee between her thumb and forefinger, but had single-handedly managed to get the leaves shed by their half-dozen mature trees to the curb. The pile was long, the length of their modest yard, and high, well above her waist. In spite of this fact, she could see Gilbert and Curtis, the neighborhood mischief makers and bane of her existence, circling in the street on the other side. Curtis caught sight of her spying through the blinds, stopped, laughed, then raced through the leaves, bouncing over the curb and into her yard before braking hard, the heavy tread of his dirt bike tearing a long, deep rut across the lawn.
Frustrated, she sighed and let the blind fall back into place. Leah knew if she continued watching or went outside and called them out, it would only worsen matters. Curtis and Gilbert enjoyed causing trouble, but more than that, she’d learned they enjoyed upsetting people. They thrived on getting a reaction from their peers and schoolmates and would push until they did. They also excelled at escaping consequences, always managing to extract themselves from the action before a teacher or other responsible adult could get involved. Leah knew her mother was due home anytime with the pumpkins. She hoped she’d arrive in time to see Curtis scattering her freshly raked leaves and tearing up the yard, but history told her the odds were not in her favor.
When Leah heard her mother’s car pull into the driveway, she peeked out the blinds again. Sure enough, leaves were scattered, tire marks scarred the lawn, and the culprits were nowhere in sight. She shook her head, dropped the blind, and hurried to help her mom unload the pumpkins.
“Wow, Mom, you sure outdid yourself this year.”
“Mr. Peabody said he hadn’t seen as many familiar faces this year at the farm. I felt bad and these all looked great. Before I knew it the back of the car was full. Which two are you going to carve?”
Leah surveyed the myriads of pumpkins that now dotted the flowerbeds, wrapped around the trees, and lined the front steps. “I think…” she hesitated, her eyes searching for the one she’d admired first, “that one.” She pointed toward a large, top-heavy one that looked like it had taken a punch to the gut and was folded over, unable to recover. “And…” again, her eyes scanned the possibilities. She wished she could go to the farm and see them all, but the hay made her skin itch and eyes swell up. “That one.” Leah indicated a tall, narrow one.
“Really? It’s so… so perfect. That surprises me,” her mother said before indicating the squat, lopsided one she would be carving.
“It surprises me a bit, too, but I like it. I can see the potential.”
“I know you can.”
“You haven’t said anything about the yard.” Leah indicated the deep ruts with a nod as she wandered off to collect the first of her pumpkins.
“I know you worked hard on it. I’m sorry someone messed it up a bit.”
“I’m sorry they never get caught!” exclaimed Leah. Her frustration on the matter was reaching its limit. She hated feeling like there was nothing she could do.
“I know. The whole neighborhood knows. Their parents know but…” Mrs. James trailed off and shook her head. “Let’s get inside and start carving these beauties. That always makes you feel better. Besides, I’m eager to see what you do with the sort of ordinary one.”
Leah and her mother spent the afternoon leaning over the plastic-covered kitchen table. When her mother had finished, she was three triangles and a crooked smile kind of girl, she eyed the large bowl of mushy pumpkin innards and asked if Leah wanted to roast the seeds again this year. “I can start picking them out.”
“No, not this year. I have a plan for all of that, but thank you.”
Mrs. James raised an eyebrow but said nothing. They had a strict “no peeking” rule.
An hour later, when Leah finished, she covered her two pumpkins with a hand towel and ran upstairs to her room, returning quickly with a box. “Give me a chance to get this set up. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”
It took her three trips and a few minutes to get everything together. When she had, she was pleased with the final product and truly believed this would be the one to win the neighborhood carving contest. Her backup, the one currently in the window, was good, with its pushed-in face and the patched eye she’d created, but this one was genuinely gross and memorable.
“Okay, you can come out now,” she called to her mother. “Just watch your step.”
Mrs. James walked down the three steps and stood beside her daughter on the grass. “That, my dear, is truly your best one yet. What goes through your head?”
Leah shrugged. “I want to win. Just once!” she exclaimed dramatically as the two stood and stared at the pumpkin, its top cut off at a deep angle. A spindly, winding bit of branch wound between the opening and out one eye where a fake, fuzzy tarantula crept up, poised to crawl inside. The other eye was a scarred vertical gash, and from the gaping, torn mouth spewed a mass of stringy pumpkin guts and seeds. The vile mess consumed a third of the top two steps. Though it was still bright outside, a tiny light was visible inside, flickering through the gashes over the spent seeds.
“I think it’s a winner,” her mother nodded toward the window and Leah’s backup, “but that one’s a close second.”
“Thanks, Mom. I had fun this afternoon.”
“Me, too. Now, let’s go figure out dinner.”
The following Monday was Halloween. Leah carefully pieced together her ensemble and appeared at breakfast in full costume.
“Wow,” exclaimed Mrs. James, “that is quite lovely. I’m sorry your father had to leave early this morning. You outdid yourself this year. I must say, I never thought I’d see you choose to dress up as a flower.”
“Not just any flower, Mom. I’m a pink oleander. Beautiful, but deadly.”
Mrs. James’s eyebrows shot up her forehead as she took a deep breath and considered how to respond. Finally, she decided to move on. “And the large spider clinging to the leaf draped over your left shoulder?”
“Everything in nature has a predator,” replied Leah as she poured milk over her cereal, “being a poisonous flower doesn’t give an exemption.” She took a bite of her cereal and watched as her mother sipped her coffee and considered this before adding, “Spiders like to suck the tender parts of the plant dry. It’s quite brutal when you think about it.”
“Indeed,” her mother agreed, wondering what went on inside her child’s head.
When she had finished breakfast, Leah collected her lunch and backpack, kissed her mother goodbye, and headed out the front door. She stopped short, heartbroken, dropping her bag. The pumpkin she had spent Saturday afternoon carving had been torn apart and strewn over the yard.
Her mother, having heard the thud of Leah’s backpack hitting the patio, appeared behind her. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.” The groan of the school bus as it turned onto their street filled the air. “Do you want me to wave them on and take you to school?”
Leah shook her head no before finding her voice. “I’ll be okay. I’m just disappointed is all.”
Curtis and Gilbert were laughing at her from their window seats on the bus and though she was determined not to let them see her cry, two tears trickled down her cheeks and fell to the ground. One landed on a pumpkin seed. The other on the fuzzy back of the spider she’d placed near the jack-o-lantern’s eye. Leah waited to wipe her face until she was close to the door where no one but the bus driver could see her. By the time she slid into a seat next to her friend, Melodie, her cheeks were dry, and she’d plastered on a smile. As the bus drove away, she looked past Melodie, into her yard and the mess that remained. Though she knew it wasn’t possible, she thought she saw the large fuzzy spider from her pumpkin display walking away. She shook her head and smiled a little at herself. Her mother always told her she had a wild imagination.
The day passed quickly, and by the time her mother picked her up after choir, she was hungry but more concerned with getting home and resetting her display with the backup jack-o-lantern than she was with food. “But how was your day?” her mother prodded.
“It was okay. Got an A on the math quiz. No homework for lit class. Mrs. Hoffer said she knew we weren’t going to be doing any reading tonight anyway, so best not to try. She’s not wrong.”
“And the costume contest?”
“Meh. People are so predictable.”
Mrs. James laughed. “I’m sorry your efforts weren’t appreciated.”
“I just wanted to see what they meant by, ‘no slasher film stars, no serial killers or murderers.’ Apparently, their scope was limited to the person, not the method.”
“That’s what this was about?” Mrs. James indicated the costume with a nod before returning her eyes to the road.
“I was curious. I like to ask the tough questions in my own way.”
“I know you do,” her mother replied. “I guess I should just be pleased I wasn’t called to pick you up.”
Leah laughed as they rolled into the driveway.
“Anything I can do to help?” Mrs. James asked, wincing as her daughter pushed the car door open even before they had come to a full stop. “Oh, no, ma’am, you know better than that.”
“Sorry, Mom.” Leah leaned back in her seat, holding the car door closed until her mother pulled the key from the ignition.
“Okay, now you’re good. Anything I can do?”
“No, but thank you.”
Leah spent the next half hour redoing her contest entry and trying to clean up the fragments of the previous one that littered the yard. She’d hoped to reuse the spider but couldn’t find it. In the interest of time, she’d briefly considered removing the one from her shoulder but ultimately decided against it, not wanting to damage her costume. Since she was sure she’d seen the spider this morning, she searched until she was out of time. Though her display didn’t fully convey what she’d envisioned, she finally stopped and sprinted down the street to where the judges were slated to begin.
The first house on the list was Nathan Rocco’s. His jack-o-lantern was good but not great. She liked that he’d dripped some candle wax or maybe melted crayon from the eyes, but all in all it was a bit boring. Next up, though, was Curtis Sullivan’s. She sighed, not really wanting to see his efforts, but trudged onward anyway. As the small group of judges and interested parties walked down the street, they encountered an abundance of strange vines creeping out of the leaf piles that lined the streets. Some of the vines meandered out into the street, while other bits and pieces made their way into people’s yards wrapping around trees, mailboxes, and even a couple garden gnomes.
The strange vines appeared particularly heavy in Curtis’s yard but they didn’t seem to faze him. Curtis was seated on his front steps, blocking his entry from view and beaming smugly. Mrs. Parker, who had judged this event since before Leah, Curtis, or any of the other school-aged entrants were born, stumbled over a bit of vine that Leah thought had actually rolled into the woman’s way. Mrs. Parker caught herself on a low-hanging tree limb and looked around sheepishly before straightening up and moving onward. Leah, for her part, watched the vine, waiting, but it seemed normal enough after all, so she shook off the silly thought and pressed in around Curtis with everyone else.
“Alright, Mr. Sullivan, we don’t have all night,” grumbled Mrs. Parker impatiently. “Let’s see it.”
Curtis stood, but as he took a step forward vines raced across the ground from all directions causing a frantic tangle of jumping, stumbling, and scurrying from the small crowd. The vines wrapped around Curtis, winding their way up his torso until he was fully bound and gagged. Only his eyes, which clearly conveyed his horror, were visible. A handful of screams pierced the air around them but mostly people stared in silent fear, trying not to move lest they become the next victim.
“What on earth is going on?” asked Mr. Franklin, looking around apprehensively and slowly inching toward Curtis.
No one answered or attempted to budge.
Leah watched in awe. She knew she should be frightened or concerned, but she wasn’t. At least not until she caught sight of movement on the roof from the corner of her eye. She turned suddenly, prompting everyone to follow her gaze. They watched intently as a large, fuzzy black spider crept over the edge of the roof, dropped down onto the stair railing, and leaped onto Curtis’s right hand. A collective gasp filled the air. The spider seemed to pause and look around for a moment, before continuing up Curtis’s immobilized arm. The creepy, inordinately large spider stopped on his shoulder and looked out at the crowd as if pleased to have an audience. For a moment, Leah thought it was staring at her. She glanced at her own shoulder. Yes, the two spiders matched. Could this be the one from her yard? From her own display? She told herself it was impossible as the spider crept over Curtis’s shoulder toward a small break in the vines that exposed a sliver of his neck. Again, it paused and looked at her. A chill ran over her. Was it asking her permission? Leah recalled the conversation she’d had in the car with her mother. Was she being asked the tough question in a strange way? She lunged forward and yelled, “No!” as she swiped at the air, missing the spider altogether.
In spite of her failure to hit the mark, the spider fled. It dropped down the front of Curtis, paused, then bit into the vine over his knee. Before their eyes the vines dried up, loosened, and began to slip down around Curtis’s ankles. Curtis gasped for air. Mrs. Parker screamed. The black spider hurried away, disappearing beneath the shrubs that lined the front of the Sullivan house.
After the vines had fallen to the ground, Curtis stumbled backward and landed on his pumpkin. Mrs. Parker composed herself and smoothed her hair back into place before speaking. “Well, this is most unfortunate. I’m sorry, Curtis, but since we never had the chance to see your pumpkin, you’ll have to be disqualified.”
Curtis hopped to his feet, ready to object, but instead went bug-eyed when he felt the seat of his pants. A hot pink washed over him as the crowd watched bits and pieces of pumpkin splatter on the ground.
“Gross… pumpkin poop!” exclaimed one of the kids, pointing.
Soon others chimed in, “Pumpkin poop. Pumpkin poop. He pumpkin pooped his pants.”
“That’s enough,” said Mr. Franklin, firmly. Silencing them all after a couple rounds.
When the teasing finally stopped, Curtis exclaimed. “That’s not fair, Mrs. Parker. None of this is my fault!” He turned to examine the mess, exposing the seat of his pants.
Nathan revived the pumpkin poop chant, but it was short-lived thanks to Mrs. Parker.
“That may be, Mr. Sullivan, but as you can well see, nothing remains to be judged.”
Another kid managed to get out “Pumpkin,” before the searing gaze of Mrs. Parker silenced him.
“That’ll be all now. It’s time to move on.” The small crowd followed her lead. As they made their way down the street the strange vines that had appeared suddenly retreated equally as suddenly.
Leah was the last to walk away. For a moment, she considered saying something. “Haha” and “serves you right” were on her tongue and ready to escape her lips, but as she watched him survey the crushed pumpkin and attempt to glimpse the mess covering his own backside, she recalled her last three Halloweens. The heartbreak and disappointment she’d felt picking up the pieces of her best efforts. Finally, Leah walked away in silence. There were ten more entries to see. She didn’t know if she’d win, but for the first time she knew she had a fair chance, which was enough for her.
~Happy Halloween and be safe out there. All the best, C. L. Killgore, October 29, 2024.