The Pumpkin Heads
written by: Jim Bates
Mom was in the kitchen with Gran when I came down the stairs. I could hear them talking about the little girl who was missing.
“It’s not good,” Gran was saying. “Not good at all.” She was Mom’s mom, and we’ve been living with her for the last six years. Ever since Dad died.
“I know,” Mom said.
I knew she was upset; I could hear the worry in her voice. Little Katie Jensen had gone missing yesterday afternoon, and no one had a clue as to where she was. She was seven years old, and the adults in our small town were worried. Many had been out searching in one way shape or form for twenty-four hours. Me? I was worried too. Sort of. But, honestly? I was more excited about Halloween and going trick-or-treating with my best friend Pete.
Mom and Gran were sitting at our round, red Formica table with coffee mugs in front of them. There was cigarette smoke in the air, too, but they weren’t smoking right then, just talking quietly. The fact that they were smoking showed how worried they really were.
I walked in and said, “Well, I’m all set to head out.” My hope was that they’d just say, “Great. Have fun trick or treating! See you later.”
Who was I kidding?
“I don’t know, Kyle,” Mom said. She picked up her pack of Kools, then thought better of it and set it back down again. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“Aw, Mom!” I complained. “How come?”
“I’m not sure it’s safe out there.” She pointed toward the front room and past it, out to where the street was.
“Mom…” I started to say, but was interrupted by Gran.
“Listen to your mother! There could be a crazy pervert on the loose!” Gran barked, continuing Mom’s argument. She picked up Mom’s pack of Kools, shook one out, and lit it with her green Bic lighter. “Maybe two of them.” She blew smoke at the ceiling to make her point. “Two perverts walking around. That’s all this town needs.” She took another drag and exhaled.
Mom nodded in agreement. “Gran is right,” she said.
Oh, no! Both of them were closing ranks against me.
“Mom!” I pleaded, “Me and Peter have been planning this for months!” Which wasn’t exactly true. Heck, we were ten years old, each of us with the attention span of a gnat. But Halloween was a big deal. I’m pretty sure we’d been planning it for a week. Maybe two. “Please?” I dug my mask out of my orange and black trick-or-treat bag and showed it to her. It was a pumpkin head. It looked kind of like how Peter looked, but more importantly, it would cover the scars I had from the fire six years ago. The fire that had killed Dad. “It’s a cool mask,” I added. I’d bought it at the local Ben Franklin store. “It looks kind of like Pete.”
Gran interjected. “Pete? He’s that boy from that strange family next street over, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah, what of it? He’s my best friend.” I’m sure Gran knew that, but I’m assuming she was upset about the missing little girl and maybe wasn’t thinking too clearly.
But I was. Thinking clearly, I mean. I was thinking very clearly. I really wanted to go trick-or-treating this year. Especially with Pete. We had big plans. “Please, Mom.” I put my mask on. “See, I look good, don’t I?”
Mom actually smiled.
But, before she could say anything, Gran jumped in and pointed in the direction of where Peter lived. “I don’t like it,” she said. “I know I shouldn’t say anything, but that family, they’re just…”
“What, Gran?” I spoke up, ready to defend my friend. “They’re just kind of what?”
“Well…They’re just kind of weird.”
So there it was. Gran finally admitted it to me. What she really thought. She thought my best friend Pete was weird. He and his family, too. Just because they looked like pumpkins. Well…at least it was out in the open.
I looked at my mom. “Mom! Help me here.”
Pete and his family, the Pumpkins, had moved into the neighborhood that June, shortly after school had let out. Sure, they kept to themselves, but that was okay. They didn’t hurt anyone. I met Pete soon after he and his family moved in, when I was down at the creek on the edge of town. Pete had been birdwatching, and I’d been looking for arrowheads. I collected them. It turned out Pete collected marbles. So, we had something in common, collecting stuff, and we hit it off right away.
Pete’s mom and dad worked from home. They homeschooled Pete’s younger brother and sister. And Pete too, but during the summer, he kept at his parents’ relentlessly trying to convince them to let him go to Crowfoot Elementary. Finally, they gave in, saying, “Well, just be careful, okay?” After the decision had been made, Pete’s mom said to me, “Please watch out for Peter for us, all right, Kyle?”
The implication was clear. Like me and my scars, Pete looked different because of his pumpkin head.
“Sure, Mrs. Pumpkin,” I told her. “I’ll take good care of him.”
Next to me, I could feel Pete roll his eyes. Both of us knew very well that he could take care of himself. Me too, for that matter. You didn’t get to be ten years old looking like we both did without learning a few things along the way. Like how to stand up for yourself. But it was super cool that his parents relented because that meant we’d be in Mrs. Schagenhoff’s fifth-grade class together.
See, the thing is, I was an outsider long before Peter and his family arrived in our small town of Crowfoot in Southern Minnesota. I had been badly scared in the apartment fire that had killed my dad, left my face scarred, and me and Mom homeless. Fortunately, Gran took us in. Like I said earlier, that had been six years ago. I was four years old at the time.
I think that Mom remembering the fire and my scars, and the fact that I had no real friends, not until Pete anyway, helped her decide to finally relent and let me go trick-or-treating.
She turned to Gran. “I think it’s okay that Kyle goes out tonight.” Gran started to say something, but Mom held up a hand to stop her. “Mom, it’s okay,” she said. Then she looked at me. “Just be careful, okay?”
Wow! I’d won the battle. “I will, Mom,” I said. “I promise. Thank you so much!”
This was so cool!
I hugged Mom, and then I hugged Gran.
Mom gave me a pointed look. “Make sure you’re home by 9:30, okay?”
“I will, Mom!” I said. I smiled at her. “And thanks again.”
Gran was giving Mom the evil eye as I ran down the hall, but I saw her waving it away. “They’ll be fine,” Mom said to her.
“I hope so,” Gran retorted with a shake of her head. She definitely wasn’t on board with the idea. “But have it your way, he’s your child.”
I grinned but kept it to myself. At least I got to go. The last thing I saw was them both reaching for the pack of Kools.
I ran out the door, down the steps, and turned right. The sky was dark and billowing with clouds. Rain was imminent. I could smell it in the air. We had big plans for the night, and I hoped we wouldn’t get wet. I put my pumpkin mask on and continued on my way.
There were lots of kids out, mostly young, like four or five or six. There were lots of parents, too. I assumed they were there to protect their children, if, like Gran said, one or two perverts were skulking around. I wasn’t worried. I figured I could take care of myself even though I wasn’t even five feet tall. Heck, I practiced jujitsu all the time with Pete.
I ran down our street, Oak Street, turned left, and ran to the next block, Pine Avenue, which was Pete’s street. On the way, I passed ghosts, witches, goblins, and even a demented clown. At the corner, I turned left. Pete’s house was halfway down on the right. It was about 5:15 pm and getting dark. On his block, I saw more ghosts, a few princesses, a Micky Mouse, a Minnie Mouse, and even a Goofy. The kids were having so much fun trick-or-treating that I almost ran up to a house to do a little on my own, but I contained myself. Pete and I had stuff to do, and I didn’t want to waste any time.
Pete was waiting on the steps when I ran up to his house. “Hi,” I said. “All set?”
“Ready like a rocket,” Pete grinned.
I gave my friend the once over. He was a tall, thin kid. To complement his orange pumpkin head, he was dressed all in green: green pants, a green shirt, a green jacket, and green shoes. He’d even made a cardboard thing that looked like a stem that he’d taped to the top of his head.
Being dressed all in green, he looked like a vine. “Man, you look just like a pumpkin,” I said.
He laughed. “That’s because I am!”
I laughed with him.
“Your mask looks great,” he said, scrutinizing closely. He reached out and touched me. “Like it’s real,” he added.
“Thanks! I like wearing it.” It was made out of thin rubber, and it slipped over my head, covering my face and my scars completely.
Then he punched me affectionately in the muscle on my arm. Something we did just for the heck of it. “You look almost as good as me,” he grinned.
I laughed and pretended to punch him.
Some kids were coming up the walk to his house, so we decided to take off. “My Mom’s inside,” he said to me. “She’ll get the door, and she and my brother and sister will hand out the candy.”
“Great,” I said. “Let’s go!”
“Right with you, partner!”
We were heading for the old house at the end of town we called the Haunted House. It had a history that drew me and Pete, and other like-minded kids in town like a magnet. The kind of draw that only the creepiest of things have, like the Bearded Lady or Two-Headed Calf you’d see in the back tent of the carnival, or the Horror Night show late Saturday on television.
I should probably explain something here. Have you ever heard of Harvey Pool? No? Well, not many people have, but he’s famous in our town. He was a serial killer back in the 1930s. Yeah, for real. About forty years ago. And he was born in the house we were going to, the Haunted House. There was a bit of history that went with that house, that’s for sure.
Having a serial killer from your hometown is not something the city fathers of Crowfoot were keen to advertise, so they didn’t. But we kids knew all about it. We knew Harvey Pool had been born in that house in the 1900s and raised there until he was five years old. Then his parents moved out to the West Coast, and that was the last anyone heard of them. Not until many years later, that is, after Harvey Pool had been caught and executed by lethal injection.
That’s when the rumors started flying, mainly about him being born and raised here. Most adults tried to write it off to overactive imaginations, but we kids didn’t care. Knowing a serial killer might have lived in town was good enough for us. Especially since we knew where his old house was. And it set the stage for what we were going to do on this particular Halloween.
In our fifth-grade class, Buddy ‘Bud’ Bickford was the leader. He and his pals Jake Sorenson, Arnie Cash, and Stu Donaldson sort of ran things. I said earlier that misfits like Pete and I had figured out how to fit in, and I wasn’t joking. After numerous fights with me starting in kindergarten with Bud and his buddies, and a couple with Pete over the summer, Bud and his gang pretty much accepted us. Besides, the fact that Pete and I were ‘different,’ me with my scars and Pete with his pumpkin head, kind of was cool to them. Anyway, the plan was that we’d meet at the Serial Killers House, as we were now calling it, and then play truth or dare. Of course, the dare was to sneak into the house, not something any of us had ever done, or, for that matter, wanted to do.
“Hi, guys,” I said as Pete and I ran up to them.
“Hey, Scarface,” Bud said. He laughed. “How’s tricks?”
Tricks for trick or treat. Right? Bud always thought he was funny. He rarely was.
But I didn’t want to get him angry with us. “Fine,” I said, “Just fine.”
He looked at me. “Nice mask. You should wear it all the time.”
“I just might,” I said, not wanting to make him mad at me.
“Good,” he said. Then he looked at Pete. “You look like a real pumpkin,” he said. “Ugly. Like always.”
Pete bowed from the waist. “Thanks, partner.”
Neither Bud nor his buddies had bothered to dress up.
By now the sun had set for an hour, and it was completely dark. The wind was blowing hard, gusting, and scattering leaves up and down the street. The sense of foreboding I’d felt earlier was even stronger. We were at the end of town, and there were no street lights. It was so dark, we could barely see.
Stu said, “Let’s quit yapping and get on with things.”
“Okay, okay,” Bud said. He looked at me and Pete. “You guys ready to play? Ready for Truth or Dare?”
“You bet,” I said. I looked at Pete. “How about you?”
“Ready, steady,” he said. “Bring it on, partner.”
“Okay,” Bud said. “Here we go.”
To make a long story short, we lost. We had to go into the house.
By then, the storm had come up hard. The wind had turned into a gale, and not only were leaves flying by us, but occasionally small branches from nearby trees. My mask was wiping against my face so badly that it stung. Amazingly, Pete’s stalk stayed on his head. Altogether, the weather was making an already spooky night even spookier.
Then the rain started with thunder rolling and lightning flashing just like in the horror movies.
The lighting and thunder were bad enough, but when the rain started and quickly turned from small drops to a torrential downfall, Bud said, “Screw it. I’m blowing this pop stand.” He turned to his friends. “Let’s get out of here.” He looked at me and Pete. “You guys comin’?”
I looked at Peter, and he looked at me. Something was going on. Something that had to do with being near that Serial killer’s house. We both felt it.
I said to Bud. “Naw.” I looked at Pete. He grinned a pumpkin grin and gave me the thumbs-up sign. He knew exactly what I was going to say. “We’ll stay and finish the game,” I said.
“Yeah,” Pete added. He grinned at Bud and pointed at me. “Like he said.”
Bud gave me and Pete a funny look. “Suit yourself.” Then he and his buddies ran off, splashing through puddles and leaving the two of us standing in front of the Serial Killer’s House in the thunder and lightning and pouring rain. We maybe should have run, too, but we didn’t. Bub and his buddies wouldn’t have minded or called us chicken, but that wasn’t the point. There was something going on. We felt it. So, we stayed. We wanted to prove to ourselves that we had the courage to do it. That we dared to go into that serial killer’s old haunted house.
I turned to Pete. The rain was rolling off his pumpkin head in rivulets. “What do you think?” I asked.
He pointed at the house, now almost completely hidden in the dark and the rain. “Let’s do it,” he said.
I wiped the rain from the eye holes of my pumpkin mask and said, “All for one…” a line from a book we both liked.
“You bet, partner,” Pete said. “…And one for all.”
He gave me the thumbs-up sign, and off we went.
We pushed through the rusted gate and up the overgrown path to the front door, splashing through puddles along the way. We carefully climbed two rotten front steps up to the front door. The house was literally falling apart. The paint was peeling, and the windows were broken. The scent of decay was so strong that even the wind and the rain couldn’t dispel it.
The front door was hanging by a rusted hinge. It was so dark we couldn’t see anything. But Pete was prepared.
“Look at this,” he said. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small flashlight.
“Cool,” I said. “Good thinking.”
Pete smiled and tapped the side of his head. “It’s not just mush and pumpkin seeds up here, buddy.” Despite my nervousness, I laughed. Pete really could be pretty funny. Then he said, “Enough stalling. Let’s check this place out.”
“Good idea.”
We pushed open the door and peered inside. It was creepy and smelled bad, stinking of mouse crap and mildew. The creepiness factor was high, but being together helped. We explored the first floor, then the second, and found nothing of interest other than rotted floorboards and peeling wallpaper. There was an old brass bed frame in the room at the back on the second floor. That was it. What we thought we’d find, we had no clue.
“Let’s go downstairs,” Pete said. “To the basement.” He looked in my direction shining, the flashlight on me and my pumpkin mask. “What do you think?” I felt an involuntary shiver run through me. In the basement was where, rumor had it, Harvey Pool’s bedroom was.
I swallowed hard, and suddenly my mouth was dry. I was really nervous. “Okay,” I said, trying to sound brave.
Pete grinned. “Don’t worry, partner. I got your back.”
Just then, a bolt of light exploded right outside next to the house. I could smell it in the air. It lit up the inside of the house for an instant, showing the rot and decay. Then it was dark again except for Pete’s flashlight. I rallied my courage. “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”
The door leading to the basement was under the stairs. Pete shone his flashlight on it. Suddenly, we were both very nervous. I was sweating under my mask and thought about taking it off, but didn’t. It may sound weird, but it helped to have it on, like it gave me extra courage or something.
We carefully pushed open the door, both of us surprised by how easily it moved. Breathing hard, hearts beating rapidly, we looked down the steps. It was pitch black. Pete looked at me and gave me the thumbs-up sign. It was a good thing we had the flashlight. So far, so good.
As we began to descend the creaking steps, we suddenly heard a whimpering sound.
“What’s that?” Pete said.
We both froze in our tracks, having the same thought at the same time.
“The ghost of Havey Pool?” I whispered.
“Oh, man!”
A ghost! This was not good. The rumors of the house being haunted were true! I can speak for each of us with confidence when I say that we were one nanosecond away from sprinting up the stairs to safety, but we didn’t. Something curious happened. Something made us hesitate. We heard the noise again, but it was different this time.
“What is that?” I asked.
Pete shone his light into the darkness. “I don’t know,” he said.
“Hello?” I said.
Then we heard crying. What the heck? Pete shined his light deeper into the corner, and when we saw a pile of rags. We looked at each other, speechless, then back at the pile. Wha…. Then we both jumped. The pile moved, and when it did, a blanket shifted and fell away. When it did, we saw her. There, curled up under the rags, was a little girl. I didn’t have to think long or hard because I had a feeling who she was. I carefully walked to her. “Hi, there,” I said. “Are you okay?”
The little girl blinked in the light of the flashlight. “Yes,” she whimpered in answer to my question. Then she sat up and rubbed her eyes. “I’m hungry,” she said.
Pete asked, “You wouldn’t by any chance be Katie Jensen, would you?”
The little girl nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “Please help me.” Then she looked at Pete. Then at me. Then she said, “Are you both real pumpkins?”
I still had my mask on. I took mine off and said, “No. I’m Kyle, and this is my friend, Pete. I’m just a kid.” I pointed at Pete. “But he’s a pumpkin.”
Despite being scared and cold, and hungry, I have to give Katie Jensen big props. She giggled. “Cool!” Then she said, “Hi!”
I looked at Pete, and he looked at me. “Let’s get her out of here,” we both said at the same time.
So we did. We rescued Katie Jensen.
Sort of. It turned out that she’d run off and gotten lost. No one had abducted her. She was just being a kid.
Nevertheless, we were the heroes of that Halloween. Which was fine. But the best part was that people started accepting Pete for looking like a pumpkin. And accepting the rest of his family, too. Even my Gran.
I’ve had Pete over quite a lot since that stormy Halloween night. Gran has gotten to like him a lot. He’s got a good sense of humor, and he’s a great help in her garden. I guess he knows almost all there is to know about growing vegetables.
Me? I’m doing good. I sometimes wear my pumpkin mask to school for the heck of it, even though everyone is used to my scars by now. But I like wearing it. It’s fun, and it makes being with Pete even more special than it is. We’re known as the Pumpkin Heads. Who knows, maybe our town will someday be known as the town where the guys who found that little girl all safe and sound live. The Town of the Pumpkin Heads. I like it. So does Pete. And we both agree that if the town ever becomes famous because of us, it’d be awesome.
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