The Young Pumpkin
With Halloween around the corner I am going to begin the week with something thematic and something I have not done before…but here goes: I started writing this short story a few years ago and it is pretty much finished…and it is ALL about an aspect of the Ghouls night. I hope you enjoy (and if not, we will be back to the regular SIGNAL later this week including a look at the best horror films from 50 years ago).
THE YOUNG PUMPKIN
By David Katznelson
It was a scary feeling being unloaded from the truck onto the parking lot of Molly Stones. Even though the morning started with being cut from the communal vine and taken from the only home it had ever known, the young pumpkin had been with friends in the truck and the drive had not been too bumpy. In fact, getting out of the hot, steel chamber to the fresh air felt nice, but the new world in which it found itself and the uncertainty that lay ahead weighed on its pulpy mind.
The young pumpkin was gingerly picked up by a gentle worker and carefully placed next to a stack of friends right outside the entrance to the store. The spot had sun exposure, and it felt good to be bathed in the sun’s heat…. just like at the patch back home, except without that thirst-quenched feeling it used to get from its stem when connected to the communal vine. He had a close connection to the pumpkin it leaned against, and both agreed that while they missed being attached to something greater, and the smell and feel of the course ground of the patch, that it could have been a lot worse. They had each other. They had sunlight. And they were surrounded by the old gang they had blossomed around.
Then, a curious event happened: an excited little girl, wearing an orange sundress and cat-ears, came up to a pumpkin a few feet away from the young pumpkin and started jumping up and down, smiling and shouting…. pointing to the pumpkin in question and yelling to some bigger people that THAT was the perfect pumpkin for her jack-o-lantern…that was the one she chose. To be chosen…young pumpkin thought…to be chosen sounded so nice…especially when he saw the other pumpkin get picked up and hugged, barely held by the little girl who was not strong or big enough to give it a good grasp. The older people who were with her took the pumpkin from her and they all sweetly went over to their car and drove away.
As time went on, an older person with a shy grin, thick glasses and an overgrown mustache came over to the stack and looked over all the pumpkins. He took one very large, very old pumpkin that framed the rest of the group with its mass, and two pumpkins nearer to the young pumpkin, not even noticing him. The young pumpkin was dejected by this and for the first time ever realized that he was smaller than the rest of the pumpkins…smaller with a paler-orange skin. He had never realized this before, but he must have either been younger than the rest, or less developed. Regardless, as people came to love and embrace the pumpkins outside Molly Stone’s, no one gave him a moments glance.
This went on for a week…people coming, taking pumpkins, talking to themselves about jack-o-lanterns and pies and decorations…none of it making sense to the young pumpkin but all of it sounding intriguing. It was like a promise of a greater existence, an opportunity for a far better future than one on the farm or in this parking lot (which wasn’t so bad at all). Day after day, more pumpkins were unloaded. He was reunited with old friends from the patch, most of whom were soon taken by excited, thoughtful people after coming to look over the group.
But not the little pumpkin. He sat still…waiting for someone to take notice…hoping to be loved and adored by a child or a big person…
And then it happened. While the sun was beginning to set, which cast a beautiful glow on the pale skin of the little pumpkin, a very little boy went over to rest on him. The little boy had lost his footing and was practically caught by the little pumpkin, but no matter: the little pumpkin was so happy for the attention, the first he had received since being taken off the truck.
A big person came over and kneeled next to the little boy. She seemed kind…radiant…with long blond hair, caught in the last rays of sunlight. She took pictures of the little boy and the young pumpkin, and spent time looking at her device, talking into it, pointing it at the cute young pumpkin and the smiling little boy.
The young pumpkin was taken home, with the little boy putting it on his lap as they drove through a small town and then up a steep hill. The little boy slid open the garage door, holding the young pumpkin in his right arm, and walked through the garage to the kitchen, where he left the pumpkin on the floor and scurried off, reminding his mom that he wanted to make a jack-o-lantern before the weekend was over.
The older woman picked the young pumpkin up and put it on the wooden ledge above the sink. From there the young pumpkin had a view of a huge green valley. Oak tree branches nestled against the window where the young pumpkin sat but allowed him to see the expanse of this new world he had been brought to. “So, this is what it is like to live and love,” he thought, “this is what all the other pumpkins were experiencing too.”
There was an oval shaped fruit next to the little pumpkin as well as two long yellow ones with brownish dots blemishing their skin. All three looked dejected, looking like the young pumpkin had felt back at Molly Stones when no one was paying attention to him. They introduced themselves to the young pumpkin, one a mango, the other two bananas, all sitting on the sill, ripening and sad. They too had great expectations upon being brought home and put on the wooden shelf. But as the days went by all they had experienced was this feeling of getting older…softer…smellier. The bananas had the most horrifying story, having witnessed another banana from their bunch get skinned alive by the mother, mashed to a pulp and fed to the little boy with a small spoon. The little boy had complained that the banana was not soft enough…yet greedily ate it up anyway.
The young pumpkin at first did not want to hear such sad stories. He was so happy to be wanted. But while it sat on the shelf, still with great expectations inspiring its core, it yearned for the days of being connected to all other pumpkin on the patch. He even missed his temporary home outside Molly Stones where he got to sit with all of his fellow vine-birthed pumpkins.
But as the sun went down and the stars came out, the young pumpkin stared out the window at the beautiful ever changing sky, and wondered where he really fit into this huge expanse. What was he here for? He felt that he had not had any nourishment in days, and while that did not seem to cause his being too much stress, was a different sensation than one he had been used to in the patch. The stars seemed so beautiful from the sill, and for a moment he lost his way from the troubling thoughts to meditative awe.
It was the one moment in his life that he felt at peace, one with something bigger than himself.
As morning came and the sun rose over the mountains in the distance, the young pumpkin smelled what was coffee brewing and felt the energy of the young boy running around the house, eager to make his jack-o-lantern.
The young pumpkin watched the mom put paper on the table, laying out a big bowl and a sharp knife, smaller than the one used to cut the young pumpkin from the communal vine just days before, but with a sharper looking edge. The boy wanted to make a jack-o-lantern. The young pumpkin was once again being embraced with love.
As he was picked up by the mother, the mango and two bananas, sagging and wrinkling, all sighed. Not a word was exchanged.
The pumpkin was placed on the paper the mother had placed on the table with the little boy sitting up in his chair right beside it, with a grin the likes the young pumpkin wished he could have made as well to show his gratitude. And then the strangest thing happened. The young pumpkin felt the strong hand of the mother on his top, and then the sharp knife piercing his pale flesh right down into the center of his being. It did not hurt so much as prickle. Once the knife was deep in the flesh, the mother proceeded to cut and saw and cut and saw until she lifted the pumpkin’s top off of its head, exposing its insides.
Anticipation laced with deep fear descended upon the young pumpkin as he felt the little boy’s hands enter the hole made in the top of his being, pulling out handfuls of his insides and putting them into the bowl the mother had laid out. This went on for some time until the mother picked the pumpkin up and with a spoon scraped clean the cavity they had made. The young pumpkin was confused…uncertain if the confusion was because of the lack of insides that had been pulled out or simply because he had no idea what was going on (or both).
The boy took a pencil and drew all over the young pumpkin’s skin and the mother followed the boy’s markings with the knife she had used to cut it open. Prickly feelings all over its body as pieces were pulled out. Finally, the craziness subsided, and the young pumpkin was picked up by the boy and photographed by the mom. She smiled and handed the little boy her camera. And that is when the young pumpkin saw what had happened to him. He now had two triangular eyes, a triangular nose, and the craziest mouth with a sharp, peaked grin climbing up his face. He had wanted to be able to show his happiness to the young boy, but this was beyond what he desired or cared for.
Nevertheless, the young pumpkin felt no pain, even when the young boy brought him outside and dropped a hot candle into his cavity. The heat actually felt nice…different than the sunlight…..since the candle heated his insides not his pale skin. That night he witnessed the craziest ritual as all sorts of creatures passed it by, going to talk to the mother and leaving with silvery small packages. A few of the creatures even stopped to admire the small young pumpkin, calling him the cutest jack-o-lantern they had seen all evening.
The next morning, the young pumpkin felt the cold evening air on its skin, running through its body, as it heard the mother and the young boy open the door on the way to the school bus. The mother picked up the young pumpkin, walking over to a green bin near the house, telling the boy it was getting soft and stinky. The young boy pleaded for the mother to leave the young pumpkin on the hillside above the green bin, so that he could see the pumpkins smile when he came home from school. And mother went along.
For the next few days, the young pumpkin sat on the hillside, basking in the sun, greeting the little boy as he came and went. The little boy always gave a fine salutation to the young pumpkin. It felt so good to be sitting on soil again, as he had done in his days in the patch. It felt like a returning. He was greeted by the various swallows and crows that were in the area, and a small worm that went through his mouth to take residence in his cavity. It felt like he was communing with the worm. And that made him happy.
AS the days went on his top slowly descended into the cavity. The worm was overjoyed at the thought of a comfier space as the young pumpkin grew more and more tired. It was his time, he thought, time to sink back into the ground in which he grew for a nice sleep. He felt his energy flow down into the depths of where he sat, strangely satisfied with the moments he had experienced and with the metamorphosis he was undergoing now.
The young boy smiled and greeted him often, laughing while watching his jack-o-lantern rot into the earth. His beautiful smile the last part of him to stay in place, creasing and greening, as if it wanted to make sure the boy knew that the young pumpkin was thankful for all the love and for all the experiences.
-FIN-