15
I opened my mouth to scream but only a hoarse wheeze came out. The figure lumbered forward one step, two steps. His apron was splattered with a dark orange substance. His menacing eyes peered out from the slits in a plastic mask. The saw blade gleamed in his hands.
Then he reached up with his free hand and ripped off his mask.
The tall gangly man had floppy red hair that matched the constellation of freckles across his cheeks. He grinned a blindingly white smile at the two of us. Without his mask, he looked far less sinister. “Hello!” he greeted us with a big wave in a warm, booming voice. “I knew a crowd would gather to watch me carve the Cannonball! I just thought there would be more of you.”
Now it all made sense. I glanced between the chainsaw and the giant pumpkin. Of course, you would need more than a puny knife to carve one of that size.
While I gawked silently, still at a loss for words, Yvonne cleared her throat. “Of course, Mr. Slade,” she said, pretending as though this man hadn’t just scared us half to death. “I wouldn’t miss the carving for the world!”
“Mr. Slade?” I repeated. “As in Ezekiel Slade?” Could this jolly giant somehow be the same nemesis that tormented my father as a kid? And also be the father of my tormentor? The longer I stared at him, the more his resemblance to Charlie became obvious.
Their personalities could not have been more different, though.
“You’ve heard of me? I didn’t know I was so famous in these here parts!” Mr. Slade threw back his head and laughed from deep in his belly. When he was done, he stuck out his hand for me to shake. “My friends call me Zeke, and you are a friend. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Kayla Dunn,” I said as his hand enveloped mine. “I think you grew up with my father.”
Zeke held me out at arm’s length and studied my face. “Well I’ll be darned—I’d heard Jimmy was back in town.” He gave me a troubled frown, an expression I bet this happy-go-lucky man rarely used. “I’m ashamed to admit that I wasn’t the nicest person to your dad back in the day, but I hope he’s forgiven me. I suppose I was always envious of him.”
“It was a long time ago. I’m sure he doesn’t even remember,” I lied.
Zeke’s contagious grin returned. “Tell Jimmy you’re all invited over for a big dinner at Slade Farms next week, to formally welcome him back to the neighborhood. Have you met my boy Charlie yet?”
I glanced sidelong at Yvonne, who wrinkled her nose. “Once or twice,” I said emotionlessly.
“Yvonne, you and your dad should join, too,” Zeke added. “Charlie will be elated to have company.”
As nice as Zeke was, I was concerned by how little he seemed to know his son.
Still, Yvonne and I both graciously accepted his invite. For the next half hour, we watched as Zeke revved up the chainsaw and cut the top off the thawing pumpkin. Even from a safe distance, we occasionally got hit with a splash of gooey pulp. It took a stepladder, a shovel, and a wheelbarrow for Zeke to hollow out the inside.
The best part was when he handed markers to Yvonne and me. “As the future of Orchard Falls, I think you two should do the honors of drawing this jack-o’-lantern the scariest face you can,” Zeke said. “I’m sure you’re both better artists than I am. I can barely draw a stick figure, and I am one!” He followed up his joke with another massive belly laugh that echoed into the valley below.
Yvonne drew eyes and a pair of horns while I outlined several rows of jagged fangs. After we finished, Zeke carved out our creation. For the final touch, he filled the hollow interior with a cluster of torches.
We all stood back and admired our handiwork. The flames crackled in the jack-o’-lantern’s demonic eyes and grin.
Yvonne clapped her hands together. “It’s beautiful,” she proclaimed. “In, like, a creepy sort of way.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Almost a shame that it’s going to explode into a million pieces tomorrow.”
“Almost!” Zeke threw back his head and laughed one last time.
My stomach growled as I made my way back to the Dunn Farms Jams booth. I had been so distracted decorating the Cannonball that I had forgotten to eat lunch. Fortunately, the first day of the festival concluded with a community potluck dinner in the town hall. People brought dishes of all kinds to share in a massive buffet.
As I helped Mom pack up her remaining jam jars, she suddenly straightened up in a panic and groaned. “Oh, blast! I forgot the peach tarts I made for the potluck at home. I’ll have to go back and get them.”
I noticed how exhausted she looked. “Let me walk home to get them,” I volunteered. “I can put them in the basket on my bike and race back here in no time.” When she opened her mouth to protest, I added, “Come on, I could use an excuse to change my clothes.” I pointed to the pumpkin pulp splattered across my overalls.
Relief washed across my mother’s face. “Just try to get back into town before dark,” she said. “They hired a bluegrass band to play at dinner. I’d hate for you to miss any of the show!”
The sun was already beginning to set by the time I jogged the mile back to Dunn Farms. The sweet aroma of my mother’s peach tarts lingered in the kitchen. I felt my stomach rumble again with hunger. “I’ll feed you soon,” I promised my gut.
As I pulled the foil-wrapped trays of tarts out of the fridge, I glanced out the window. The rays of the dusk sun illuminated the field in an electric shade of orange. When my eyes fell on my pumpkins, I immediately could tell something was wrong.
I raced out the back door and over to the patch. My father had already transported the largest pumpkin away—that much didn’t bother me. However, where the three smaller gourds should have been intact, only two remained.
The third pumpkin had been destroyed.
16
The pumpkin rind lay in two halves. It was as if someone had taken a gigantic axe and cleaved it right down the middle. A blue smear of pulp trailed off into the cornfield like an ugly brushstroke.
“No, no, no!” I cried, dropping to my knees beside the decimated pumpkin. What could possibly have happened?
Had Dad and his friend accidentally run over it with the forklift? He promised me they would be careful while they were loading the larger one.
The pumpkin had been so big that an animal couldn’t have done this. No, someone had to have deliberately caused this sort of destruction.
There was only one person I could think of with the motive to sabotage my weeks of hard work like this.
I gave a low, furious growl and rolled up my flannel sleeves as I followed the trail of pulp into the field. Cornstalks had been flattened along the way. Charlie must have dragged away a piece of the rind as a trophy after he destroyed it.
Well, if I could trace this trail back to Slade Farms, I would have all the evidence I needed to pin the vandalism on him. We would see who was laughing when the police showed up at his doorstep.
The pulp trail eventually took a sharp turn in the cornfield. I emerged next to a small pond on the outskirts of our property.
The blue path seemed to end behind a large boulder on the water’s edge.
I crept closer, moving as stealthily as I could through the mud. On the other side of the boulder, I heard a splashing sound.
The culprit was still here. Had Charlie really been brazen enough to hang around the scene of the crime and go for a dip in our pond? The nerve of him.
Well, the scare-master was about to get a scare of his own. I inched closer to the boulder. I drew in a deep breath.
Then I jumped around the stone and let loose a banshee scream that would haunt Charlie’s nightmares for years to come.
Only it wasn’t Charlie who was waiting for me on the other side.
I quickly cut my scream short. It transformed into a terrified gurgle in the back of my throat.
A creature hunched over the pond’s edge, lapping up water. Its sleek blue exoskeleton fluoresced softly in the dying light of the evening.
It must have been six feet long, with more legs than I could count and two gigantic claws with razor-sharp pincers. An armor-plated tail curved into a crescent above it. The tail ended in a stinger the size of a butcher’s knife that glistened with venom.
When the creature heard my scream, it slowly rotated to face me. The joints of its spindly legs clicked away as it moved.
I stood frozen in place watching it, too afraid to make any sudden movements. Thorns and vines crisscrossed its exoskeleton. They throbbed to the beat of its heart, like pulsing veins. The leafy tendrils curled and reached out for me with a mind of their own. One of them brushed my cheek.
The creature was half-scorpion.
Half-plant.
100% nightmare.
And it had hatched from one of the pumpkins I had grown.
No, not pumpkins, I realized.
All this time, I had been growing eggs.
Maybe the scorpion was like the dinosaurs I had seen in movies, with vision based on movement. Maybe if I continued to stand still, it would never even know I was there.
All that hope evaporated as its four glowing eyes focused on me.
It bared its fangs and hissed.
Then its stinger came plunging down, aimed straight for my heart.
17
I dove to the side just as the creature’s stinger sliced through the space where I had been standing. The tip struck the boulder with such incredible force that stone exploded in a cloud of dust. The mammoth scorpion howled in pain.
I scampered backward as its stinger stabbed down again and again. Mud splashed over me every time the barb missed and plunged into the earth.
I somehow regained my balance and took off sprinting. I heard the rapid-fire snap-snap-snap of its pincers nipping at my heels.
As I bolted away from the pond, I risked a glance over my shoulder. The monster’s legs had gotten stuck in the mud, but not for long. With a frustrated squawk, it propelled itself free and resumed pursuit.
My feet pounded over the grassy field. For a moment, I thought that maybe, just maybe, I had a chance of outrunning the creature. Maybe my two legs could move more quickly than its eight. Maybe I could retreat to the safety of the farmhouse and slam the door before it caught up to me. I would call the local sheriff, and the county police force would show up to stop this monstrosity.
Then I tripped.
My foot snagged on something hidden in the grass. I landed hard next to an old stone water well.
Meanwhile, the scorpion closed the distance between us. It raced across the tall grass, eager to make me its first meal.
I was about to start running again when I realized the object I had tripped over was a rope. One end was attached to the well. The other end was tied to a wooden bucket.
Suddenly, I had a crazy idea. It might save my life—or it might just get me killed.
The scorpion slowed down, sensing victory over its prey. I trembled as the disgusting creature approached. Its raw, pungent stink was overwhelming. I forced myself to remain still as its lethal stinger curved upward, ready to strike.
The venomous tip darted forward like a lightning bolt, but I was prepared. I thrust the bucket into its path.
The stinger’s barb punctured the bucket and emerged out the other side. It stopped just a few inches from my face. I could see my warped, terrified reflection in the shiny surface of the stinger. I quickly let go of the bucket and started running again.
The creature attempted to pursue me, but it didn’t make it far. When it was just within reach, its body abruptly jerked to a halt.
It tried to come at me again, but to no avail. The newborn monster screeched, confused why it had stopped moving.
Its stinger was lodged in the bucket. The thick rope attached to it had tethered the creature to the well.
I had put the scorpion on a leash.
I offered a silent thank-you to the farmer who had built that well, but I knew my trap wouldn’t last long. Even now, the wooden frame groaned as the scorpion viciously tugged against it. I needed to get help before it broke free.
18
As I raced into the cornfield, back toward the farm, I had another horrifying thought: if my pumpkins really were some sort of monster eggs, then the scorpion I had just bested was only the beginning. There were still two more back at the farm.
The largest one of all was currently in the middle of the country fair …
… Only a short distance from the town hall where my parents and everyone in Orchard Falls were sitting down to eat dinner.
My luck only got worse as I emerged from the cornfield. It didn’t look like the two remaining eggs had hatched yet—thank goodness.
However, I found a different unwelcome visitor waiting for me in my pumpkin patch.
Charlie had a knife in his hand. With angry strokes, he carved letters into one of the pumpkins. Pulp oozed through the slashes.
Charlie had just started to form the “R” in “LOSER” when he noticed me running out of the cornfield. At first, he stiffened, looking guilty that I had caught him in the act. He had probably expected me to be at the potluck supper with the rest of the town. I would come home to the cruel message carved into my pumpkin, while he laughed from the safety of the shadows.
I was so out of breath from running that it was hard to get words out. “Charlie,” I wheezed. “You need … to get out of here … now.”
His expression changed from alarmed to defiant. “I’m not going anywhere, new girl,” he snarled.
I glanced back in the direction of the old well. “You don’t understand—”
“No, you don’t understand,” Charlie interrupted. He poked my mud-stained overalls. “This is my town. The Jack-o’-Lantern Festival is the one thing I look forward to year after year. Standing on that stage and accepting the first-place ribbon for my pumpkin. The whole town cheering as it becomes the next festival’s Cannonball. Then one day you come waltzing into Orchard Falls with your weird blue pumpkins and think you can take all that away from me.” He jabbed a finger at me again. “Who exactly do you think you are?”
He was not picking up on my sense of urgency. “Look,” I started to say, “the pumpkins don’t matter right now—”
“See, that’s exactly why you don’t deserve to win!” he cried. “The pumpkins don’t matter? You don’t really care about them. If you knew even the first thing about pumpkins, yours might have come out the right color!” He knocked hard on the egg behind him.
“Charlie,” I tried to warn him.
But he kept on ranting and raving about how I was an unwelcome intruder and had no place here in Orchard Falls.
If he hadn’t been facing me, he would have seen the egg behind him start to quiver.
He would have heard the first few cracks in the shell as the creature within stirred.
And he definitely would have seen the glowing eye appear in the “O” he had carved.
“Charlie!” I screamed this time, finally getting him to pause. I pointed a shaking finger behind him. “Monster!”
He must have thought I was pointing at him because he hollered back, “I am not a monster!”
That was the moment that the egg behind him exploded.
19
The egg’s shell burst into a thousand pieces. A wave of the stinking slime washed over Charlie, instantly painting him blue. He wiped the ooze from his hair and examined his fingers in confusion.
The creature behind him emerged from the egg’s remains. It slowly uncurled itself from a fetal ball. Mucus dripped off its exoskeleton. Its joints cracked as it stretched its long legs for the first time.
Charlie slowly turned to look at the gigantic scorpion. A low whimper escaped his mouth.
I started to back away, but Charlie had frozen, too petrified to move.
The scorpion wobbled on its feet at first. Maybe it was like a human child—maybe it needed time to learn how to walk.
Something told me it would be a fast learner.
I rushed forward, seized Charlie by the elbow, and screamed, “Run!”
My voice startled him back into action. The creature stood between the farmhouse and us, so I pointed to our next best hope for shelter:
The barn.
Side by side, we sprinted for the wooden structure. When I dared to glance back, the creature fixed its glowing eyes on me and began to skitter in our direction.
Charlie and I passed through the barn’s entrance and immediately worked together to push the heavy doors closed. I lowered the thick bolt to lock them together.
It wasn’t a moment too soon. The scorpion struck the wood from the outside like a battering ram. The doors buckled inward but the latch held—for now.
“What on earth did you plant?” Charlie shouted at me, panting. “I knew your stupid pumpkins were too big to be true.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time for you to lecture me about what a cheater I am—when we’re digesting in that thing’s stomach!” I snapped. “Now do you want to live or not?”
Charlie swallowed and nodded.
While the creature’s claws pounded against the doors, I led Charlie over to the ladder and climbed up to the loft. If we couldn’t outrun the scorpion, then maybe we could at least hide from it.
Once I reached the top, I steadied the rickety ladder as Charlie climbed up after me. The pounding on the doors had stopped. “Looks like that stupid critter gave up,” Charlie said, sounding hopeful.
Then through the silence, I heard the whisper of something speeding over the dried cornstalks outside.
The monster hit the doors so hard that they snapped right off their hinges. Splinters showered the inside of the barn like confetti. The mangled doors slammed to the ground.
The scorpion stood triumphantly in the entrance where they used to be.
Charlie was so surprised that his sweaty hands slipped off the top rung of the ladder. I reached out to grab him, but missed.
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