Pumpkins and Potions

by Tegan Maher

  “Talks?” Maggie and Merry both exclaimed simultaneously. Luna rarely talked, communicating mostly in one-word sentences or mimicry, like a parrot.

  “Yes,” Montana said. “She always wants us to be knights or princes, and do dances at balls, and to fight dragons.” Montana thrust out his green crayon like a sword. “Swoosh! Swoosh! I cut off your head, dragon! Well, at least that part is fun.”

  “Not when I’m always the dragon,” Marshall said, rubbing the back of his neck. “How come you get to be the knight all the time?”

  “Cuz I got muscles.” Montana flexed, showcasing two small nodes on his freckled arms.

  Merry wandered towards the reading table, looking over their shoulders. “Wow, vintage coloring books! Superman didn’t even have a cape yet. They look familiar. Are they from my shop?” She owned a collectibles and antiques store down the block.

  “Nope. Ruth Anne found a box up in the attic here. I think we used to color in these when we were kids, while the adults held their Council meetings. The books were old, even then.” Maggie remembered the meetings, where the children were told to quietly play while the adults discussed business. She frowned, hoping she wasn’t perpetuating the cycle.

  Merry knew where her mind was going. “The difference is that we are actively involved in our children’s lives. Our mother pretty much let us raise ourselves.” She squeezed Maggie’s wrist.

  “I suppose.” Maggie looked at her children, all quietly coloring and getting along. Her heart burst with love. If she could just capture these moments and bottle it up like one of Eve’s potions, she could breathe it in when this mommy-business felt too daunting.

  “I just worry,” she confessed. “Their magick seems so much stronger than ours was, at that age. Marshall has visions that keep him up at night and Montana conjures things he shouldn’t be conjuring…” she sighed, remembering how he had ‘borrowed’ a friend’s toy, right out his room on the other side of town. “Luckily, my little Luna is a rules-follower.”

  Maggie glanced at her three kids: Montana scribbled a tractor green, flipped the page, and colored a bulldozer just as quickly; Marshall meticulously colored Captain America in his vintage red, white and blue; meanwhile, Luna drew a pink and purple ice cream cone on a blank page, adding pink and purple sprinkles.

  Shane Doler opened the front door, stomping his boots. He wore a bright red scarf that was slowly unspooling and a flannel jacket. His dark hair was wild and unruly. He rubbed his gloved hands together as he stepped inside, his cheeks shining like his eyes. “Hello, family,” he said.

  “Dad-dy!” Luna squealed, abandoning her crayon pile and running to her father’s open arms. “Daddy! Daddy!” the boys whooped, elbowing each other to get to him, tearing mittens and scarves off the coat rack as they ran.

  “Who’s ready for the pumpkin patch!?” Shane asked. The kids jumped up and down, chanting, ‘me, me, me!’

  “Honestly, I don’t know why they get so excited,” Maggie said. “You take them every day. The last time they cheered for me was when I announced I’d no longer be serving Brussel sprouts, after discovering three in the cracks of the couch.”

  “Love you, hon,” Shane said, kissing Maggie on the cheek.

  “Love you too,” Maggie sighed, waving goodbye as they headed out.

  “You’re so lucky,” Merry swooned. “I’d give anything for a man as devoted as Shane is to you.”

  Maggie smiled, watching her family chase leaves on the sidewalk. Once they were all piled into Shane’s pickup, Maggie returned to the inventory sheet on the counter. She looked at the paper, squinted her eyes, flipped it over, and then looked again. “Now it’s too quiet to concentrate,” she said, unable to read her figures.

  “Something’s wrong,” Merry said, rubbing the sides of her arms.

  “It’s always weird when the kids suddenly disappear,” Maggie agreed.

  “No…” There were visible goosebumps on Merry’s arms. She was an empath, with the ability to discern energy. “It’s Ruth Anne— “

  The door chimed as it flew open, gusting the inventory sheet down onto the reading table.

  Their sister, Ruth Anne, stood in the doorway, a flurry of leaves swirling behind her. Her short hair was tussled about like a disheveled nest, and her glasses sat askew on her nose. She wore a long trench coat, black combat boots, and a pack slung over her shoulder. Her face had lost all color. “Ladies,” she said, “I need your help. Something really strange is going on in Dark Root.”

  3

  “I don’t know, Ruth Anne,” Merry said, looking over the photos fanned across the table. “It doesn’t look that big to me.”

  Maggie bit her tongue to keep from making a crude joke. Normally, Ruth Anne was up for a good laugh she but today she seemed so frazzled that Maggie didn’t dare. Honestly, the pumpkin didn’t look that big to her, either.

  “It didn’t start out that size,” Ruth Anne explained. “First it was like—Poof! —Here I am, big as your fist…and I’m like Whoa! —and then I take a few drinks from my flask and look again, and it’s like—Whoops! Now I’m the size of your foot.” She pointed to one of the photos, then to her foot. “You can see that it gradually gets bigger.”

  Maggie and Merry tilted their heads in unison, then shrugged.

  Ruth Anne’s face brightened. “The phone!” She fumbled her cell out of her pocket, scrolling through the same pictures on the table. “Photo-burst to the rescue! You can see it grow, right before your eyes.”

  “It’s like a flipbook,” Maggie admitted, noting the subtle but distinct changes, frame by frame. The time stamps were within minutes and even seconds of one another.

  “It is growing!” Merry exclaimed.

  “But only when you’re not watching. I took a pic after each time I turned my head.”

  “Whose pumpkin is it?” Maggie asked.

  “It better not be June Bug’s!” Merry growled. “She promised me she wouldn’t.”

  Ruth Anne shook her head. “June Bug’s is towards the middle.” She opened her sack and removed a folder with a dozen glossy photos. “My drone took these. June Bug’s is right there… and this small dot in the corner is the new arrival. Every seed is accounted for.”

  “Aunt Dora still has a seed,” Merry said, crossing her arms. “When she handed out the others, she kept one for herself. She said the packet was left over from ‘the olden days’ but didn’t elaborate. Hers has been sitting in a dish on the counter all week. Maybe she planted it after all? You know how competitive she gets--she probably couldn’t handle sitting on the sideline.”

  “But she had to know she’d lose,” Maggie said. “Everyone else planted theirs a few months ago.”

  “Unless she used magick,” Merry spoke the obvious. Their aunt often lectured them on ‘the rules of magick,’ but sometimes bent those rules herself. “You don’t think she…” Merry twined her finger in the air.

  “She really doesn’t like to lose,” Ruth Anne conceded. “And, there is a $500 cash prize at stake.”

  “But would she put her town and family at risk to win?” Maggie asked. Dora might brew up an occasional potion or cast a spell now and again, but this was done in secret. Dark had built its reputation on magick, but it was presumed by the tourists that the strange happenings were part of the show. “We should talk to her.”

  “I don’t want to embarrass our aunt.” Merry lowered her head. “She’s been acting odd lately--going through old photo albums and spending hours in the cellar, returning with strange canned items. And she’s been carrying this dusty old book around everywhere, hiding it under her housecoat.” Merry chewed on the side of her lip, considering her next admission. “And…she’s been rambling on about pumpkins and shouting things like ‘it’s been forty-years!’”

  “Shouting about pumpkins? And you’re just now telling us this?”

  “I thought you had enough on your plate, Maggie. It didn’t seem important enough to warrant an intervention.”

>   Ruth Anne typed into her phone, then showed her sisters the display. First Annual Plumpest Pumpkin Award Goes to Dark Root Local! the newspaper headline read. Below the caption was a grainy photo of their aunt, looking only a whisper younger. She was standing behind a pumpkin as wide as she was, a blue ribbon in her outstretched hand.

  “So… you think she’s using magick to rekindle her old glory?” Ruth knit her hands behind her back, paced before the display window. “I hope it’s something else. I’d hate to disqualify her.”

  “You’d dare disqualify Aunt Dora?” Maggie asked.

  “I take my duty as judge very seriously, Mags.” Ruth Anne opened her jacket, revealing the ribbon pinned to her shirt. “There’s not a lot going in this town. Let me keep what I have.”

  “If Aunt Dora is resorting to magick to win the contest,” Merry reasoned, “she either really needs the money or something is seriously bothering her. We should talk to her.”

  “And then what? Take away her wand?” Maggie teased, wondering what lassoing in their stubborn old aunt would accomplish. “Confiscate her broom?”

  Merry scowled, creating two tiny temple lines in her otherwise flawless skin. “Let’s go to Harvest Home. We’ll talk to Dora and hopefully, sneak a peek at that book she’s hiding.”

  “Sounds great,” Ruth Anne said, stuffing the photos back into her bag. “But first, there’s something I want you to see.”

  4

  It was unseasonable dry October, and Ruth Anne’s Jeep trailed a dust train on the bumpy road. Merry sat in the front seat beside her, a scarf wrapped around her blonde hair to keep it in place. Maggie rode in back, her feet kicked up on the headrest.

  “This’ll be my first trip to the patch this year,” Maggie said, grinning at her bloated reflection in the side mirror. “Between the kids, the shop, and the holiday, I’ve been on lockdown.” She rubbed her hands together. Although it wasn’t rainy, it was still cold. “I told my kids that if I could have just one hour for a bath, I wouldn’t yell at them for a week. They lasted about two minutes.”

  “Mags, no offense, but we got bigger things to worry about.” Ruth Anne’s eyes darting from one side of the road to the other as they raced past armies of pine and oak.

  “This town is literally ‘rooted,’ in magick,” Merry said, trying to reason it out. “Have you considered that the pumpkin patch itself might be a hotspot?”

  Ruth Anne tapped her fingers along the steering wheel. “Then the other pumpkins should be exhibiting similar behaviors. There’s two entries just yards away, and neither has shown any rapid change. Besides, I used several instruments to detect and evaluate magick density levels.” She looked from Maggie to Merry. “Don’t you want to know which instruments?”

  “I’m good,” Maggie said and Merry nodded in agreement. Neither sister was super impressed with Ruth Anne’s ghost-hunting gear, having the natural ability to sense--and even see-–spirits.

  “It smells like autumn,” Merry inhaled the scents of apple and pine as she gripped her coffee thermos between her palms. “I wished it smelled this way all year long.”

  “I prefer the smell of summer grass, myself,” Maggie said, just to be contrary. She smiled at the colorful foliage along the way, as the shimmering rays of late afternoon sunlight filtered through the few leaves still clinging to their host limbs.

  Ruth Anne slammed hard on the brakes, rocketing her sisters forward, only to be slung back the snap of their seatbelts. “I’m glad this coffee isn’t hot,” Merry said, frowning as she dabbed at the brown splotch on her baby blue sweater.

  “Life lesson: 937,” Maggie proclaimed, raising a finger. “Never wear cashmere when riding with Ruth Anne.”

  Ruth Anne killed the engine as she reached back grabbed at her pack, knocking over Maggie’s tote bag.

  “Hey, careful there, Linus, there’s valuable kid crap in there.”

  “Am I the only one who thinks our sister has lost her mind?” Merry asked as they power-walked to catch up to Ruth Anne, now jogging towards the patch.

  “She’s so flustered that she’s steaming up her glasses,” Maggie agreed.

  When they reached the field, Ruth Anne already had her EMF reader out, scanning the soil for electromagnetic energy. She ran the device over each pumpkin, quickly jotting her observations down in her notebook.

  “That one’s June Bug’s,” Ruth Anne pointed. She waved the EMF wand over it, producing only the faintest beep. “I expected that, but it doesn’t appear she applied any overt magick. Sorry, but I had to check.”

  “How mediocre! I’m so proud of my daughter!” Merry squealed, kneeling to give it a pat. Noticing Ruth Anne’s critical eye, she pulled her hand away. “Is touching it against the rules?”

  “Just against my ethics.” Ruth Anne stepped to the next entry. “This one’s clean, too. Now, let’s head to the Franken-pumpkin and see what we got.”

  The sisters marched towards the far corner. Only once along the way did the reader beep--at a long strand of red yarn. “This is probably from Shane’s scarf,” Maggie said, picking it up. “Make sense that his would go off, with the kids hanging on to him.”

  “Deity, Damned!” Ruth Anne blurted, halting abruptly. “Take a look at this thing!”

  “Holy, hello!” Merry exclaimed. Thirty-Three was the size of a bean bag. “If I hadn’t seen the photos, I wouldn’t have believed it.”

  Ruth Anne waved the wand across the pumpkin--it screeched and flashed bright red. She silenced it with the push of a button. “Magick is afoot—but what kind? Merry, any ideas?”

  Merry held her hands out, keeping some distance between herself and the growing beast. “It’s a spell, no doubt. But it feels…neutral?”

  “Better than evil,” Maggie said. “I hope this isn’t Aunt Dora’s work, but it’s starting to look more than suspicious.”

  “Can either of you dispel it?” Ruth Anne asked. “Do a quick little finger waggle and be done with it?”

  “I’d probably explode it if I tried,” said Maggie, who had a propensity towards destruction.

  “And I can’t counter a spell until we know what this one is,” said Merry, shaking the energy from her hands.

  “Well, I’m beginning to get a little freaked out.” Ruth Anne wiped the steam from her glasses with the cuff of her jacket. “Either Aunt Dora’s gone rogue, or there’s other witches in town. I wonder if… hey, did anyone hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Maggie looked over her shoulder. The day was bright, but there was a lingering sense that something was about to happen.

  “Shh…” Ruth Anne opened her pack, digging around and eventually removing a stethoscope. She inserted the earpieces and placed the cup flat against the pumpkin. Squinting, she moved it over the surface, keeping her finger to her lips. Slowly, her eyes widened until they filled the frames of her glasses. “I think it has a heartbeat!”

  “Stop it!” Merry laughed nervously. “Great prank. You got us.”

  “No, listen.” She handed the stethoscope to Merry, who took a turn. Immediately alarmed, she beckoned Maggie down to join.

  “Can I opt-out?” Maggie asked, reluctantly taking the instrument. There was nothing at first, but then she heard the tiniest thump, soon followed by another. She yanked out the earplugs and tossed the stethoscope back to Ruth Anne. “Kill it,” she ordered.

  “We can’t do that,” Merry said, wringing her hands. “We might hurt it if we kill it.”

  “At least I know I’m not losing my mind.” Ruth Anne stuffed her tools back into her pack. “Let’s go talk to Aunt Dora, but first, I need to check on my animals.”

  Ruth Anne led them to the small pen, where she fostered the wildlife. “Ringo?” she called out, fiddling with the gate latch. “Buddy?” She poked her head into every empty pen. “The rabbits are gone, too! It doesn’t make sense.” She scoured the ground for prints. “It’s like they just disappeared into thin air!”

  They all instinctively turned back towards Thirty-
Three, with its long snaky vines, looking pleasantly fatter.

  “You don’t think…” Merry suggested, her eyes shifting between pen and pumpkin.

  “I’m not sure what to think anymore,” Ruth Anne said.

  “Kill it,” Maggie repeated. “Before it eats us, too.”

  5

  “I still think we should’ve carved it,” Maggie grumbled, jumping into the back of the jeep.

  “That’s not very reverent of nature,” Merry said, tying her scarf beneath her chin as Ruth Anne put her foot on the gas.

  “That pumpkin isn’t reverent of nature,” Maggie countered. “It ate Ruth Anne’s pets.”

  “Fosters,” Ruth Anne corrected, sniffling nonetheless.

  “We all know that’s ridiculous, even in Dark Root,” Merry said, pragmatically. “And even if the pumpkin has a pulse, there are no tracks near it. Unless…”

  Maggie growled, knowing what her sister was getting at. “You think Montana conjured the animals to him after they visited today?” She rolled her eyes as if the idea were absurd, but they all knew it wasn’t. Just last week, he summoned one of Ruth Anne’s walkie-talkies, just as a prank. “Okay—maybe. That’s actually a more likely scenario than a carnivorous pumpkin.”

  “I tried to text Shane,” Maggie said, as they rolled up to the quaint Victorian house known as Harvest Home. “No answer yet.” She chewed on her lip. What if Montana was involved? Did he have the animals chained up inside his bedroom? She tried calling Shane this time – still no answer.

  The sisters marched up the cement steps to the wrap-around porch, pushing open the newly-painted purple door without knocking. As they entered the foyer, Maggie finally received a text from Shane:

  Sorry couldn’t pick. Hands full with crazy kids. At ice cream shop now. I know. More sugar. But they were trying to talk me into a kitten! Got out easy. Luv u! Home soon.