Pumpkins and Potions

by Tegan Maher

  “Two hundred and twelve!” George exclaimed. He clearly misread Sage’s desire to get the conversation over quickly as her being interested in the topic. “You want to see them all, friend?”

  “Um, we’re on kind of a tight schedule. We have to get back for our own trick or treaters…” Sage explained.

  “Of course! Of course! My goodness, don’t let me keep you ladies. I just love meeting a fellow carving enthusiast! You come back over anytime and I’ll show you the whole set up, okey-dokey?”

  “Okey-dokey!” I said with a grin. The idea of Sage as a carving enthusiast was hilarious.

  “Well, you know the way around. I’ll finish up here but off you go. There’s a few folks already exploring. And remember, if you didn’t bring it into the house, you don’t take it out, alrighty?”

  “Sure thing,” I said. Every year I tried not to be offended by the suggestion that we might attempt to steal his decorations, but every year it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  “Let’s go,” Sage murmured. We left George to his carving and walked back out of the kitchen and into the living room. A life-size skeleton in a wedding dress sat on the high-back chair, a stuffed rat on her lap. Muddy footprints had been tracked through over the floor, and that made me a little itchy to be honest. George Mansley sure put on a good show, but he was going to have the job of a lifetime to clean it all back up.

  As we approached, the grand piano in the corner of the room began to play a haunting melody and I heard Sage gasp.

  “Spooked already?” I teased.

  “I was just thinking, can you imagine being that cat? I bet he spoils her rotten.”

  “You’re jealous of a dang cat?” I asked.

  Sage looked at me and grinned. “Please, no. I bet she has to sit and listen to him tell her about every one of those carving tools. No, thank you. I’ll keep slumming it with you.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I said. I glanced in the mirror and jumped at the reflection, which wasn’t of me, but of a pale young girl with a bloodied face, who appeared some distance away and then jumped out towards me through the glass. I stumbled backwards and then, self-consciously, laughed. These special effects were getting out of hand.

  3

  I scurried away from the mirror fast and with no shame, and was relieved to see that the next room looked much lower on the scare scale. George did that, I knew. He set aside some rooms as being more accommodating for children or the easily scared, and when those people arrived he told them which rooms to avoid.

  He also rigged some rooms so they looked low-key and turned out to have a spooky surprise lurking in the shadows. I entered the room and realised it was a study, decked out in cherry oak panels and a matching desk. Behind the desk sat a life size skeleton in a handsome blue blazer, oversized glasses on his skull.

  In front of him sat a typewriter, and his boney hands were placed over the keys as if he was mid-project. I couldn’t resist glancing over his shoulder at the paper sheet, and gasped as I read what was on it.

  “Death is coming?” Sage read aloud with a snicker. “Ain’t it always, buddy?”

  She tapped the skeleton on the arm playfully.

  “That message is a little dark,” I protested.

  Sage shrugged. “It’s also true, dear sister. It came for me and it will come for you one day. Anyway, this room is dull. Let’s keep moving.”

  I had to agree with Sage. Other than the skeleton and his foreboding message, the room had barely been decorated. I wondered if George had perhaps forgotten that the room was unfinished, although of course I couldn’t remind him in case he made it clear that he considered the room ready.

  We wandered back out of the study and made our way down the cobweb and spider-infested hallway. The arachnids were tiny, nestled in hand-stretched cobwebs, and enormous, clinging to the walls and hanging from the ceiling. The whole thing made my stomach queasy.

  As I side-eyed a particularly fat and hairy spider, I collided with something and felt my heart quicken.

  “Hey, sorry,” a man said. He’d emerged from the under stairs cupboard and closed the door behind him. He was tall, with dark skin and incredible green eyes. He offered me a self-conscious smile, and I realised why when I saw the fake fur sprouting over the collar and sleeves of his shirt. A werewolf! I stifled a giggle. A curvy woman with amazing blond curls and a pair of cat ears atop her head stood by his side and reached out her hand.

  “Hello,” I said. “I’m Connie. This is my sister, Sage.”

  “Ezra,” the man offered. “And this is P, short for Peaches.”

  “Which I can’t stand,” she said with a smile. “So P it is.”

  “Did your parents think they were naming fruit, not a baby?” Sage asked from beside me. I could have elbowed her for being so rude, but luckily Ezra and Peaches both laughed.

  “My sister’s called Apple, so yes, I think there was some confusion in that house.”

  “You’re serious?” Sage asked. Peaches gave a nod. “Wow.”

  “Well, nice to meet you,” I said. “Are you new in town?”

  “Apple lives here. I’m just passing through,” Peaches explained. “Never could resist a haunted house.”

  “This one’s well cool,” Ezra added.

  “Apple’s around here somewhere, you’ll bump into her I’m sure.”

  “Well, I look forward to that. It’s always nice to meet a new face from Mystic Springs,” I said, and Sage and I walked by them and began our ascent up the stairs. The stairs were a decoration no-go zone, after an older woman tripped and sprained her ankle in a neighbouring house one year when a witch jumped out and shrieked at her. All houses had kept the stairs clear ever since.

  I loved those acts of town solidarity, and there was no better example in Mystic Springs than the way the town came together for Halloween.

  “He was a hunk,” Sage murmured.

  “Ezra?”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said, as if he was a prize piece of meat and she was starved for a home-cooked meal.

  “You’re man mad,” I said, although I couldn’t argue her point. Peaches might have been unlucky with her name, but she’d hit the jackpot with that boyfriend.

  “I might be dead but I’m not blind,” Sage said as we reached the top of the stairs. We turned to the right and as soon as we did, we laughed at the chalk body outline drawn out on the floor. Past that was a closed door, a sign on it that said: ENTER IF YOU DARE.

  “Let’s do these ones first,” I suggested, and led Sage into what I guessed was George’s bedroom. The bed was perfectly made, and two perfectly carved pumpkin heads were laid out on the pillows as if they were in bed for the night. One had its eyes closed, but the other had been carved so that its ghoulish eyes seem to follow wherever we moved in the room. A shriek played out as we moved through the room and as I got closer to the window, I glanced at it and saw a hideous face staring back. I almost screamed, until I realised it was a prop pushed up against the glass, so it appeared to be peering in at us. A clever idea. I had to hand it to George, he never failed to think of new ideas for his haunted house every year.

  I laughed and then shuddered as a large spider bolted out from over the bed and advanced towards me, red eyes glowing. As it got closer I realised it was mechanical, but looking at it made my eyes cast the floor. A pair of legs stuck out from under the bed, the trainers splotched with blood, the legs torn off and mangled at the knee. They were fun, obviously fake, and they made me relax a little after the face at the window.

  “I told you we needed more body parts,” Sage said.

  “Maybe,” I agreed. I preferred a more childlike Halloween decoration, but I could admit that these props were fun. “We can do more of that stuff next year.”

  Sage gave a slight nod, satisfied with that promise.

  And then our fun was shattered by a blood curdling scream.

  4

  Our feet were moving before our heads were thinking. Sure, we were in a r
igged haunted house full of spooky delights, but something about that scream sounded mighty genuine and urgent.

  We glanced at each other as we stood before the closed door. My heart was beating so fast it felt like it could gallop right out of my chest, like a band of wild horses.

  “We could just let someone else deal with it, right?” Sage asked.

  I pursed my lips.

  “Nah, I didn’t think so. Well, here goes nothing. At least I’m already dead.”

  And with that, I turned the doorknob and held my breath as the door creaked open. The whole room had been decorated with hay bales, with all manner of eerie pumpkins arranged around them. One of the pumpkins twisted its head a full rotation as we moved by, while another let out an evil laugh. A third rose to its feet, reached for a pitchfork and reared back as if it was about to impale us.

  The room was so crowded and busy that I almost didn’t notice George in the far corner. Sobs racked his body and his face was damp from them.

  “George?” I asked. He was bent over a prop, and I was about ready to be annoyed with him. Had he come up here and found that a prop was broken, or stolen, or damaged? Was that what the scream was about? “George, it’ll be okay.”

  “This will never be okay!” He exclaimed, and as he twisted to face me, I realised it wasn’t a prop on the floor. It was a body.

  “Geeze, who is that?” Sage asked. Her stronger stomach gave me a moment to compose myself and take in the scene. The victim was a young, blonde woman, a glint of gold on her hand, her eyes closed and her curls arranged around her head so it appeared she was sleeping. I’d have believed that she’d just curled up partway through the haunted house tour for a nap, if it wasn’t for the item sticking out of her chest.

  “Is that one of your tools?” I asked, and I leaned in towards the body for a closer look. The initials GM were clear on the pumpkin carving tool that had killed her.

  George was silent, unable to form an intelligent response to either of our questions.

  “We have to lock the house,” I said. “The killer will still be here. George, can you do that? Go and lock all of the doors. Now! And call the police!”

  The urgency in my voice spurred him into motion and he jumped up and fled from the room. With him gone, Sage and I gave each other weary looks.

  “Is it such a good idea to be locked in here with the killer?” Sage asked.

  I hadn’t considered that in my haste to give the order. I just knew that the scene needed to be preserved, and if we acted fast we could preserve the whole house. Plus, George desperately needed a job to do to get him up and away from the body. I couldn’t imagine that George Mansley had ever seen a body before. The first one was always the hardest.

  As if she’d read my mind about how often dead bodies seemed to follow me around, Sage smirked. “I need to stop hanging out with you so much.”

  “Concentrate,” I chastised her. “What clues do we have?”

  “Erm,” Sage scanned the room.

  I was just as lost for ideas as she was. The room was so bizarre it was impossible to say whether anything had been tampered with, whether the killer had left any clues.

  “It’s done,” George said. He was breathless as he returned to the room, and his face was ashen. He was trailed by the man and woman we’d walked by earlier.

  “You can’t just lock us in, dude. I have a party to get to,” the woman complained.

  “Nobody’s leaving,” I said. I eyed the two of them. The man said nothing and his expression was impenetrable, but the woman was clearly annoyed. “This house is a murder scene and everyone here is a suspect.”

  To my surprise, the woman rolled her eyes at me. “Fine, we’ll play along. Half an hour, though, and then I have to go.”

  “This isn’t a game,” I said.

  “Sure thing,” the woman agreed. She glimpsed the body for the first time since entering the room and let out a laugh. “Ah, we have our victim. My poor sister, whatever has happened to her!”

  “That’s your sister?”

  “Her name’s Apple,” George offered. “She said no to my spiced pumpkin punch.”

  “That’s a shame,” I offered. “It’s a good drink.”

  “She’s just not into the pumpkin spice trend,” Peaches said. “She doesn’t like anything Halloween. I’m amazed you got her to play along with this.”

  “She’s not playing, Peaches,”

  “P,” she reminded me.

  “Okay, well, she’s not playing. Your sister’s been killed.”

  “And one of us did it,” Peaches said with a grin.

  I felt my frustration level increase and turned my attentions to the man instead. “Ezra?”

  We were interrupted by fresh wailing by George. Peaches raised an eyebrow, no doubt surprised by his amateur dramatics.

  “George, come on,” I urged.

  “I just need to let it out,” George managed in between gasping breaths. “It’s always better out.”

  “Alrighty then,” I said. “Why don’t the three of you go and wait in the kitchen? We’ll come out and talk to you when we’re ready.”

  Peaches gave a not subtle glance at her watch. “Don’t be too long.”

  They filed out of the room and I let out a groan.

  “Sheesh. It’s not going to be fun when she realises that her sister really is dead,” Sage said.

  “Maybe she already knows,” I murmured. “Maybe she thinks playing dumb will help her get away with it.”

  5

  “It’s a possibility, right? That she’s playing dumb?”

  Sage ignored me. It was the third time I’d repeated myself, and yet she continued to act as if she couldn’t hear me.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Oh, I’m not your friend right now,” Sage said, as if we were thirteen years old and I’d borrowed her favourite pen without asking. Not that Sage had been the kind of thirteen-year-old to have a favourite pen, of course.

  “You’re kidding me? What could I possibly have done to upset you that is so urgent it’s made you sulk right now?”

  “You said we were all suspects,” Sage said with an indignant sniff.

  “And?”

  “Even me?” Her voice was one of outrage. “You think even I might have hurt poor little Melon or whatever her name is?”

  “It’s Apple, and of course I don’t think you did it.”

  “You don’t think I did? So I could have?” She asked, her arms crossed across her chest. “You’re not sure?”

  “Sage… we’ve been together the whole time we’ve been here. I know you didn’t do it.”

  “Hmm,” she considered. “Well, good. Because I just noticed a clue. I’m not telling you, though, if you’ll just use it as evidence against me.”

  Wow. My dead sister had woken up on the wrong side of the afterlife, clearly. “Okay, I won’t use it against you. Come on, spill.”

  “The murder weapon,” Sage said. “It’s one of George’s carving tools!”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d already spotted that and even spoken to George about it (no doubt she was daydreaming about hunky Ezra!) and instead took a step closer to the body and inspected the weapon. “Wow, you’re not kidding.”

  The look of pride on her face made me feel guilty for my dishonesty, but it was better that she think she’d spotted that herself.

  “His initials are literally all over this murder,” she quipped.

  “He’ll be devastated,” I said. “He loves that set more than any man should love a carving set.”

  “I won’t argue with you there,” I said.

  “What else do we have of interest in here?” I asked. I looked around, inspected all of the creepy pumpkin people. There must be something.

  “She’s not in fancy dress,” Sage offered.

  “Hmm, interesting. What could that mean?”

  “It’s still early, maybe she’s doing the same as us and she’s going to get int
o her costume later.”

  “Probably,” I agreed. I leaned even closer to the body and looked for anything else of interest. Apple had a good amount of make-up on her face, and pretty diamond earrings in each lobe. She’d taken time over her appearance, it seemed. For herself, or someone else?

  A light tap at the door disturbed my thoughts.

  George peered in. He’d composed himself. “Sorry to be a bother in here, gang, but can we hurry things along?”

  “Tell Peaches that she’ll stay here until we’ve found the killer,” I said. “In fact, George, can you help me?”

  “Sure thing, pal,” he agreed eagerly. He began to enter the room and I put up a hand to halt him. The last thing we needed was people traipsing all over the murder scene.

  “Can you put Peaches in one room and Ezra in another? Then you go somewhere else?”

  “Ah!” He winked at me. “You don’t want them to talk to each other! I like it! Sure thing, okey-dokey, leave it with your pal George!”

  “Thanks,” I said, and off he went.

  “You don’t want any of them to talk, including George, right?” Sage asked.

  “Exactly,” I said. “But it’s always handy when a suspect doesn’t realise they’re a suspect.”

  Sage’s expression darkened.

  “What? What now? Oh, Sage, not you! You’re awful sensitive tonight, what’s going on?”

  “Oh, nothing,” she said, in that voice that meant she was about to say more. “I just wish I wasn’t dead sometimes, you know.”

  “Oh, sis, me too,” I felt guilty for being so harsh on her.

  “I mean, I look at a tasty hunk of meat like Ezra and it makes me furious that a girl like Peaches is having all the fun.”

  I shook my head and laughed. Trust Sage’s melancholy mood to be related to a man. Or a lack of a man. Even in the throes of a murder investigation, Sage was eyeing up the male suspects.

  “I love you,” I said. My words surprised her, I could see.

  “Of course you do,” she said. “I’m very loveable. I’m sure Ezra would realise that if I was still alive.”