A Pumpkins' Halloween

by Mark Kasniak

  “No,” Erin said lowly. “I miss my mom a whole lot, but I wasn't crying because of her.”

  “Well, I guess you’ve answered my question, so I'm obliged to answer yours now,” Mr. Mckutchin stated. “I have that sign and all those tall bushes because you’re right, I don't want people coming into my yard, or any children creeping around my house for that matter, especially children.”

  Erin looked up at Mr. Mckutchin, not sure if she should pull her hand away from him after he revealed his distaste for children.

  But, Mr. Mckutchin went on, “You see… it’s not that I don't like people or children, Erin. It’s just... It's just that my friends and I tend to partake in what I would call, very special games, games for grownups that is, and a very special few of them at that. It's not something I would like for people to see, especially children. And, at times, we can get very loud and rambunctious when we play our special games, so we try to keep our games hidden, if you can understand that, Erin. Do you have any special games that you like to keep hidden, Erin?”

  Erin now pulled her hand away from him, not knowing what to say.

  “Were you crying because of your dad, Erin? Were you crying because of special games he likes to play with you?”

  *****

  The next day was Halloween and Erin had found herself excited for its arrival all day long while she was in school. She had gotten a rare lucky break for once in the form of her father having come home late from work yesterday, so he hadn’t found out that she’d gone to the park after getting off the school bus instead of coming straight into the house. That meant she didn’t have to accept missing out on trick-or-treating as a punishment for her transgressions.

  When Erin had gotten home from school that afternoon, she at once ran into her house and then to her bedroom to put on her princess costume. Her father had told her that it was too early for her to be wearing her Halloween costume, that trick-or-treating wasn’t for another four hours. But, she didn’t care. Erin couldn’t think of anything except that today she was a princess and nothing was going to take that away from her. She even ate dinner in her costume, much to her father's dismay that she would end up spilling some of her sloppy Joe on it.

  Soon after dinner, the day crept into the night and the streetlights came on illuminating the roadway in their basking glow. Other kids on the block could already be seen making their way up to Erin's house, and she could hear their faint cries of, “TRICK-OR-TREAT!” coming from up and down the neighborhood.

  Excitedly, Erin called out to her father telling him to, “hurry up” in fear that they would miss the holiday. It was as if she was foolishly worried about becoming little Sally Brown, who had missed Halloween after having been duped into hanging out all night in a pumpkin patch by the love of her life Linus van Pelt.

  “I'm coming! I'm coming!” her father shouted down to her from the top of the staircase. “We've got plenty of time, no need to rush.”

  “But all the other kids are already out trick-n'-treatin' and if we don't hurry, we'll miss it!” Erin complained back to her father.

  “Alright, just give me a minute, for Pete's sake,” he griped right back to her. “I still have to set out the bowl of candy because no-one will be here to pass it out while we're gone. And, lord-knows I don't need to come home to find the house being egged.”

  Erin's father then quickly set out a large bowl of Snickers and Milky Way bars on an outdoor chair that he arranged in place close to the front door. Next to it, he had left a note instructing the trick-or-treaters to be on their honor and to take only one. But, still, he was confident that as soon as he and Erin turned the corner of the block the very first group of kids would have-at-it and that would be that.

  Erin started her trick-or-treating with her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Annsteader and then worked her way up the street. But, then, when she and her father had made their way back down the other side, Erin abruptly stopped before Mr. Mckutchin's house and stared into its dark, creepy yard.

  “Pretty scary, isn't it?” her father asked her. “I wonder what creepy old Mr. Mckutchin is doin' in there tonight. Or, what creepy, old Mr. Mckutchin is doin' to one of his victims in there tonight,” he then said in his best spooky voice before finishing off his sentence with, “Oooooo!” trying to sound like he was a scary ghost.

  Erin didn't respond to her father’s antics. She just looked at the house for a moment longer before turning her attention back to trick-or-treating.

  Two blocks over Erin's bag was beginning to fill up and her father then suggested that maybe they should start heading back for home. He told her that the Garfield and Peanuts Halloween specials would be on soon and that it would be a shame if they had missed it. Erin agreed, and acceded to her father's wishes, her feet were starting to hurt from walking, anyway.

  On their way back, Erin and her dad had stopped at a house where its owners, an old couple, sat nestled comfortably together under a blanket near the end of their driveway while they passed out candy. Erin had taken notice of the five jack-o’-lanterns that sat in a row along the railing of the house’s front porch, their candles giving off a supernatural flickering glow that illuminated their silly faces for the passers-by to see.

  “Hey, look at that jack-o’-lantern up on the porch, Erin,” her father said. “Check out the ugly one covered in warts that has a stupid, grumpy look on its face, the one that reeks like cinnamon.”

  “Oh, hey, that's us!” shouted April excitedly. “Henry worked us into his story.”

  “Erin’s father didn't say that when he and his daughter walked by,” Murray grumbled after having been affronted by Henry’s comments. “Quit being a jackass, Henry, and get on with your story or I’ll make someone else go.”

  “Okay, okay,” Henry accepted.

  So, Erin had agreed with her father in that the particular cantankerous looking jack-o’-lantern was truly the ugliest, most hideous, Jack-o’-lantern she'd ever seen, and it absolutely, positively reeked of cinnamon.

  But, then soon, Erin had finished the block and then she and her father turned up the neighboring street heading for home. By the time they made it back, Erin couldn’t have been more excited because it was her first chance to wide-eyed overlook and dig through her haul of candy and saw it was a king's ransom at that. But before she knew it, she had only enough time to kick off her sneakers and grab two or three pieces of candy before Chuck, Peppermint Paddy, Lucy, Linus, and Snoopy went on their Halloween adventure. An adventure Erin already knew would, ultimately, and predictably leave Charlie Brown with a pile of rocks in his treat bag.

  While Erin watched television up in her room, her father was downstairs also digging into his treats, a bottle of Johnny Walker Red and a fine cigar. Then, after about an hour of time had passed along with a four finger drop of the bottle’s volume, he decided to go upstairs and check in on his daughter. There was still time before Erin would be fast asleep, he had thought to himself, and a round or two of their favorite game might just help him relax a little more than what the scotch had already done for him.

  Erin’s father had reached the top of the stairs, and as he approached her bedroom, he could see that the lights were still on inside the room. He then listened intently for a moment as he stood on the other side of the door and thought he could hear the sounds of people talking within, which he naturally then assumed was coming from the television inside the room.

  After he had reached for the handle of Erin’s bedroom door, he hesitated before going inside. For he suddenly recognized that the sounds he heard coming from within weren't emanating from the comedic banter of Garfield and Odie. No, it was the soft, sweet voice of Erin as she talked to someone as if there was another person in the room with her. Erin’s father inched his head through the door just enough to see inside and straight away, he noticed that the television was left turned off, its screen blank.

  “What are you doing, sweetheart?” he asked.

  “I'm just playing with my friend,
” Erin replied.

  Looking around the room and not seeing anyone with her, Erin's father assumed that her friend must have been imaginary, so he decided to play along with the game.

  “I don't see anybody, is your friend invisible or just hiding?” he asked stepping into the room.

  “He's hiding,” she giggled. “He likes to play games.”

  “He does, huh,” her father replied, his arms akimbo, pretending as if upset with her. “I sure hope you don't have any boys up in your room, you're too young for that, Missy,” he then said, shaking a finger at her.

  “No, daddy, we’re just playing hide-and-go-seek,” Erin responded with a beaming smile. He said he wanted you to play too.

  “He did, did he?” Erin's father said as he then got down on his knees to look underneath her bed. “Well, let’s just see if I can find him.”

  But underneath the bed, remained nothing but the same collection of small boxes and stuffed animals he had seen a few days earlier when Erin was hiding.

  “Nobody under there,” he acknowledged.

  “He's not under there,” Erin said beginning to giggle again as she bounced up and down on the bed in excitement. “He's behind you, silly.”

  Erin's father turned around with an “Ah-ha!” but expected to see absolutely nothing behind him, but still planning on pretending that her imaginary friend was standing there before him.

  However, when Erin's father did spin around to look, to his surprise, Erin’s friend truly was standing there. And if he was imaginary, Erin's father was going to register a complaint with the Better Business Bureau about Don’s discount liquors because that bottle of Johnny Walker they had sold him was clearly laced with something that had him hallucinating.

  Before Erin's father stood a wall of a man, he was at least six and a half feet tall on the smallest of a guess and no less than three hundred pounds. He had the physique of a brick-shithouse and appeared tougher than steel. He wore black leather boots that went up to his knees and a matching black leather jock that firmly hugged his enormous legs. A shiny chrome zipper could be seen stitched vertically in the front that would unlock access to what was clearly a weaponized growth of manhood that he had packed away in between his tree trunk sized thighs. The jockstrap, then worked its way up across his chest where it split into a ‘Y’ stretching over his collarbones. The leather outfit over his shoulders grew into thick, menacing pads with shiny metallic spikes piercing out from them. Left exposed from the outfit was the man’s saucer-like nipples that pierced outwardly and had painful looking chrome loops dangling through them. Finally, festooned on the man’s head he wore a black leather mask fashioned with yet another chrome zipper that opened to the mouth port. The apparatus fitted snugly over his skull much like that of a wrestler who wanted to keep his identity a secret from the audience.

  Erin's father's voice instantly failed him when he saw the giant standing in her closet.

  He then managed to stammer out, “W-W-Who, w-whhoo aare youu?” as he began to shake, and feeling a sudden urge to pee himself.

  Erin giggled again, and then said, “That's my friend, daddy. He wants to play with you. He calls himself THE MACHINE.”

  “What do you want?” Erin's father screamed at the man, his voice suddenly coming back to him. “Stay away from me! Stay away from my daughter! I'm going to call the cops!”

  The Machine just stood there and then dropped his black leather bag he had been carrying in his giant right hand. Out fell an array of extremely large dildos, whips, clamps, cuffs, a chain of enormously large and studded anal beads, and some contraption that had the words THE DEVIL'S DARENGER written on the side of it.

  Erin hopped down off her bed, taking her bag of candy along with her. She then walked past her father headed for the door. When she got to it, she turned around to look back over her shoulder at her father and said, “I'm gonna go downstairs to finish watching cartoons. You guys can finish playing your game up here.” She then left, closing the bedroom door behind her.

  Erin could hear her father yell for her from the other side of the door. “Erin! Wait… Don't leave! Be a good girl and tell your friend that I need to go with you!” But Erin wasn't listening. She was already halfway down the stairs humming a song to herself.

  Not long later, Erin fell asleep that night on the couch as she watched television in the living room, surrounded by piles of candy and empty wrappers. She had paid no mind as her father’s screams and cries of agony and torment that were going on upstairs went unheeded. She just peacefully drifted off to sleep.

  After that Halloween, Erin's father never touched her again.

  “Yeaaa!” cried April. “That was a good one, well-done, Henry.”

  “Yasz, En-ree, ay irrei iked tat un,” Tilly said.

  “Ugh, please, Tilly, will you shut up!” griped Murray. “Your babbling is like murder on my eardrums.”

  “Leave her alone, you old grouch!” April chided him. “How would you like being upside down all night?”

  “Alright, alright,” Murray said, trying to lighten everyone’s annoyance with him. “Yes, well-done, Henry, I really didn't think you could pull that one off, but you did a good job.”

  “Look at them!” exclaimed the old man to his wife. “Look at these boys wearing these namby-pamby costumes. What is this…? This Mind Craft stuff… Looks more like Mind-crap! Ha. Japanese garbage is what it is. Whatever happened to kids wearing good-old fashioned American boy's costumes, like Army guys, Count Dracula, and becoming a ghost by wearing an old sheet over their heads? Nowadays it’s all this wimpy love-e-dovie girly garbage.”

  “Oh, hush up, you old grump,” said the old woman.

  “Ah, hell,” griped the old man getting up from his seat. “I need a beer, and gotta take a piss. I'll be right back.” He then ambled along up the driveway towards the house, leaving the old woman to pass out candy alone.

  Murray said, “Okay, Henry, so, it's your turn to pick, make it a good one.”

  “Alright, let’s see,” Henry said as he looked over the neighborhood. “April, I think it will be your turn, and I choose for you, that young gentlemen over there across the street, the one wearing the surgeon’s outfit all covered in blood. What's his story?”

  “Well, alright,” April began. “Let’s see… His name is Timothy Barren and his story goes like this.”

  Timothy Barren was a kid with a lot of serious issues that had gone unchecked for far too long. The boy had a sick fascination with torturing animals for fun. He would secretly like to set out traps in his backyard and in around the wooded lot to the rear of his home so he could hopefully catch his little unsuspecting victims as they went about their travels foraging for food.

  Timothy commonly would like to use peanut butter as bait inside the metal cage traps he would hide near the tall oak trees at the very edge of his yard. Then, when he would catch a hungry squirrel, he would get that feeling he craved so much, that feeling of absolute power running through his veins, adrenaline. Being able to play God for Timothy was better than Christmas morning, better than pizza, better than video games.

  “Ah-ha, Got you!” Timothy cried out to the little-gray squirrel that found itself captured and was scrambling around in circles, panicking inside of the metal cage. “You're Freaking Dead… DEAD!” he stated as he laughed in his sociopathic, sadistic way.

  He then sat for a while poking at the poor helpless creature with a stick as he thought about just how he was going to carry out the animal’s execution.

  “I GOT IT!” he gleefully said to himself before running over to the shed located at the rear of his home’s property.

  A moment later he then came back with a can of gasoline and a box of matches.

  “I sentence you to death by fire,” he said to the little-gray squirrel as he removed the cap from the can. He then splashed the gasoline onto the cage and the squirrel immediately started screaming with a high-pitched cry that gave away its fear.

  Mirthfully, Ti
mothy then splashed even more on the little critter.

  Timothy put down the can and placed its cap on tight before standing over the cage with a wild look in his eyes. He then lit a match, striking it firmly off the side of the box. As the flame came to life, he watched excitedly as the match’s eruption flared up from his fingertips.

  The squirrel continued to screech in terror as it writhed in agony from the gas getting into its eyes and mouth.

  Timothy then dropped the lit match into the cage, and the fuel ignited with a pop, followed by a rush of heat, and then a burst of yellow and orange light.

  As the squirrel burned alive, the poor critter slammed itself into the walls of the cage, desperately trying to put itself out.

  Timothy smiled.

  The squirrel cried and heaved as its fur burned away and its flesh blistered and cooked. A stench billowed up from the cage that smelled of singed hair, and garbage that’s been sitting out on a hot summer's day.

  “Trial by fire,” Timothy uttered in a whisper to himself.

  The squirrel hitched one last time, then stopped moving altogether as its body continued to burn like a lamp.

  After it was all over, Timothy buried the squirrel’s chard-black corpse in a hole he dug near a few of the tall oak trees that were sporadically scattered in the empty lot next to his backyard. After he’d finished his dirty deed, he then went into his house looking for dinner, having never thought of the little squirrel again.

  “What are you going to be for Halloween tomorrow, sport?” Timothy's father asked him as he sat on the other side of the kitchen table.

  “I'm gonna be a crazy surgeon that butchers people!” Timothy said eagerly. “Mom said that she was going to get me a pair of scrubs from her work, and I'm going to cover it in blood and guts, and I'll have a bone saw and a stethoscope.”

  “Wow!” his father replied in feign surprise. “Sounds pretty scary, I’d hate to have a run-in with that doctor.”

  That night Timothy dreamt about catching another squirrel in his backyard that he could kill. He dreamed about having used his bone saw to have removed each of the squirrel’s limbs from its abdomen as it tried to struggle to get out of the snares he would use to hold it in place.