A Pumpkins' Halloween

by Mark Kasniak

  “Ow-www,” was the collective sound the jurors made as they stared at Timothy scornfully.

  “No more questions your honor,” the deer said, and then he walked back over to his side of the clearing, sat down, and began grooming his genitals with his tongue.

  “Your witness, Mr. Weasel,” said the frog judge.

  “Don't worry kid, I got this,” the weasel replied, looking up at Timothy and then giving him a wink. Timothy just put his hands over his face, praying this would all go away.

  The weasel lawyer stood up and then made his way through the clearing, around the fire, and over to the squirrel.

  “Mr. Squirrel, can you tell me who did this to you?” the weasel asked.

  “Yes, it was Timothy Barren,” the squirrel answered.

  “That Timothy Barren?” the weasel said as he pointed at Timothy.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he used that can of gas over there to burn you?”

  The weasel then pointed to the can of gas.

  “Yes,” the squirrel answered.

  “Did it hurt?” asked the weasel.

  “Yes, badly,” said the squirrel.

  “Really?” asked the weasel.

  “YES!” said the squirrel.

  “Fuuucccckkkk,” said the weasel. “No more questions, your honor.”

  “You may step down, Mr. Squirrel,” the frog judge said with sympathy in his eyes. The squirrel then slunk back off into the woods after the shrubs and bushes abruptly split apart making a path for him.

  “YOU DIDN'T HELP AT ALL!” Timothy shouted at his lawyer.

  “Well, I didn't say I was very good,” the weasel lawyer responded. “I mean... C'mon, I'm a weasel for Christ's sake.”

  “I will now ask the members of the jury to go for their deliberation,” the frog judge requested.

  The jury critters, then walked out of the clearing only to disappear into the parting shrubs.

  “Wait!” Timothy shouted, standing up from the log he’d been perched upon. “Don't I get to say something on my behalf?”

  “No,” said the toad judge as he croaked out laughter. “This is the court of the forest, not the Peoples Court. I'm Judge Hopner, not Judge Wapner,” he chuckled.

  “Well, see you around, kid,” Timothy's weasel lawyer said to him before beginning to slink off.

  “What?” Timothy cried out, his mouth agape. “Where the hell are you going?”

  “Awe, the jury should be coming back in a minute or two, pretty cut and dry case. Besides, I don't like sticking around to see myself lose a case. It makes me feel like an imbecile.”

  Just then the jury came through the shrubs and re-took their seats in the clearing.

  “Have you reached a verdict?” asked the frog judge.

  “Yes, your honor,” the gopher said working as the head of the jury.

  “AND?” asked the judge.

  “We the jury find Timothy Barren GUILTY on all charges of crimes against Mother Nature.”

  “NO!” Timothy cried out.

  “Tough break, kid,” Timothy's weasel lawyer said being flippant. “Well, see ya.”

  “Well, then, with the power invested in me by the court of the forest, I hear by sentence you, Timothy Barren, to death for crimes against Mother Nature,” the frog judge ordered before he slammed his gable down on the rock he’d been perched upon, the sound echoing throughout the entire forest.

  “NO... NO, NO, NO, NO, Noooooo!!!” Timothy cried. “You can't do this! I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'll never hurt another animal again. I'll become a vegetarian. I'll volunteer for the ASPCA. I'll do whatever you want me to do. Pleaassseeee... Pleaaasssseeeee... don't do this. I'm sorry. I'M SOOOORRRRRRRRRYYYYY!!!”

  Timothy sobbed on uncontrollably until he almost passed out, and upon the frog judge seeing him weep, the amphibian sighed and said, “Wait... In light of your remorse and you clearly throwing yourself upon the mercy of the court, I have reconsidered your sentencing.”

  Timothy looked at the frog judge with wonder and optimism in his bloodshot eyes.

  The frog judge then said, “I re-sentence you, Timothy, to have to walk through the tunnel of understanding,” before banging his gable on the rock again.

  “W-what?” Timothy asked, having been totally confused. “What is the tunnel of understanding?”

  “It's a tunnel that you’re going to have to walk through, and when you do, you're going to find out just what it’s like to be one of us, a creature of the forest,” the frog judge explained. “You're going to come to understand just how hard it is to be a defenseless creature.”

  “That's it,” Timothy asked beseechingly. “That's it... and then I can go home?”

  “Yes, that's it, Timothy,” said the frog judge. “Just walk through the tunnel right over there and you can go home.”

  Timothy looked over to where the frog judge was pointing and he watched the trees and bushes bend and contort making a darkened tunnel that led deeper into the forest.

  “O-okay... Well, goodbye then,” Timothy said, anxious to leave. He then walked up to the tunnel’s entrance and peered past its very leading edge. He peered around briefly and then glanced back at all the woodland creatures that made up the court. He then looked down into the tunnel once more, a bit cautiously, thinking that it may be a trap. As he paused, he felt his stomach tighten and his bowels quake. He didn't want to go into the tunnel, but he knew that the only way to go home was through it, and he sure as hell didn't want to spend any more time where he was.

  Timothy stepped into the tunnel, and he could feel the dark all around him. He then took a few more steps and thought about just closing his eyes and making a dash through the tunnel as fast as he could. But then he saw something, it was small and distant, but it was there. A light... he thought and then concentrated on it. Yes... Yes... it was a light, a light at the end of the tunnel.

  Picking up his pace, Timothy hurried as fast as he could through the tunnel. He felt giddy with joy as the light and the end of the passageway neared. “I made it! I'M GONNA MAKE IT!” he shouted.

  When Timothy had reached the end of the tunnel and felt engulfed in the brilliant light; it was so bright it blinded him. He blinked rapidly trying to regain his sight, but it took a moment for things begin coming back into focus. He noticed he could see trees and shrubs, and the blueness of the sky above him. He could feel the warmth of the sunshine on his back, and the coolness of the breeze in the air. He could feel the mud on his arms and legs and feel the water all around him. I'm in the tarn, he thought. It’s daylight and I'm still on the edge of the tarn. I must have hit my head when I tripped and fell down and I’ve been here all night. It was all a bad dream, the court, the frog judge, the squirrel I killed having come back to life to testify against me. It was all just a nightmare brought on by me hitting my head. Oh... Thank God!

  “Coooool,” Timothy then heard coming from an enthusiastic voice from somewhere behind him. And, before the opportunity had arisen for him to turn around to see from where or from whom the voice was coming from, he felt himself being plucked from the ground, heading skyward, as if picked up by a giant.

  Whaaaat iiissss ttthiiissss, he thought as he felt himself rocket up towards the sky.

  “Hey, Adam, look what I caught,” the voice said.

  “What is it?” Adam called out.

  “It's a bullfrog!” the voice Timothy now recognized as being that of Raymond's said enthusiastically in response.

  “Cooooooooollllll... let's stick firecrackers up its ass!” said Adam.

  “Oooooh, serves him right,” said Ally, “that little jerk hurting them poor defenseless animals the way he did.”

  Henry added, “Yes, April, that was a good one, I really liked it.”

  “I do have to admit...” Murray began but had to pause when the winds picked up almost causing his candle to go out. “Ah... as I was saying... I do have to admit that story was
a lot better than the one you told last year.”

  “Oh, wow!” April sarcastically exclaimed. “I actually got a compliment from the all wonderful storyteller Murray.”

  “Yah, it-t wuas a ot bet-tar n thah un oo toold ass ear, Moory,” Tilly said chiding.

  “Oh, shut up, Tilly,” Murray snapped in rebuttal. “My story last year about the boy who liked to steal woman's undergarments was a lot better than anything we've heard tonight, so far.”

  Oh, no way, nah-ah, you wish, and pffft… were just a few of the collective replies to Murray's assessment of his story from the year previous.

  “I don't care what you morons believe,” Murray pouted derisively. “None of you half-wits could hold a candle up to my storytelling.”

  “A cinnamon candle?” asked April to the laughs of all the others.

  Murray didn't dignify her statement with a reply.

  “Well, aren't you cute!” the jack-o’-lanterns suddenly heard the old man say to a little girl wearing a bumblebee costume. “You better keep an eye on her or she might fly away, the little angel,” he then told the little girl’s mother who was holding her hand.

  “Sounds like somebody’s beers are starting to kick in,” Henry quipped.

  “Well, at least he's in a better mood now,” Ally bitterly replied. “I'm sick of him being such a grump all the time.”

  “What did you expect?” Murray retorted harshly. “He's like this every year. You would be too if you disliked Halloween and your wife harassed you every year to take part in it.”

  “He still doesn't have to be such a grouch though,” Ally shot back at Murray.

  “He's not... just look at him,” April said giggling.

  There was the old man at the end of the driveway now playing with a wiener dog that’d been dressed in a costume that made the pup look like a hot dog. The pooch excitedly jumping up on the old man’s legs, as its owner than commanded the dog—named Bailey—to get down and behave itself. The old man continued trying to pet the dog as it began to spin around in circles exciting itself into a frenzy over the piece of beef jerky the old man was teasing it with.

  “Awwwwe, would you look at that,” Ally said softly. “He still does have a heart after all.”

  “Da yawggy emines me ahva peyaches,” Tilly mumbled.

  “Would you please stop talking, Tilly?” Murray snipped as he chastised her again. “It's like trying to understand a drunken retard.”

  “Shut-up, Murray!” April cried. “You talk to her that way again, and I'll blow out your candle myself. And, you’re right, Tilly, the doggy does look like, Patches.”

  “Awe, I miss, Patches,” Ally said somberly.

  “Me too,” added Henry.

  “Alright, if we're done with going down memory lane, shall we get on with it?” asked Murray’ “I do believe that I was next, who will be picking for me?”

  “Why don't you pick this one, Tilly?” asked April, knowing it would irritate Murray to hear her speak again.

  “All-ight,” Tilly babbled. “Yets se... Aye cooze ah itch.”

  “The what?” asked Murray, now trying to play nice after having not wanted any of the other three jack-o’-lanterns to give him any grief.

  “Ah itch... ofa year, yagging er kid!”

  There was a pause and then Ally spoke, “Oh, I see what she's saying. She chooses the witch over there, the one who is dragging her kid around forcefully.”

  “Yeapp,” Tilly enthusiastically concurred.

  All the jack-o’-lanterns turned their attention to the woman across the street that was pulling her child around by the arm, a little girl dressed in a 1950's sock-hop outfit. The kid was crying and saying that she didn't want to go home already, that they were late starting trick-or-treats because her mother, the woman in the Witch costume, was late coming home from work. The woman then continued jerking the child harshly down the sidewalk, yelling and scolding her as they went. “I don't care if Halloween only comes once every millennium, I said we’re going home!”

  “Oh, that poor child,” Ally acknowledged sounding upset. “It looks like she's collected hardly any candy in that bag so far.”

  “No, mommy!” cried the little girl. We've only gone down one street, we can't go home already!

  The mother in the witch costume spun herself around abruptly, grabbing the little girl tightly by both of her arms and shouting, “You'll do whatever I tell you, you hear me!” The little girl then pulled herself away from her mother, and the woman in the witch costume slapped her across the face before grabbing her hand again forcefully, pulling the child along as she wailed out in heartbreak and pain.

  “Oh, that woman really is a witch, isn't she?” April proclaimed.

  Just then the old man got up from his chair at the end of the driveway and yelled, “Hey,” to the woman in the witch costume. The beldam paid the old man no mind as she kept dragging her daughter along the sidewalk. The old man seeing them scurry off began to walk across the street where he yelled, “Hey,” for the second time, and this time the woman dressed up as a witch stopped.

  “Yeah, what the hell do you want?” she sneered at the old man.

  “Just what in Sam hell do you think you’re doing?” replied the old man. “Who do you think you are, hitting a defenseless child like that?”

  “She’s my daughter, now mind your own damn business!” the witch shouted.

  The old man approached even closer and began pointing an angry finger at the woman. “You don't do that to your child,” he berated. “This is supposed to be her special day. The one day a year that she can go out and have fun. Nobody's supposed to hurt her on this day!”

  “Well, I've got a headache and my feet hurt, so I'm going home, and she's coming with me,” the witch stated. “And, if you don't like it, screw you!” She then stuck her tongue out at the old man.

  The little girl in the sock-hop outfit just wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her costume and then stared blankly at the old man.

  “Screw me!” replied the old man flabbergasted. “I'll give you a headache you old bag. Don't you ever take this little girl for granted, one day she mightn’t be around anymore, and then you'll be sorry. You should cherish every moment you have with her.”

  “Shut-up, you dumb old twit,” the witch woman scoffed as she continued on down the sidewalk with the little girl in tow.

  “Come on now,” the old woman said as she came up behind the old man after having gotten up to retrieve him. “Come back to our side of the street and sit back down before you work yourself up into a heart attack.”

  “Stupid bitch,” the old man mumbled to himself as he turned around facing the old woman who had gently taken his hand. They then headed back to their chairs across the street.

  “Well... I guess we know who's had a bit too much of the hard cider tonight,” Murray said jokingly.

  “Screw you, Murray,” Henry snipped at him contentiously. “He had every right to do what he did. I'm just sorry he didn't punch the dumb bitch in the face!”

  “You mean witch,” Ally implied.

  “No, I don't,” said Henry.

  “Alright, let’s just start the next story, then,” April said, trying to mollify the growing tension between the jack-o’-lanterns. “Murray, I believe it was your turn, and your story is about that witch.”

  “Yes, yes... Well, the two of them ambled on down the street after their confrontation with the old man, witch former, child the latter. And, as they made their way back home the bitter, old witch authoritatively continued to pull on the child's arm as the little girl in the sock-hop costume obstinately refused to concede and go along with her mother’s wishes.”

  “Come along, Jenna... pick up your feet or I swear to God, I'll drag you,” Jenna's mother said to her as she kept up her foul morose.

  Jenna knew that her demur was moot by this point, her mother had made up her mind, “I said we're going home!” and there was nothing she could do to change that. But, still, she didn
't want her mother's imperious, domineering, narcissistic attitude to go unchallenged, so she did her best to keep up with her slow walk, taking only small baby steps, knowing that her stoical resolve to her mother’s affront would begin to burrow its way under her mother’s skin. Besides that, she also knew that as long as she kept it up, by the time they had made it home, her mother would be so irate and seething on the inside from her dawdling, she would be ready to have an aneurysm, a thought that brought Jenna a little joy.

  But, on the other hand, Jenna also hoped her mother would suppress any more anger she had with her because all she did was what she’d been told, “Go home.” She couldn't help the fact that she was small and her tiny legs couldn't keep up with the determined witch.

  When they had made it back to their house, the witch yelled out “Go away!” to a couple of trick-or-treaters who were just beginning to walk up to their driveway at the very same time she was. She then hammered home her sentiment with, “We don't have any more candy, Halloween's over now!” But, the children at first thought she was just playing the role her costume suggested, and they continued on in their journey to the front door of the home. Then, showing her viciousness, the witch shouted even more mean-spirited at the children, “What did I just say to you little brats! Go on SCRAM!” And, with her condemnation, the children took off running to the next house without looking back. Not a single one of them was about to let a real-life witch come between them and their goal of a bounty of sweets which was rightfully theirs, endowed to them by the laws of childhood.

  “In the house, NOW!” the witch then screamed at Jenna, her voice becoming hoarse with emotion and disgust as it came to a crescendo in a cackle-like croak as she ran out of breath.

  Jenna immediately went into the house and ran up to her room at once, slamming the door. The witch then yelled to her from the bottom of the stairs after hearing the door slam. “You better watch yourself, Jenna! Don't make me come up there! You won't like me when I'm mad!”

  Won't like you when you’re mad? Jenna thought. I don't like you now. Or, when you’re drinking, or when you’re working and you don't want me to bother you, or when you’re on the phone and I make too much noise in the background for your liking, or when you force me to do everything you want to do and never anything I want to do. Hell, I don't even like you when you’re happy.