by James Rasile
PUMPKIN SPICE:
SHORT STORIES FOR HALLOWE’EN
By James Rasile
Illustrations by Dwen Noronha
For Erin!
Look, it’s published!
Table of Contents
The Fifth Season
beWERE
Self-Wait
A Witch for All Seasons
The Goblin of The Woods
Transylvania Love Connection
Cowboy Witch Hunter
THE FIFTH SEASON
Fall was coming to an end.
This is our world but not as you know it. The times are harsher here, the weather consists of gray skies and chilling evenings.
There are five seasons.
The New Year begins with winter, followed closely by the renewal of spring, which of course dissolves into summer, which eventually dips into fall, then every five years following this comes the fifth season.
The season of the Witch.
The sun had set an hour ago. The moonlight beamed down onto the country side. It was the brightest the moon had been in who knows how long.
Jasper Winhead was hammering in his final fence post for the evening. Three nights prior a windstorm hit the township of Tarryville, where Jasper and his wife and young boy lived, hard. Several houses were destroyed that evening. Luckily for the Winhead family, just their fence and a shed were taken down.
Nothing Jasper couldn’t fix up, perhaps even improve upon.
As he finished up the final fence post, Jasper looked up at the night sky. It was calm and peaceful. He knew it wouldn’t last. The season of the witch was upon them. Jasper would take a storm of any stature any day over living through yet another fifth season.
The season of the Witch occurs every five years. Beginning during Devil’s Night, the 30th of October and lasting until the day of Anterus, the 21st of November.
The phenomena of the Fifth Season has been part of this world for as long as man can remember. The witches of the woods feast on infant’s blood. No one quite knows their purpose.
Jasper entered his house. He closed and locked the wooden door behind him. He removed his white cowboy hat and placed it on the coat rack. He left his green vest and grey plaid jacket on; the house was chilly. They used a wood fire stove to keep it heated and since he had been out all day, he was unable to tend to the fire. So, it had died out. His wife Amelia was in the dining room reading a book to their three-year-old son, Kirk. “How’s it looking out there?” his wife asked him as she stopped reading her book. “The storms coming. We will do our part to weather it. I should have the fence up and ready by tomorrow.” He wiped sweat from his brow, “Did Father Michael deliver the package?” His wife nodded. She got up and left the room. Jasper looked at his son and smiled. It was his dream to be a daddy. To look after, care for and raise a child. He’d never forget the day Amelia announced she was pregnant with their first and only child, and he’d certainly never forget the day she gave birth.
Jasper had never been prouder.
Now he sat there staring in to the eyes of his only child. He could see the rest of the boy’s life ahead of him. Kirk could and would become anything he desired. At three years old anything is possible. Amelia returned with a large wooden box. It was heavy and she was struggling to carry it. Jasper jumped up and rushed over to her, grabbing the package from her hand. “This is much larger than I expected.” He laughed. Amelia smiled, “Me too. I’d rather too large than too small.”
“Absolutely.” Jasper agreed. He pulled a knife from his sheath and sliced the box open. Inside was a beautifully handcrafted wood sculpted cross chiseled by the town craftsman Luther, and blessed by the town priest Father Michael. “Luther did a wonderful job. Absolutely gorgeous cross.” Jasper said, his eyes fixated on the cross. “And Father Michael blessed it?”
“He delivered it; I’d assume so.” Amelia replied as she took her seat next to Kirk. Jasper placed the cross back into the box. “Tonight, we stay in the same room, crosses around our necks.”
“Will we be safe?” Amelia put her arm around Kirk. “For this evening yes, but after tonight I cannot be certain.” Jasper put his arm around his wife, “I can’t keep living like this, Jasper. Our son cannot life his life in fear of those… those things!” she began to cry and collapsed into her husband’s arms. “I know,” he comforted her, “We’ll get through this.”
Jasper looked out the bedroom window. The moonlight was flickering on the house and the field below. The sky was so bright at first glance you’d think it was daytime. Amelia tucked Kirk into his crib and gave him a kiss on the forehead. She walked over to Jasper and placed her arms and head on his shoulders. “What are you thinking?” he asked his wife, “To one day leave this place. Never look back. Forget about the fifth season and the evil is brings upon our lands.”
“Do you believe that? Truly? Do you believe we could ever leave the fifth season?” Amelia was thrown by this question, she suspected Jasper would follow her lead and discuss a more worry-free life than the one they were living. “The season of the witch expands more than just our acres, Amelia. I can’t see us ever escaping this curse.”
The Witches dwelled within the woods to the east of Tarryville. The first night of the fifth season was always the same. The sounds of witches laughing, soaring, screaming. It was their return to the world. They would sing and dance, cast old spells and try new ones. For anyone who had not heard these sounds it would be terrifying. Jasper grew up on this farm in Tarryville. He was all too familiar with the screams and chants. He had always wanted to leave, but his family was based here. His life had always been at the Winhead farmstead. Amelia too grew up in Tarryville, albeit not so close to the witching woods to the east. “C’mon. Let’s get some rest.” Jasper kissed his wife on the forehead and the two made their way to the bed.
It was a quarter after three in the morning when the sound woke Jasper up. It seemed to be coming from the kitchen. As he awoke, he checked on Amelia, then Kirk. Both were sound asleep.
Jasper was unaware of the time; he knew it had to be the middle of the night as the sun had not begun to peak its bright promising exterior.
Another sound of glass shattering was heard from the kitchen, this time Amelia gently opened her eyes. “What was that?” She whispered, half asleep. “Probably just a rodent. Go back to sleep.” Amelia, who had barely been awake easily drifted back into dreamland. Jasper looked over at Kirk, the infant was unphased by the sounds. He closed his eyes and did his best to fall back asleep.
The next morning Jasper was the first one to walk in the household. He made his way down to the kitchen. Mud prints greeted him on the floor. Further ahead he could see an empty can of tuna lying on the counter. It was not a rodent, but indeed a cat. The witches must have been were more active that evening than usual. Witches will often times send their pets, black cats, out into Tarryville to get a grander feel for the world they’re entering. Land does have a tendency to change after five years. Jasper knew he must move quickly to complete the fence, and prop up the blessed cross on their property.
He worked non-stop during the day. Amelia would come out with water every thirty-five minutes, and brought him breakfast, lunch, and eventually dinner. When she dropped off the ham meal, she prepared for him for his five-o’clock supper, she reminded him it would be dark soon, and finished fence or not it would be in his best interest to return inside. Jasper agreed. He was close, a couple more logs and the fence would be ready.
Time was not on his side, nor was the weather. A cloud moved in from the east and quickly covered the remaining sunlight Jasper had left. He was surrounded by darkness. A chill rushed through his veins.
The last piece of wood was up, nailed in
and set. Now it was time for the cross. He lifted the three-foot wooden structure up and leaned it against the front gate of the newly constructed fence. He looked at it and smiled. A cross at the entrance of a house meant safety and sanctuary from witches. They could not enter a Christian household uninvited if said household had a cross at the front gate or doorway. And there stood the cross at the front of the property. A sense of relief crossed over Jasper as night struck. He built it just in time, Jasper turned on his flashlight, turned his back to the woods and walked towards the front door. As he reached down to grab the doorknob, he noticed something on the face of the door.
Markings. He ran his fingers along them. Fear struck Jasper. He took a step back. A series of witch markings were on the outside of the door. Circles overlapping one another, and on the bottom a double V.
Virgin of Virgins.
A witch had entered this house.
Were these new? He had not noticed them this morning when he left to build the fence. Amelia made no mention of them after breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Perhaps a witch was what he heard the night before? Perhaps it was not a cat, after all? None of that mattered now. A witch had surely entered his farmstead, he had to protect his family. They needed to leave and head over to the McSweeny’s residence as soon as possible.
The Winhead farmstead was no longer a safe place to live. Jasper ran inside slamming the door behind him. “Amelia!” he shouted. No answer, he searched around the house calling for his wife.
That was when he noticed it.
A back cloud emanating from the kitchen. He took a deep breath and rushed in.
There he saw the body of his wife hovering five feet above the ground.
“Amelia!!” Jasper yelled as loud as he could, hoping to wake his wife from whatever spell she was under. “She cannot hear you.” a sly cunning high-pitched voice calmly stated. Jasper looked to the far end of the kitchen to witness a witch squatting on top of the counter. She was dressed all in black, with long frail dark hair. Her pointy nose was tipped off with a wart. Her eyes black as night, and her fingers were long and dangly. One of her arms was raised up above her pointed witch hat. She holding Amelia’s body in the air with a spell, the other arm was cradling his baby, Kirk. “Let them go!” Jasper demanded. The witch smiled. “Why?” She questioned the cowboy. “Because if you don’t, I will kill you.” The witch cackled in response, “I’ll kill you!” Jasper shouted, his tone was deafening, demanding, and he meant it. The Witch stopped cackling. She stared at Jasper dead in the eyes, she was looking into his soul. “Death is a gift.” The witch stated. Using her arm raised in the air she clinched her fingers together firmly clutching onto the air as tight as she could. Suddenly Amelia’s body stiffened, and began to squeeze together. Blood splattered all over the kitchen. Amelia’s intestines landed in front of Jasper’s feet. He was in shock as he looked up at the witch, who was murmuring some sort of incantation. Jasper dropped to his knees in tears. He looked up at the witch who was still cradling his infant son. He reached his arm out for him, tears rolling down his cheeks, saliva stretching from his mouth top to bottom. As the witch’s’ incantation ended the black cloud began to fill the room. Jasper never took his eyes off of the witch, but without noticing when or how, she was gone.
The black cloud vanished and all that was left in the house was Jasper, and the remains of his beloved wife.
It had been exactly five years since Jasper witnessed the death of his loving wife, and the disappearance of his son. He had made it his mission in life to understand witches, to understand their purpose, their intent, and how to kill each and every one of them.
It was the break of dawn; a crow could be hard over the horizon. On the third coo of the crow Jasper woke from his sleep. It was the same it had been since the night he finally stopped looking for his son.
Immediately following the kidnapping by the witch Jasper set out into the woods to search. The memory of his wife haunted him as he scoured through the trees and vines. The townspeople of Tarryville helped Jasper for days. Father Michael led a group through the eastern woods, and allowed all of those joining the search to sleep in his church for extra safety. Jasper searched entire nights with rarely any sleep. He would not give up until the season came to a thunderous halt.
Father Michael and others plead for Jasper to stop. The search was draining and damning to him. When the Anterus came he knew all hope in finding his boy was lost. Jasper finally gave in and accepted his boy was gone. He’d search again in five years when the season of the witch returned to Tarryville. His dreams would be filled with him reuniting with his son. Those dreams would just as quickly turn to nightmares. And, if he were to reunite with his child who knew what to expect? What would become of his son? His three-year-old son would be eight and growing. Would they recognize each other? Would they even want to? Positive thoughts! He told himself each and every morning.
The west end of Winhead farmstead housed a shack, it was built one-hundred and fifty years prior by Jasper’s ancestors. The shack used to house illegal immigrants during the dark times, now it was the home of nothing too exciting. Mostly, landscaping equipment, and Jasper’s run-down old truck, which currently lived under a tarp. The family did their best to upkeep the shack (which I should tell you was the original Farmhouse on the property), while preserving the historic appeal of it. In the past ten years Jasper had installed electricity in the hopes of creating a study for Kirk when he started school. Was all that just wishful thinking at this point? Jasper was using it as his office. The place to learn and store his finding on witches and the occult.
He made his way to the shack and slid the barn door open. Inside he had a chalkboard covered in notes. It was evident he had been writing furiously on it, scrubbing incorrect information, writing new findings and discoveries. The back of his truck was filled with the physical findings he had discovered throughout his treks in the eastern woods. He had candles, stones, ripped pages from notebooks, salt stones and various minerals, several talisman’s, and a chalice. It had been a grueling five years for Jasper. He had learned more about Witches, Wicca and the occult in those five years than he had ever desired too.
That afternoon Jasper made himself a cup of tea and sat on his front porch. He had his trusty shotgun with him, and using an old rag he began cleaning and dusting it off. He would soon go out to search for his son again. Whether the shotgun would matter or not he did not know, but better to have it than not, he suspected.
The fifth season was here, and Jasper was ready for his revenge.
That was when he heard the cry. It was a woman. The voice of an innocent woman bellowing from the field below. “Help!” She cried out, “Help me! My boy! Help!” Like a flash Jasper jumped from his chair and hopped off his front porch and ran towards the distressed woman.
Her skin colour gone, tears dripping from her eyes, the fear of what happen, and the torture of what was to come, all showing on her brow. “What’s wrong?” Jasper inquired. He was sure he knew the answer, but had hoped he did not, “Witches.” She stated just as Jasper suspected, “Witches got my boy.” She cried out as she fell to her knees in pain. Jasper helped the woman to her feet. “Come inside, I’ll serve you up some tea. Then we’ll talk about your boy.” He assured the helpless distraught woman.
The kettle was steaming. The woman sat at Jasper’s dining room with a shocked gaze upon her face. She didn’t know what to do, or what to think. All she could focus on was the loss of her child. “Sugar?” Jasper snapped her out of her daze. “Yes please.” Her voice was monotone and zombie like, “Two scoops, if you don’t mind.” In fact, Jasper did not mind. He opened the jar of sugar, then scooped two teaspoons of sugar and stirred it into the hot tea. He walked it over to the table in front of the woman and placed it before her. Jasper looked down at her with caring eyes. He knew all too well what she was going through. Jasper was this woman five years ago; he knew the pain of watching your child be taken by one of the monsters in th
e eastern woods. “We’re gonna get your boy back.” He calmly assured the woman. “Do you know much about witches?” She asked as she placed both palms on the hot tea cup. “I know enough.” He didn’t want to say much more, but she needed to know what he knew, “What do you know about witches?” She was desperate to know if the cowboy could help her. He walked over to his alcohol cabinet and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. He slowly poured it into a glass. His back to the woman, “Five years ago…” his voice dropped, no longer brimming with confidence, he lowered his guard, “during the last season of the witch – Witches came and killed my wife, then they took my son.” The woman’s heart sank. She took a slow sip of her tea as Jasper turned back to face her. “Me and some of the locals got together, we gathered and searched. We searched all along them eastern woods. Day turned to night, night turned to day, so on and so forth. Never any sign of my boy, no sign of none witches either.” The woman took another sip of her tea and Jasper continued his story, “Eventually life got in the way and it was just me out there.” He sipped on his whiskey, “Now, I never knew too much about hunting witches, or tracking witches, and eventually I had to give up too. Broke my damn heart giving up on my boy.” Jasper held off tears. The woman swallowed her tea, “I’m so sorry.” Her heart was not only broken for herself over her son, but now for Jasper and his. “You know what I hate about witches?” he asked, rhetorically, “Their ignorance. They think they can take whatever they want to take, feast upon whoever they want to feast upon.” He put the whiskey down, “They march around here every five years like they own this godforsaken world. They leave people like you and me to rot. Take away everything we ever loved. Take away our reason to go on!” His voice raised just below a yell. He calmed himself and apologized to the woman. She understood. He was crushed, frustrated, and felt helpless. “Helpless?” He shook his head, “I’m not helpless at all. I’ve spent the better part of the past five years studying, learning, and understanding. Today I stand here before you knowing as much about the witches in them woods as they probably know about themselves.” The woman sipped her tea and almost smiled, “That’s good. I have faith.” Her voice was cracking. “Faith?” the cowboy hollered back, “Yes, you seem like you know what you’re doing.” She sipped her tea again. “I do, but I am just a man, they’re something… something more.” She rubbed her throat, “God is also something more.”