Fruits of Insanity

pumpkin dreams

The pumpkins are out tonight. Do you see them? Flickering teeth and sharp eyes at every door, calling the children to them—they shout, come to us! Did you ever wonder why we carve them—the bait and the trap in one. Halloween is a special night—when the dead have power over the living. And so we disguise our children, trying to protect them from our dead. We send them out to haunt each door, so we don’t have to realize that others are knocking as well. We let the pumpkins light our doors to prove that we need no other spirits in our homes.

You don’t need to believe me. After all, Halloween is for children—a time to scare and laugh and thrill and run. It’s about candy, not ghosts. Believe that—it strengthens your protection.

This street is a long one, with a church on the corner with a graveyard where headstones march in well maintained, ordered lines. On the other side of the graveyard is the house where the caretaker once lived. The church doesn’t employ a caretaker anymore since the last one died (in his sleep, after a long life), but they rent the property to members of the congregation.

At present, a family lives there. They’re happy with the place, which is cozy and happy. They’ve painted the shutters light blue, and they have a white picket fence and a front garden where the children play. Mother dislikes having them play out back within the shadow of the cemetery. There are five pumpkins at their door, with a variety of faces—witch, vampire, kitten, car, superhero. It was a family project—mother, father, daughter, son, babe in arms.

One flicker (the candles are not lit yet, but there is magic to the day) catches the mother’s eye as she comes in from picking the children up from school, juggling a load of chocolate, car seat where baby is sleeping, and two children hyped up on sweets already. Excited and ready for their costumes. Mother has a loose hand on the reins, otherwise, she knows, this evening will be a frustration as they’re too sugared to listen for long.

Dinner is a total loss, of course. The children are behaving, barely, toeing the line that they must not cross if they want to collect candy, but they’re not hungry for actual food. They want the chocolate that is locked away for later.

Daughter zips herself into a tiger suit, with a sharp eared hood and a tail that she keeps pulling as she races around the house. Father stuffs son into a pirate’s full shirt, eye patch, and blunted sword—which is necessary for attacking tigers. Mother is staying home, waiting for the beckoned hordes, but she changes the baby into a bee, crawling around the floor with crooked antennae and a glittering stinger. And then they’re off. Their absence feels emptier than mother is sure she wants.

Night has fallen. She turns on the porch light and sits just inside the door, ready, her only company the glowing pumpkins in stair step order along the rail.

Trick or treat! The call echoes up and down the street as parents shiver and lurk as close as their children will allow in their quest for candy. In a pause between visitors, the mother looks up to the shrouded moon and shivers.

There are always more children than one would expect—brought in by wicked pumpkin grins. The pumpkins entice them, like will-o-the-wisps luring travelers to their doom. Angels and demons, vampires and princesses, dragons and wolves. She sees them all, smiles at them, and hands out chocolate. She might see familiar eyes behind the painted masks, but she shakes the feeling off.

It grows later. The three return in time for father to take over door duty—with the dark, more impish revelers knock. Some are older, which he blames on the college at the other end of town, but some are older still.

As mother negotiates the candy rules and puts the children to bed (still in their costumes because they aren’t ready for the night to be over), she seems to see other faces lying over her babies. Her grandmother, the uncle who died last year, her favorite teacher from high school. The shadows are full of memories. Finally, all three children sleep, and she returns downstairs.

It’s late now. The candy bowl is nearly empty, and the two parents shut the light off, leaving the candles glowing in the pumpkins. There are voices on the wind, especially when they are at the back of the house. The two settle in, happy for time together, but unwilling to sleep yet. A movie—something scary so they can huddle together against the dark like the night wants them to—it’s just a matter of justification.

After midnight, the danger is over. They look at each other and laugh, not knowing why they feel easier, why it is suddenly safe to sleep. Mother goes upstairs to check the children again while father blows out the candles and checks the locks.

In the graveyard, the wind is quiet, calm. The dead are still again, ready to sleep for another year.

Prompt 13
the week of October 25

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