D. K. Wall 0:02
At the house across the street from my childhood home, a magical thing happened every Halloween. A talking jack-o'-lantern conversed with neighborhood children. As I grew older, I might have spotted the microphone cord stretched along the ground from the corn shock and through the kitchen window. Perhaps cynical teenage me would have noted the voice sounded suspiciously like the man who lived there, or realized the witch stirring her smoking cauldron resembled his wife. But as a kid, I only knew that once a year, on Halloween night, a simple pumpkin with a carved face came alive and spoke. Let me take you back to 1973.
0:56
Come closer. The voice was a dry rattle, like autumn leaves skittering across pavement. Quivering with a fright that stole his words, the boy shook his head. The jack-o'-lantern rested atop a hay bale, its malevolent eyes flickering with an inner fire. Its mouth was carved into a wide, uneasy grin, but the lips didn't move as the words slid out. Little boy, come closer. A corn shock served as a backdrop. Its dry stalks bound like a rustic teepee. Earlier, the boy had peered from his bedroom window as the nice couple from across the street assembled it, but they had vanished as the day faded into Halloween night. Now a witch stirred a black pot hanging from a post, a thick, sweet smoke bubbling over its sides. A shadow shifted in the darkened kitchen window and drew the boy's attention to a silent observer lurking inside the house, watching his every move. Boy, look at me. Dutifully, his gaze returned to the face of the glowing pumpkin. He swallowed hard, steadying his nerves. On Halloween's past, his older brother had come with him after trick-or-treating in the neighborhood. A solid and reassuring presence at his side. But that year, his brother had declared himself too old, too big, and far too cool to speak to a magical pumpkin, leaving him to face it alone.
2:43
Come closer. I want to chat with you. Families crowded the yard. Not only children from the neighborhood, but from other neighborhoods too. As word of the annual appearance spread through town, cars and vans, even a church bus or two, descended with visitors. A line of children snaked behind the boy, all feigning bravery despite their nervousness. Their expectant faces illuminated by the pumpkin's glow. The boy was nine years old. A big boy. He could do this without his big brother. He took a single, tentative step closer. That's better. I can hear you when you are close. Can you speak? Yes.
3:32
Excellent. I feared a cat had got your tongue. A black cat, perhaps. The pumpkin chuckled at its own joke, laughter dripping through its teeth. Confused, the boy reached inside his mouth. To his relief, he felt his tongue still wiggling where it belonged. To prove it, he stuck it out at the pumpkin. Nope. Still here. That's certainly good to hear. It goes well with your terrific costume. Beaming under the praise, the boy spread his arms and lifted the black cape, letting it flap in the October breeze. I'm Count Dracula. Ooh, a fearsome choice. You look just like him. Except, where are your pointy teeth? The boy dug into his jeans pocket and extracted a set of waxy fangs. He cradled them in an outstretched palm. They even glow, see? Ah, yes, but shouldn't they be in your mouth? The boy shrugged and confessed, I don't like them. They feel funny. Laughter erupted from the pumpkin, a rumbling sound that vibrated in the boy's thin chest. Yes, I imagine they do. And I can't talk with them, the boy added, feeling bolder, and I can't eat my candy with them. Ah, that would be a big problem. Looks like your bag is quite full. Did you get lots of good candy trick-or-treating this year? The boy deposited the fangs into his pocket and held the paper bag open with both hands, tilted so the pumpkin could look inside. Yeah, lots. Very, very nice, the voice purred. Are you going to share some with me? Perplexed, the boy pulled the bag close to his body and shook his head. He had worked hard, ringing every doorbell in the neighborhood, and he didn't want to part with any of his loot. The pumpkin's voice roared in disapproval, a booming command that silenced the whispers of the crowd. I am the greatest pumpkin of this hallowed Eve, a magical being. But unlike you, I have no legs to walk from door to door, no hands to ring doorbells. Without help from little boys and girls like you, I receive no candy. To right this wrong, you must bring me a candy offering.
6:08
Trembling, the boy hesitated, debating his options, but he had vowed he could face the pumpkin on his own. He couldn't fail now. He reached a shaky hand into his bag and stirred. Buried under the good chocolates and tasty morsels, his fingers brushed against a hard cellophane-wrapped candy, a glimmering red one, a flavor he didn't like. He pinched it between his fingers and pulled it out, smiling at his good fortune. But the pumpkin could read his mind. Now, is that one of the good ones, or merely one you wish to be rid of? Caug. The boy's fist snapped shut around the unwanted candy. He hung his head, his ears burning. I I am a most wise and wonderful pumpkin, but I don't like being tricked. And so now, you must treat. Shaking, the boy opened his bag a second time. His eyes found a prized item, a favorite chocolate candy bar. But he had two of them. He could part with one. He wrapped his fingers around it, the crinkly wrapper a familiar comfort. He extracted it from the bag and stared at it. A true sacrifice. A worthy tribute. With a trembling, outstretched hand, he offered it as a gift. Ah, that's much better. But I have no arms. Bring it to me. The boy hesitated. His eyes fixed on the large plastic bowl resting on the hay beside the pumpkin. He would have to step closer. Reach his hand over the hay bale. Within inches of the flapping leaves of the corn stalks. What hid inside them? If he lingered too close, would something reach out? Wrap its icy fingers around his wrist and pull him in? Drag him into the shadows? Or perhaps the pumpkin itself could move, lunging forward to bite him with those jagged orange teeth? Be brave, my boy. Give it to me now. Determined, he straightened his back and took a step. Nothing moved inside the corn. No bony arm reached from inside. No eyes gleamed at him from the shadows. Another step. Tentative. Unsure. A gust of wind swept across the yard. His cape fluttered. Corn leaves rustled. The light inside the pumpkin flickered. A wild gaze of anticipation. With all the nerve he could muster, the boy took a third step. He leaned forward, reaching out with a quaking hand. He hovered over the bowl, released his fingers, and heard the satisfying thump as the candy bar joined the other offerings. Mission accomplished. He leaped back before anything could grab him, wrapping his cape tightly around his body as a shield. The pumpkin's mirth roared approval. A fine offering, my boy. It's one of my best. Yes, I know, and unselfish boys like you deserve a reward. The boy looked up, a smile breaking across his face. I do? Oh, yes. Do you see yonder witch? Yes, I see her. A black-headed figure cackled as she stirred her giant pot, smoke spilling to the ground around her feet. I, the most mystical pumpkin in all the land, command her to offer you a treat from her bubbling cauldron. The witch clucked and beckoned with a long, bony finger. Warily, he approached as the jack-o'-lantern called to the next child in line. She motioned him closer and closer. So, the witch rasped, her voice cracking, he says you are to have some candy. Y-yes, ma'am. She gestured toward the giant black bowl swinging in the wind. Then reach inside, my child. Claim your prize. He licked his lips, wanting the candy, but terrified to thrust his hand into the smoking darkness. Go ahead, my child, she urged, her eyes twinkling under the brim of her hat. You earned it. He squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and plunged his hand deep inside the cauldron. He wrapped his fingers around a candy. One, only one. He knew not to take more. But, he thought, a good one from the way it felt. He scrambled back from the witch. Thank you. You are welcome, my little count. He ran to his parents, who stood at the edge of the yard, talking with neighbors. Beaming with pride, he announced, I did it. I talked to the jack-o'-lantern all by myself. And I got candy from the witch. She let me reach into the bowl and everything. That must have been scary, his mother said, her smile full of warmth. He shook his head, standing a little taller. Oh, no, I wasn't scared at all. Excellent, his father said. They started back across the street, his parents waving at the shadow in the kitchen window and the woman stirring her pot on the lawn. The witch cackled and shouted after them. Happy Halloween! As they crossed the street to enter their own house, the boy cast a glance over his shoulder. The jack-o'-lantern's eyes flickered. A wink.