The Pumpkin House Read online

  Copyright © 2013 Chad P. Brown

  Published by

  Three Crows Books

  Huntington, WV

  First Edition, March 2013

  Cover art by Abigail Larson

  www.abigaillarson.com

  Interior art by Lori Watts

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Part One:

  October 25th, Six Days ‘til Halloween

  When Ronnie Lancaster heard the screen door slam shut, his mind snapped back to the present, permitting him a brief respite from brooding over his problems at home.

  For the past fifteen minutes, he’d been standing with the other children in the front yard of Mr. Keenan’s broken-down farmhouse (a house in dire need of a paint job, Ronnie thought). With the limited amount of patience children possess, they’d been waiting for Mr. Keenan to come outside and assign them their duties at the Pumpkin House this year.

  Every Halloween, Charles Keenan decorated the thirty or so square yards in front of his farmhouse with hundreds upon hundreds of jack-o’-lanterns turning his home into the main attraction for at least fifty miles in every direction. The local Halloween tradition – almost as popular as trick-or-treating in the small, rural town of Smith’s Grove – drew people from across the tri-state area of West Virginia, Ohio, and Kentucky to see what had become dubbed over the years as the Pumpkin House.

  Every year, in order to help carve and take care of the vast number of jack-o’-lanterns on display at the Pumpkin House, Mr. Keenan took on volunteers to assist him. Since fall break for the public schools coincided with the same week of the Pumpkin House, Mr. Keenan never had a shortage of volunteers. The children weren’t the only ones who flocked to his house to help; adults would lend a hand as well because of their love for Halloween and the Pumpkin House.

  Ronnie used to love Halloween. Ever since he could remember, he would get excited when Halloween rolled around each year, trying to decide what costume he wanted to wear in anticipation of going trick-or-treating. But, a couple of years ago, he’d decided he was getting too old for such childish nonsense. Halloween had lost its appeal once he no longer took part in the costumed quest for candy.

  Ronnie was volunteering at the Pumpkin House this year for the sole reason that it would allow him to get away from Rick, his mother’s boyfriend.

  As Mr. Keenan hobbled onto the porch, Ronnie noticed how the old man used a cane to assist him with the slight limp in his right leg. Unlike a standard issue cane, this one looked more like a walking stick, although not as tall. Based on the appearance of the cane, Ronnie pictured Mr. Keenan chopping off a thick, knotted branch from an old tree to help him walk around. There was no handle on the rustic-looking cane, and Ronnie wondered how holding it didn’t cause Mr. Keenan more pain and discomfort than his apparent bad leg.

  Mr. Keenan shuffled slowly across the front porch, followed close on his heels by a Yellow Labrador Retriever. The dog’s fur was stained even more yellow from old age and it walked on wobbly legs, barely able to stay afoot. Mr. Keenan paused at the edge of the porch and gestured to the side with a nudge of his head. The old dog obediently plopped down in front of a pair of rocking chairs, content to lounge while his master took care of business. Mr. Keenan then turned back around to survey the children assembled in his front yard.

  Ronnie estimated there were at least forty kids present, ranging in ages from about eight to seventeen. Some of the kids standing closest to him were just nameless faces, but he did recognize a few of them: Sally Roberts, Mark Owens (his mother worked with Ronnie’s mother at the Save-A-Lot on Rt. 60), Beth Michaels, Krissy Neil, and Scott Sanders with his little brother Tony.

  Mr. Keenan cleared his throat, calling for the children’s attention. When he spoke, his deep, booming voice reminded Ronnie of Tree-beard, the Ent from the Lord of the Rings.

  “Before we get started, I want to say a few things. First, I want to thank all of you for coming out and helping this year. I hope you’re as excited as I am. We’re going to have lots of fun this week, but it’s going to be a lot of hard work too. So, if there are any of you who aren’t willing to give me 125%, go ahead and speak up so we can get you and your tomfoolery out of here right now.”

  Mr. Keenan paused. His roaming eyes lingered on each child a moment before moving on to the next one. Ronnie expected one of the younger kids to start giggling, but everyone remained silent, dead set on giving Mr. Keenan nothing less than the 125% he demanded of them.

  “Good,” Mr. Keenan continued with a satisfied smile on his face. “Now, before I tell each of you what your responsibility is going to be, let me ask you a question. Who here can tell me how many souls live in Smith’s Grove?”

  As odd as the question seemed, Ronnie considered it more peculiar how Mr. Keenan referred to the inhabitants of Smith’s Grove as “souls.” It made him sound like he’d been a Bible-thumping, backwoods preacher in his younger days.

  Just when Ronnie thought none of the children knew the answer, he saw a small boy, no older than eight or nine, standing up front and waving his hand in the air.

  Mr. Keenan pointed at the boy. “Yes, Pete Jordan?”

  “Well, the welcome sign out by our trailer as you come into town says 700 or something like that, I think.”

  “According to that sign, the population of Smith’s Grove is 705 to be exact.” Mr. Keenan winked at little Pete Jordan. “And about fifteen years ago, that’s how many souls lived in Smith’s Grove. We’ve grown a little over the past few years. And right now, there are 853 souls living in Smith’s Grove right this minute. Now, what that means for us, is that we’re going to have to make 853 jack-o’-lanterns this year to put out all across my front yard.”

  When Mr. Keenan said the actual number of jack-o’-lanterns out loud they would be making, it made the Herculean task seem epic and unattainable in Ronnie’s opinion. But even more, Ronnie was intrigued why the number of jack-o’-lanterns had to match the exact number of people, or “souls” as Mr. Keenan referred to them, in Smith’s Grove.

  “Now, I’m sure you’re asking yourselves why we have to make 853 jack-o-lanterns, the same number as the number of souls in Smith’s Grove.”

  Ronnie eyed the old man as if he’d just read his mind. He was confident, though, he hadn’t been the only one wondering the same question.

  “Well,” Mr. Keenan continued, “I can assure you there’s an important reason, and it’s not just a strange number I pull out of my frazzled mind each year. How many of you here know the history behind jack-o’-lanterns?”

  A girl to the left of Ronnie raised her hand, but she was immediately shot down by Mr. Keenan.

  “No fair, Sarah. You were here last year. Anyone else know who hasn’t come out and helped before?”

  No one else raised their hand. Ronnie struggled to get a better look at the girl who had raised her hand. She looked familiar to him, but he couldn’t get a good enough look at her face to figure out where he’d seen her before.

  When no one else raised their hand, Mr. Keenan explained the history of jack-o’-lanterns to them.

  “Well, let me tell you a little story. Used to be, a long time ago, people would see lights in the sky on Halloween, or on All Hallow’s Eve as it was called back then. Now, these lights in the sky weren’t anything like UFOs or some spaceship from Star Wars. Peopl
e believed the spirits of the dead carried these lights around in the dark to help them find people to snatch away – sort of like flashlights. And the reason people could see these lights, called corpse candles or ghost-lights, was because the veil separating the world of the dead from the world of the living was at its thinnest on Halloween night, allowing the spirits of the dead to cross over into our world.”

  Mr. Keenan paused a moment to make sure he wasn’t losing any of the children. Although some of the younger kids had scared looks on their faces, all of them (including Ronnie) were captivated by Mr. Keenan’s story, eager for him to continue.

  “Now, people started putting out their own lights with scary faces on them to ward off these spirits from their homes on Halloween night. They’d carve them out of whatever crops they had handy – turnips, radishes, or whatever they grew to feed their families. Eventually, over here in the United States, when Halloween became associated with the things it did, jack-o’-lanterns (as they were called by that time) were carved out of pumpkins. And lucky for old Mr. Keenan, I just happen to grow pumpkins here on my farm. Or else I would have to shell out a good-sized chunk of money each year to pay for eight hundred plus pumpkins!”

  All of the children laughed at Mr. Keenan’s joke. Ronnie noted how there was just something about the old man that made you want to like him. Mr. Keenan had the same laid back and humorous nature as Ronnie’s grandfather.

  Once all of the children stopped laughing, the look on Mr. Keenan’s face changed from easy-going merriment to grave soberness, conveying to everyone he was going to tell them something particularly vital.

  “Now, old Mr. Keenan likes to carve a jack-o’-lantern for each soul in Smith’s Grove. I put out large pumpkins for adults, medium-sized ones for you kids, and even little, tiny pumpkins for the babies. Some people can call me foolish or eccentric, but I don’t care. There’s a reason why I do this and it’s an extremely important reason: to make sure on Halloween night every soul in Smith’s Grove is safe.”

  Mr. Keenan emphasized this final point with a rap of his cane on the front porch so there would be no doubts about his sincerity or the gravity of the situation.

  Ronnie found the history of jack-o’-lanterns interesting and entertaining, but he wondered how much of the story Mr. Keenan actually believed and how much of it was just a show for the little kiddies around Halloween.

  “Now, if no one has any questions, I can start letting everyone know what their responsibility will be at the Pumpkin House this year.”

  The electric sparks of excitement and enthusiasm exploded off the children. Ronnie, however, didn’t care which duty he was assigned as long as he didn’t get stuck with the task of gutting the pumpkins, a crummy job with which he was all too familiar. When he was little, his mother would “let him” scoop out the guts while she always got to carve the face.

  Mr. Keenan called off children’s names and assigned them their responsibilities, the group of forty children gradually dwindling down. Ronnie let out an audible sigh of relief when Mr. Keenan assigned gutting the pumpkins to Sally Roberts, Scott and Tony Sanders, and two other kids. If his name would’ve been called for that duty, he would’ve turned around and left even if volunteering allowed him to get away from his mother’s boyfriend, Rick.

  As more children were assigned their duties, the anticipation was tying Ronnie’s stomach in knots while he waited for Mr. Keenan to call out his name. Finally, he was left standing with Krissy Neil, some boy he didn’t know, and the Sarah girl who had volunteered last year.

  “Let’s see,” Mr. Keenan said looking over the four remaining children, “Krissy Neil and Brandon Nelson. You two are going to help make sure the jack-o’-lanterns stay fresh.”

  As Mr. Keenan told the two children how they were going to keep the jack-o’-lanterns from turning into rotted and molded heaps of pumpkin flesh by the time Halloween night rolled around, Ronnie focused his attention on the girl named Sarah.

  Ronnie was wrong; he hadn’t seen her before. But there was still something familiar about her. She looked like she was a couple of years younger. Her long, dark hair fell down to the middle of her back, and she wore a Wonder Woman T-shirt and jeans. A normal enough looking girl, but Ronnie found her flip-flops with giant purple stars rather strange, suited more for the blistering summer than chilly October.

  Sarah turned to face him, staring at him a moment before pointing at Mr. Keenan. She mouthed something, but Ronnie was too busy gawking at her to catch what she said.

  “What?” Ronnie asked in a dumb-founded voice. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “Sarah told you that I was speaking to you, Ronnie Lancaster.” Ronnie jerked his head back towards Mr. Keenan, his cheeks and ears flushing red. “Are you ready to find out what your job is going to be?”

  Ronnie told Mr. Keenan he was ready, catching a glimpse of Sarah snickering at him.

  “Good.” Mr. Keenan gingerly made his way down the stairs towards them. “Because the job I have for you two is the most vital one here.”

  * * *

  As soon as Mr. Keenan led them to the back of the farmhouse, he had to go back around front to deal with some problem with one of the carvers. He told them that he would be right back, mumbling about how the first day was always the most hectic.

  Ronnie and Sarah sat down at a card table already set up in the back yard, neither one of them saying a word. There was a small, flat box on the table in front of them. Ronnie was half-tempted to sneak and take a peek at what was inside the box, but he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize helping out. The Pumpkin House would not only give him an excuse to get away from Rick for the next week, but it would also allow him to work side-by-side with this girl, who intrigued him for some reason.

  “So,” Ronnie said breaking the silence when it became apparent she wasn’t going to say anything, “your name’s Sarah, right?”

  “Yeah, Sarah Bowen. And you’re Ronnie Lancaster.”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

  “No, probably not. I’ve seen you before though, but I guess you just weren’t paying attention to me.”

  “What does that mean?” Ronnie chuckled; he immediately liked this girl, but he wasn’t sure how to take her personality yet. She had a straight-forward manner about her, but he couldn’t tell if it was playful sarcasm or straight-out rudeness.

  “It just means you probably had other things on your mind when I was around. Plus, you’re in the ninth grade and I’m in seventh. Most ninth graders don’t pay attention to seventh graders.”

  As much as he hated to admit it, Sarah was right. When you hit middle school, it seemed like cliques and divisions immediately formed – even between kids who’d been best friends in elementary school.

  “I guess so.” Ronnie shrugged his shoulders. He considered it ridiculous how middle school had turned boys he’d called his friends into snobby jerk-offs.

  “Yep,” Sarah agreed smiling at him. “So what made you volunteer to help out? Do you like Halloween?”

  “Not really, I haven’t liked it since I got too old to go trick-or-treating. This just gives me an excuse to get out of the house for the next week.” Ronnie quickly changed the subject, afraid it might potentially lead to a discussion about the problems between his mother and Rick. “So, you’ve done this before?”

  “Yep, sure did,” Sarah answered with a sparkle in her eyes. “Halloween is my favorite holiday – it’s just so cool. When we moved here a couple of years ago, I jumped at the chance to help out after I found out about the Pumpkin House. And Mr. Keenan is a neat old guy. He can be hilarious, can’t he?”

  “Yeah, he’s pretty funny.” Ronnie smiled as he recalled the jokes Mr. Keenan had made when he was talking to the kids.

  There was a pause in the conversation, but it wasn’t an awkward one when two people don’t know what to say to one another. It was the type of silence where everything which needed to be said between two people had been said,
and they were fine – comfortable even – just sitting in silence and enjoying each other’s company.

  Ronnie vaguely remembered feeling the same way around his father before he’d gone away, and he still sometimes felt that way with his mother. At least, he did when Rick wasn’t around.

  Ronnie glanced up and saw Mr. Keenan coming around the side of the house. “There’s Mr. Keenan.”

  “Thank goodness. I didn’t think he was ever going to come back. I don’t think I could’ve taken much more of being stuck back with just you.”

  Ronnie was offended at first, but he quickly realized Sarah was joking with him by the teasing look on her face.

  Yeah, he definitely liked Sarah Bowen.

  Mr. Keenan joined them at the table. Ronnie didn’t know how old he was, but he appeared to be in his eighties. Even though his face and hands were riddled with wrinkles, his steel-gray eyes appeared full of life.

  Ronnie inspected Mr. Keenan’s cane more closely. Based on its unusual and unique appearance, it was as if Mr. Keenan had been walking along one day in the woods, had developed a limp for no apparent reason and without any warning whatsoever, and had then cut a branch from the first tree he’d found in order to assist him in walking with his new bad leg. But once he’d got back home, he’d continued to use the thick, knotted branch of wood for his cane instead of getting an ordinary one. And judging by the scratches on it and the weathered look of the wood, Mr. Keenan had been using the cane for twenty years or longer.

  At least, that’s the story Ronnie conjured up in his mind.

  “Now,” Mr. Keenan began, once he was situated, “let’s talk about you two. Sarah, you performed this particular duty last year, even though it was your first year volunteering, right?”

  Sarah nodded her head in agreement. Ronnie observed how she had a joyful, almost appreciative, look in her eyes.

  “Right,” Mr. Keenan continued. “And Ronnie, I know this is your first time helping out, and I usually wouldn’t assign such an important task to a first-timer. But I have a feeling about you, sort of like the one I had about Sarah last year. I also have a hunch about the two of you working together on the most important job here at the Pumpkin House.”