The Pumpkin House Read online

  Mr. Keenan paused, glancing intently back and forth between them. Ronnie wasn’t sure if the old man was trying to be serious, dramatic, or both.

  “You two,” Mr. Keenan finally continued, “are going to make sure every single soul in Smith’s Grove has a jack-o’-lantern.” He opened up the box sitting on the table and pulled out a few ball-point pens along with a stack of papers fastened together with a binder clip.

  As Mr. Keenan placed the stack of papers on the table, Ronnie noticed how there were names running down one side of the paper (a quick glance at the list confirmed they were the names of the residents of Smith’s Grove), and, on the other side of the paper, there were three different boxes with the designation LARGE, MEDIUM, and SMALL.

  “Now, this is what you’re going to do. And Sarah, a refresher wouldn’t hurt you either, so pay attention. You’re going to write each person’s name from this list onto the bottom of a jack-o’-lantern, checking their name off the list when you’re done and making sure the right size pumpkin was used. I’ve already gone through the list, designating what size pumpkin each person gets depending on their age. Now, you can take turns writing the names and checking them off the list to make sure there’s no monotony or chance of you two becoming bored, which might cause you to overlook or forget someone’s name. Whichever task you’re doing at the time, just make sure you do it correctly and don’t make any mistakes.”

  Ronnie felt like Mr. Keenan was behaving rather extreme, bordering on the obsessive and possibly even the insane. He glanced over at Sarah, arching his eyebrows, expecting the same reaction from her. But her previous carefree and joking attitude had been replaced by a look of the deepest concentration and seriousness, as if her life depended on following Mr. Keenan’s instructions to the letter. It took everything Ronnie had not to laugh at her.

  If Mr. Keenan wanted to make a jack-o’-lantern for every single person in Smith’s Grove (or every “soul” as he was fond of calling them), then that was fine; everyone was allowed their own little quirks. But writing each name on a pumpkin and then checking them off a list in order to make sure there actually was a jack-o’-lantern for each person? Well then, in Ronnie’s opinion, perhaps it was time to check Mr. Keenan into the crazy hospital.

  “You’re joking, right?” Ronnie blurted the question out before he’d even realized he was speaking out loud.

  “No, I’m dead serious,” Mr. Keenan replied. “And if this is something you’re not going to take just as seriously as I do, then maybe I underestimated you, Ronnie Lancaster.”

  Ronnie glanced over at Sarah again. She had a pleading look in her eyes, begging him to stop taking the task so lightly. Ronnie didn’t know why, but he wanted more than anything to gain Sarah’s approval.

  “Okay, fine,” Ronnie acquiesced, turning back to Mr. Keenan. “I can take it seriously. But first, you have to tell me why. I mean, making sure every person in Smith’s Grove has a jack-o’-lantern to protect them from evil spirits on Halloween is one thing. But guaranteeing it by writing each person’s name on the jack-o’-lantern and then checking them off a list? There’s something you’re not telling us.”

  “Fair enough, Ronnie. I know you have doubts about all of this, and I also know how you consider Halloween childish and silly as well.”

  Ronnie was puzzled how Mr. Keenan knew about his feelings for Halloween. But before he could voice his curiosity, Mr. Keenan continued.

  “Sarah loves Halloween. One of the reasons I paired you with her is because I’m hoping some of her will rub off on you. In time, we’ll see if she does or not. But, to answer your question: have you ever heard of Old Notch-foot?”

  The blank, confused look on Ronnie’s face betrayed the fact he had no idea who or what Old Notch-foot was.

  “I would’ve been surprised if you had heard of Old Notch-foot before. It’s not a name you’ll hear spoken out loud in these parts. And it’s certainly not a name I mention too often, especially to those who volunteer to help me out. But every once in a while, a curious person asks – just like you, Ronnie.” Mr. Keenan leaned in closer, continuing in a secretive whisper. “It’s not just about protecting people on Halloween from whatever spirits and ghosts slip through from the land of the dead. It’s about protecting them from Old Notch-foot, who can be more dangerous than any spirit of the dead roaming around. There has to be one jack-o’-lantern for each soul in Smith’s Grove at midnight on Halloween night. If someone doesn’t have a jack-o’-lantern with their name on it, then Old Notch-foot would be able to take that person’s soul. And we wouldn’t want anything happening to the good souls of Smith’s Grove, would we?”

  Sarah answered with an emphatic shake of her head before the question was barely out of Mr. Keenan’s mouth. Ronnie could tell by the look in her eyes she believed every single word the old man was feeding them.

  Although Ronnie found the story kind of interesting and was curious to find out more about Old Notch-foot, there was no way he was buying it like Sarah was. However, he decided to play it out until he could find out what the old man’s deal was. He was, after all, here to get away from Rick and the problems at home, not to learn or even care about local legends about monsters and ghouls.

  “No, I guess we wouldn’t,” Ronnie answered.

  Both Mr. Keenan and Sarah gave him an approving smile.

  Part Two:

  October 26th, Five Days ‘til Halloween

  Ronnie showed up at Mr. Keenan’s the following day in a foul mood, the events of the previous night still burning through him like a raging fire causing his anger to boil over. Sarah could immediately tell something was bothering him.

  “You okay?” she timidly asked.

  “Fine,” Ronnie mumbled, jerking out the chair and throwing himself into it.

  Sarah gave him a doubtful look but then shrugged her shoulders.

  “Well,” she said picking up the list of names off the table, “like Mr. Keenan told us yesterday, we’ll have to stay focused. With less than a week until Halloween night, we’ll have to write the names on more than two hundred jack-o’-lanterns each day. And as you can tell by looking around, they’ve been busy carving the pumpkins this morning.”

  Ronnie glanced over Sarah’s shoulder at the rapidly increasing number of jack-o’-lanterns waiting for them. He hadn’t even noticed them when he’d arrived because of the bad mood he was in. He looked to his left and noticed a small tent had been set up to place the jack-o’-lanterns under once they were done with them.

  “You want to write names or check them off first?” Sarah asked him.

  “It doesn’t matter to me.” Ronnie stared at the ground in front of him, his arms resting on his knees with his hands clasped so tightly together that his knuckles were turning white.

  He could feel Sarah staring at him, waiting for him to tell her what was wrong. But he wasn’t in the mood to talk about what had happened last night between his mother and Rick.

  “Okay, fine,” Sarah finally said, realizing he wasn’t going to tell her what had him in such a dark, sullen mood, “I’ll write the names on the pumpkins first and you can check them off.” She handed the stack of papers to him.

  As Ronnie told Sarah each person’s name, she would write it on the bottom of a jack-o’-lantern with a black Sharpie. Once she was done, he would check the name off the list while she put the finished jack-o’-lantern underneath the tent. And just like Mr. Keenan had told them to do yesterday, Sarah made sure she placed the jack-o’-lanterns in alphabetical order underneath the tent. Another quirk to add to Mr. Keenan’s growing list of eccentricities, Ronnie had thought at the time, was the jack-o’-lanterns would be set out in front of the Pumpkin House in alphabetical order, starting close to the house and making their way out towards the road.

  The two children worked in silence for about an hour before Sarah finally said something. They had just switched tasks, Ronnie now writing the names while she was checking them off.

  “You know, Ronnie,”
Sarah said as she checked off Marty Andrews’ name and was waiting for him to get a medium-sized jack-o’-lantern for the next person, “Sometimes, when something is bothering me, it helps to talk about it. I know we don’t know each other very well, but I’m here if you want to talk about anything.”

  During the past hour, Ronnie had cooled down because he’d been occupied with the work at hand. He’d actually considered telling Sarah what was wrong with him, but had quickly decided against opening up his ten gallon drum of problems. He didn’t think some girl he’d just met the day before wanted to hear him vent about his troubles at home. But now she was offering to listen, and Ronnie decided to go ahead and tell her. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt comfortable around Sarah, even though he hardly knew her – even more comfortable than he felt around Eddie Matthews, who he considered his closest and oldest friend.

  Ronnie took a deep breath, not really sure where to start. With uncertainty dripping off his words, he asked “Have you ever wanted to hurt someone?”

  “Hurt them for what?”

  “For doing horrible things to someone else.”

  “Yep, sure have,” Sarah answered without any hesitation.

  “I’m being serious, Sarah.” Ronnie didn’t think she’d understood the importance of his question, or maybe she was just too preoccupied with them writing the stupid names on the bottom of the jack-o’-lanterns.

  Sarah placed the stack of papers down on the table and gazed at Ronnie with the sincerest look on her face that he’d ever seen before.

  “I am being serious, Ronnie.”

  She picked up the stack of papers again and told him which name to write on the jack-o’-lantern he was holding. As Ronnie wrote down Samantha Andrews’ name (a girl who was in his History class), he patiently waited to see if Sarah was going to elaborate or not. He wanted to ask her what had happened, but didn’t want to pry into her business.

  “Let’s take a break for a few minutes,” Sarah said after he’d placed the finished jack-o’-lantern under the tent.

  As Ronnie sat down next to her at the table, Sarah finished checking off Samantha Andrews’ name and then placed the pen and stack of papers onto the table. She scooted her chair closer to him until their legs touched, making him feel a little uncomfortable.

  “A few years ago,” Sarah began, “somebody did something to me. It was very wrong and very selfish. In a lot of ways, it was horrible what that person did to me. They took a lot of things away from me. But, in the end, that person got what was coming to them.”

  Ronnie stared at her, afraid to ask her what the person had done to her. A lot of possibilities ran through his mind and they all made him shudder. There were a lot of bad things people shouldn’t have to go through.

  But there were even more horrible things a child should never have to endure.

  “Now, why are you asking?” Sarah asked him.

  Even though Ronnie had been looking at Sarah, he’d become so lost in his thoughts about what may have happened to her that he was staring through her like she was a ghost or an apparition conjured up in his mind. As he shook his head and focused his attention on Sarah again, searching for the words to say, his eyes were drawn to hers. For a brief moment, he saw so many things conveyed by her brown eyes.

  Compassion. Trust. Understanding. Sorrow. Pain.

  And somehow, he gained strength from her eyes.

  “My Mom’s boyfriend, Rick, hits on her.”

  Once the words were out, Ronnie felt numb for the briefest of moments. He’d never spoken to anyone about what was happening to his mother. He was shocked that he’d actually told someone. And then, for no reason he could comprehend, fourteen-year-old Ronnie Lancaster felt like four-year-old Ronnie Lancaster again.

  He started to cry.

  Sarah flung her arms around him and hugged him. She stroked the back of his head with her hand, assuring him everything was going to be alright.

  Ronnie didn’t know how long he sat there and cried, allowing Sarah to hold him and comfort him. The tears, stemming from all the pushed down feelings of anger, confusion, helplessness, and disbelief surrounding the abuse his mother endured, poured out of him like water from a busted faucet. It felt like the tears would never end.

  After a few minutes, he wiped the tears from his swollen eyes and red-streaked cheeks. He knew he should be embarrassed for crying in front of Sarah, someone he’d just met the day before. But, for some reason, he didn’t. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest, an enormous boulder of emotions which had been crushing him and pinning him down.

  He glanced down at Sarah’s feet and chuckled, noticing how the top of her feet were smeared with dirt.

  “Why do you wear those silly flip-flops all the time?” Ronnie reluctantly pulled away from her and the security she’d given him. “They get your feet all dirty.”

  Sarah looked down at her feet. “That’s true,” she said, laughing with Ronnie. Her tone turned serious. “Sometimes we get dirty. But you know what?”

  “What?”

  Sarah kicked off her flip-flops and ran around to the side of the house. Ronnie heard the brief sound of water running and, within seconds, Sarah returned and sat back down, showing him her newly rinsed off feet.

  “No matter how dirty things get, the dirt and grime can always be washed off us.”

  Once again, Ronnie wanted to ask what had happened to her so he could make her feel better like she’d done for him. But he still couldn’t bring himself to broach the subject.

  Sarah reached forward and took Ronnie’s hand in hers, causing him to briefly feel mixed emotions about her. She smiled at him, silently imploring him to explain what had happened.

  “It started a couple of years ago,” Ronnie said, pushing down the more-than-friends feelings caused by Sarah holding his hand. “For the longest time, Mom didn’t date anyone after my Dad went away. But then, about two years ago, she started dating this guy named Rick Williams. He drinks a lot and has a real bad temper. He hits on her sometimes. She tries to defend him, saying stuff like he only did it because he was drunk or he’s going through a hard time. But those are just excuses. The reason he hits her is because he’s not a good person.”

  Ronnie pulled his hand away from Sarah’s and pointed down at his black Converse Chucks.

  “See that white splotch of paint on the tip of my shoe? That happened this past summer. We were in the garage and Rick was helping me paint a bookcase for my room. When we were done, he gave me the can of paint to put back on the shelf. I accidently dropped it, spilling that little bit on my shoe and the rest of it all over the garage floor. Rick yelled at me and called me an idiot. Mom told him not to scream at me and that he wasn’t my father. Rick slapped her, telling her to watch how she spoke to him and to show him the respect he deserved. Little stuff like that can get him going.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She broke up with him, but then they were dating again within a week. She’ll say she’s had enough and leaves him, but then takes him back when he swears it won’t ever happen again. I’m not really sure why she takes him back. Rick helps her out financially and stuff, but that can’t be the only reason. Maybe she’s scared. I don’t know.”

  “So what had you in such a bad mood this morning? You looked like you could kill someone.”

  “I think I could’ve, Sarah. Last night, Mom worked at Nick’s Tavern, the bar out on Route 60. She’ll work there sometimes to make some extra money. I was woken up last night by yelling that sounded like it was coming from the front yard. I jumped out of bed and ran into the living room. I looked out the window and saw Mom lying on the ground, crying and holding the side of her face, while Rick was standing over her and shouting. Evidently, they got into a fight because Rick showed up at the bar last night and thought Mom was flirting with some guy. She wasn’t, of course, but Rick saw it differently, the alcohol helping to fuel his jealousy. When I saw what was going on, I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a knife.
” Ronnie paused and turned away from Sarah, not wanting her to see the rage in his eyes. After a moment, he regained his composure. “Sarah, I was going to kill him. By the time I got outside, Rick had already pulled off in his truck. But there’s no doubt in my mind I would’ve killed him if I could’ve reached him before he took off.”

  Ronnie expected Sarah to back away from him, but instead she reached forward and took his hand again.

  “It’s a natural reaction, Ronnie. But you have to remember one thing: if you were to kill him, it would only cause more problems for you and your mom because you would end up locked up and your mom wouldn’t have you around.”

  “What am I supposed to do? Ignore what he does to her?”

  “Of course not. I just mean you shouldn’t let your emotions get the best of you. Rick will get his one day for the things he’s doing to your mom – just like the person who did that stuff to me.”

  Ronnie remained silent, contemplating again whether or not he should ask Sarah what had happened to her. Finally, he decided they’d ridden the roller coaster of personal problems too many times that day. It was time to hop off the ride before someone got sick or hurt.

  “Don’t worry, Ronnie, it’ll work itself out.”

  “Maybe you’re right. I just hope it works itself out before he hurts Mom real bad, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know,” Sarah answered, letting go of his hand and briefly rubbing his cheek before picking up the stack of papers again. “We better get back to work or we’ll never get done with these jack-o’-lanterns.”

  Ronnie stood up and took the stack of papers out of her hand. “Nope, it’s your turn to write the names while I check them off.”

  “I was hoping you’d forgotten it was time to switch,” Sarah answered, laughing as she stood up. “Now I don’t get to sit on my lazy butt.”