The Pumpkin House Page 8
“He’s been waiting for you,” she whispered once they were out of earshot. “He knows about Rick.”
“I figured he would. All he had to do was read this morning’s newspaper. It was right there in big, black letters.”
“Did you do it, Ronnie?”
“Do what?” Ronnie put on his best innocent face and tried evading Sarah’s discerning eyes, but he knew it was useless. She could see right through his charade.
“Did you do something to the jack-o’-lantern with Rick’s name on it?”
Ronnie reluctantly nodded his head, afraid of what Sarah might think about him.
“Hey,” she whispered, gently clasping him by the chin and lifting his head up, “it’s okay. I understand why you did it. I would’ve done the same thing too.”
Ronnie gazed deeply into Sarah’s eyes, silently pleading for her to either confirm or allay the suspicion exploding out of him, a suspicion which he now realized had taken root deep down inside of him the other day when she’d told him about her father dying.
Sarah let go of his chin and stared at him a moment, trying to read the expression on his face.
“It’s true.” Her voice was devoid of remorse. “The coroner listed Dave’s death as a heart attack, but that’s not how he really died. Last year, I did something to his jack-o’-lantern, and Old Notch-foot made him pay for all those years of stealing my childhood and molesting me.”
Ronnie was taken aback at first when Sarah spoke the word out loud. But then he saw the fortitude in her eyes, realizing she’d buried that part of her life when they threw the dirt on her father’s well-deserved grave. He considered asking her how Old Notch-foot had made Dave pay, but he decided against it for the moment. He didn’t know how he knew but they would have many long years of friendship ahead of them, and eventually, when she was ready, Sarah would give him all the details.
“And you know what, Ronnie?” she continued. “I don’t feel one ounce of guilt over my decision. I did it because there was no other way and Dave deserved it, just like Rick.”
“I don’t feel guilty over Rick. Like you said, he got what he deserved.” Ronnie paused a brief moment before continuing. “I’m worried about what Mr. Keenan is going to say to me once I tell him. I’m not going to lie about it. I doubt it would even do any good to try and run away from what I did.”
“You’re right.” Sarah placed a reassuring hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. “Go talk to Mr. Keenan.”
Ronnie walked back around to the front of the house, thinking about how he and Sarah had another special bond between them, formed from their acts of desperation at the Pumpkin House and solidified by the vengeful role of Old Notch-foot, their own personal Erinys.
Once Ronnie reached the front of the house, he trudged up the porch steps and made his way over to the empty rocking chair beside Mr. Keenan. He kept his eyes glued to the ground the whole time like a criminal led before a judge to receive the sentence for his crime.
“Well, Ronnie, Halloween’s over,” Mr. Keenan said, breaking the silence between the two of them. “You know what’s strange?”
“What’s that, Mr. Keenan?”
“Every Halloween, I worry about Old Notch-foot taking a good soul of Smith’s Grove.” Mr. Keenan continued to stare out at the mob of jack-o’-lanterns in his front yard, like he was addressing them rather than Ronnie. “But every once in a while, I realize Old Notch-foot has taken the right soul out of Smith’s Grove.”
Ronnie shot a confused glance at Mr. Keenan, wondering what the old man was hinting at. He’d never told Mr. Keenan about what Rick had done to his mother. But Smith’s Grove was a small town and Mr. Keenan could’ve heard it from someone else, especially after Rick had put her in the hospital.
Mr. Keenan wore a stone expression, concealing any hint of his knowledge about the abuse Ronnie’s mother had endured at the hands of Rick. As he continued to stare out at the jack-o’-lanterns, he began rubbing his gnarled, ancient cane with his just as gnarled and ancient fingers.
“The right soul?” Ronnie finally asked. “What do you mean?”
“Rick’s dead, isn’t he?”
Ronnie merely nodded his head, unwilling to voice a response.
“Head squashed like a pumpkin by a train – a nasty and rather unusual way to go, don’t you think? I expect the police will conclude he was drunk and got hit by a train while he was walking home from the bar. But even though it was a bad way to go, Rick deserved it, wouldn’t you say?”
“What exactly do you know about Rick?”
If Mr. Keenan knew or even suspected what he’d done, Ronnie wished he would just spit it out rather than drawing it out like one of his stories.
“I know how sometimes, even in small towns like here in Smith’s Grove, there are monsters in the faces of people we see walking down the streets every day.” Ronnie noticed how Mr. Keenan didn’t answer his questions directly, but continued to speak in the same cryptic manner since this conversation had started. “And sometimes, if the circumstances are right, those monsters are destroyed.”
“What monsters are in Smith’s Grove, Mr. Keenan?”
“Well, some might say Old Notch-foot was a monster, if they knew he existed.”
Ronnie thought about it for a moment, but he couldn’t decide for sure either way. “Is Old Notch-foot a monster?”
“I guess you could call him a monster, or possibly even a demon. But even the best of people have demons that haunt them. So who’s to say a ‘demon’ or even a ‘monster’ is necessarily bad or evil?” Mr. Keenan paused a moment to see if Ronnie was going to ask a question before continuing. “You see, Ronnie, like I said, there are all kinds of monsters in the world, even in Smith’s Grove. The world isn’t a nice place and it’s full of very sick people. Sometimes, that monster is a father who sexually molests his own daughter, much like our own dear and sweet Sarah.”
Ronnie was shocked Mr. Keenan knew about what had happened to Sarah, let alone speaking about it so openly. For all Mr. Keenan knew, Ronnie didn’t have a clue about what Sarah’s father had done to her and she might not want him to know.
Ronnie started to voice his opinion on this matter, but Mr. Keenan cut him off.
“And sometimes,” Mr. Keenan said, turning to look Ronnie in the eyes, “that monster is a man who puts a boy’s mother in the hospital after beating the hell out of her, the result of years of abuse.”
Ronnie was speechless. Was Mr. Keenan merely letting him know he understood why he’d done it? Or was the old man actually approving of what he’d done? Ronnie’s stomach turned into a tightened and twisted ball of knots as he waited for him to continue.
Mr. Keenan smiled meekly at Ronnie before turning his head down to stare at his walking cane, continuing to rub the old wood with his thumb. Ronnie also focused his attention on Mr. Keenan rubbing the dented and scratched up cane, afraid to look up at the old man’s face while he waited for him to answer the questions burning in his mind.
“Ronnie, Old Notch-foot isn’t a monster. The monsters are the ones out there preying on those who can’t defend themselves. They are the ones doing those horrible things to the people who can’t make those monsters go away. The Pumpkin House protects the good souls of Smith’s Grove. But every once in a while, when a monster is loose in Smith’s Grove, Old Notch-foot finds a way to scratch them out.”
Ronnie stared in disbelief as Mr. Keenan’s thumbnail slowly began to transform, growing in length and darkening in color. Within seconds, it had changed into a sharp, black claw. Awestruck, Ronnie watched as the clawed thumb scratched across the wood of the cane, leaving a mark about an inch long on the knotted, old piece of wood. For the first time, Ronnie noticed the twenty or so similar slash-marks running up the length of the cane, which would just appear to a casual observer as everyday scratches from using the cane for so many years. After the scratch had been made, the clawed thumb gradually transformed back into the dirty, pumpkin-stained thumbnail which had been r
ubbing against the cane just moments ago.
Ronnie forced himself to look up at Mr. Keenan. The old man was smiling at him. But the smile didn’t contain any malice or threat; it was one of compassion and understanding.
“Old Notch-foot always finds out, Ronnie. Every year, someone lets Old Notch-foot know who the really bad people are – the monsters walking around in Smith’s Grove. They point that person out to Old Notch-foot, and he takes care of the monster for them. You see, just like he helped me exact my revenge on Thomas Levi for what he’d done to my dear Malinda, so Old Notch-foot, that spirit of retribution I called forth and who became a part of me all those years ago, will always help deal out revenge for those who’ve been wronged.” Mr. Keenan laid a hand on Ronnie’s shoulder. “But that will be our little secret, just like it was with the others.”
Ronnie smiled and nodded his head in agreement.
AFTERWORD
In Kenova, West Virginia, the house located at 748 Beech Street has become known over the years as The Pumpkin House. Every Halloween, Ric Griffith, the owner, and volunteers decorate his home with over 3,000 jack-o’-lanterns.
The Pumpkin House in this book, while inspired by, should not be associated with the real one in any way, nor should the people and events used fictiously in this work.
If you ever find yourself in the town of Kenova, West Virginia during the Halloween season, be sure and stop by 748 Beech Street and check out The Pumpkin House. It is quite a sight.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chad P. Brown was born in Huntington, WV. Once he outgrew his childhood fears of haunted houses, clowns, and toy monkeys with cymbals (although the monkeys still creep him out a little bit), he discovered a dark love for writing and an affinity for macabre and eldritch matters. He is an Affiliate member of the Horror Writers Association and holds a Master's in Latin from Marshall University. He has appeared in the anthologies SPIDERS, Gothic Blue Book Vol. 2 - Revenge Edition, and Fifty Shades of Decay. His other works include The Jack-in-the-box and Messiah of the Zombie Apocalypse.
You can visit him online at www.chadpbrown.com
You can also follow him on Twitter @chadbrown72
and Facebook at www.facebook.com/ChadPBrown
Also by Chad P. Brown
The Jack-in-the-box
Messiah of the Zombie Apocalypse
Short Stories
Drop Dead Tavern
The Basement
De Mortuis Viventibus
Anthologies
SPIDERS
Gothic Blue Book: The Revenge Edition
Fifty Shades of Decay