Creative Submissions

PUMPKIN HEAD

James thought there was nothing worse than walking the frost of a September morning, the dew on those bright blades of green grass glaring back at you. He soon realized, though, that the frost was worse in October. 

So was the weather. That Florida sun he once knew, during every moment of the year, was always nice. It grazed his cheek with the touch of a mother and held him tight till he was hot. But the October sun here was a mere taunt, a subtle warmth that glazed over his skin before he became cold to the bone once more. Cold in the wind that never seemed to stop blowing, cold in the sun that don’t shine, cold in the stupid place he’s got to learn to call “home.”

It was a home that didn’t feel like home.

The wide glass let too much light in, and it made him feel like a goldfish in a fishbowl, like he was being watched, living a premier episode of The James Show. 

But today he was being watched. James didn’t notice the spot of orange at first, but as he dragged his feet out the door for class, he saw it: just before the woods grew dark and thick, there was a man wearing all black with a pumpkin on his head. The carving was intricate, handled with care. A wide grin, mean blank triangle eyes. He looked disgusted. The pumpkin head looked disgusted. He looked like he had a lesson to teach, with James as his student. He looked mean.

Now how’d you go ahead and do that, huh? Turned a pumpkin into a man…

Or into a menace. 

James began his walk to school. His steps were bounces. He didn’t dare drag his feet.

At school, James ate with his friends Sofia and Zoe. Behind the glass, James saw that pumpkin boy again. He was staring right at James. Those mean blank eyes looked ready to pounce.

“Do you guys see that?” James asked. Sofia and Zoe looked at James, and followed his gaze to the window. They saw Pumpkin Head. 

“Mhm.” Sofia said, unimpressed.

“Pumpkin Head, so dope.” Zoe added.

“Pumpkin Head?”

“That’s what he goes by. He’s a grade above us, I think. And every October, he wears a pumpkin on his head every day through Halloween,” Sofia explained. She spoke like he was a celebrity, in a voice of deep praise.

“No, but who is he?”

“Oh, I’m not sure who's wearing it. No one ever admits to doing it, it just kind of happens. Kind of like a mascot for the fall.”
James ate the rest of his lunch in silence. His bites became forced, his stomach taut. 

Later that night, James threw a house party with Sofia and Zoe. That pumpkin boy lingered outside James’ house, but James was glad the boy knew he was not welcome. 

But his hands… they looked braced, wanting to grab something. Anything.

James didn’t see the pumpkin boy after that. He felt safe in the horde of people partying, taking solace in the fact that the glass windows of the house separated him and that pumpkin boy. For once, he felt safe in his fishbowl. 

At the end of the night, James dragged his feet to the bathroom. His skin was hot, his forehead glistening. His breaths were heavy and his walking uneven. He didn’t like when the floor looked like it was spinning, like it did now. He thought he saw the shadow of a boy wearing a pumpkin on his head. The next moment he was holding his head over the toilet of the bathroom. His stomach lurched, his clammy hands gripped the toilet seat. The smell of pumpkin spice grew pungent in the air, rushing forth suddenly and filling the room. It smelled of pumpkin rot, like somebody burned alive while roasting pumpkin seeds. It was enough to bring James from nausea to a violent throwing up.

That’s when he felt the cold hand touch his back, sending shivers down his sweaty skin like fire and ice.

Who are you?

“I’m Pumpkin Head.”

That pumpkin boy.

“Pumpkin head, so dope.”

His hand menacingly tightened its grip. 

Let go of me.

“Gonna mash you into pumpkin spice.”

No.

James could hear the smile through the deep, gravelly voice. 

“Gonna turn you to pumpkin rot.”

The next day, Sofia and Zoe couldn’t find James anywhere, and their pumpkin spiced lattes tasted odd, like pumpkin rot.