Autumn wind slaps Jack’s face as he walks out of his dilapidated house. The cool, bitter sting reminds him that it is fall...again. Jack hobbles quickly down his driveway hoping to avoid the pesky beggars dressed in ridiculous costumes. He winces as the irritating crunch of dead leaves echoes through his head. The sun is setting on Halloween. In just a few short hours, the holiday and it’s painful memories will be over.
Jack pulls open his mailbox and slowly bends his stiff, fifty three year old frame to peer inside. It is too dark for Jack to see beyond the opening. The sound of metal screeches deep within the box. He reaches in. No mail was delivered today, as usual, but there is something odd. He pulls out a miniature chocolate square. The wrapper crinkles like the leaves scattered through the vacant street. A strange feeling ripples through his skin as he peers at the candy. A shadow scurries past nearly knocking Jack off his feet. He spins around. “I’m so sorry Mr. Patch!”. A young mother tries to wrangle two trick-or-treaters as they race to their next house. Jack, upset and disoriented, lets out a low incoherent groan as the family hustles off. Turning to make his way back to the house a small figure blocks his path.
Dressed in a tattered scarecrow costume, the solemn figure of a young boy stands before him. Straw, beneath a ripped, flannel shirt climbs up his neck reaching toward a pale face. The boy makes no attempt to move, seemingly not interested in the night’s activities as the rest of the children. Trying to disrupt the uncomfortable silence Jack grumbles, “Who are you supposed to be?” The boy returns an empty stare. Jack’s patience wearing thin pushes past the boy and heads back into his house. The boy’s eyes do not follow, they hang emotionless staring down the dark, moonlit street.
Jack quickly shuts the door and locks both security latches. The resemblance of the boy is uncanny. Moving to the large window overlooking his front lawn, he peers through the blinds that, on a typical day, are kept tightly shut.
The boy is gone. This is not a typical day.
Jack frantically searches through a shoebox full of old newspaper clippings. Hands trembling from his unexpected meeting, he comes across a torn and aged article. It is faded and almost unreadable.
Halloween 1982, a young boy found dead in Haddon’s Cornfield...
Jack’s eyes lock on the innocent smile he has seen a thousand times before. A picture of a boy, the same boy in his driveway.
The piercing shrill of the phone snaps Jack back to reality.
Shaking off buried memories, he folds the paper and places it back inside the shoebox. He answers the phone hoping the caller can wash away the eerie cloud that has befallen him.
A low whisper slithers into Jack’s ear. “Check the candy”. Struggling for breath he chokes, “Who is this?” The quiet yet sinister words repeat over and over, overlapping each other forming a constant hiss. Jack drops the phone and charges to the one place in his house that welcomes him daily to settle his nerves... the liquor cabinet.
Pouring the smooth bourbon, Jack’s mind races with the impossibility of the situation. As he turns to make his way back to the safety of his couch, his body is immobilized yet again. A mournful jack-o-lantern sits on his kitchen table. The lit candle inside sends flickering light throughout the sad mouth carved into it. Jack loses a grip on his comfort drink and the glass falls breaking into pieces, scattering the tiled floor.
He has made it a point to keep out every symbol of the holiday.
Wishing for just one sip of courage, he moves closer to inspect the new decoration. Shoes crunching on the broken glass, he creeps toward the frowning fruit.
Jack picks up the pumpkin to inspect it, turning it it over, back and forth, hoping to find some logical reason for the mysterious appearance. His fingers outline the drooping corners of the mouth.
A sharp slice across his thumb.
Jack winces in pain. Balancing the jack-o-lantern with one hand, he examines the cut. Less concern for a few drops of blood than the cause of the injury, Jack rolls the mysterious pumpkin back to both hands. Fear grabs his breath. The face has transformed completely, eyes once round and sympathetic have become triangles pointing towards an angry, razor sharp countenance. A low growl bellows deep within the carved innards of the revenge filled jack-o-lantern.
Jack heaves the pumpkin as far as his jelly arms can throw and races back through the house.
Warm blood through Jack’s body goes cold.
The same evil orange entity he tossed like a pigskin a moment ago, sits in the center of his living room. A brilliant light, brighter than the fires of hell, emanates from within the rind casting harsh shadows of teeth around the dimly lit house. Jack’s bloodshot eyes water as he makes his way through a furious cloud of energy, trying to find escape.
The house is alive with an evil presence and Jack is lost in a place once so familiar to him. Strange lights with colors from the creepy spectrum dance from all areas, turning a bitter old man’s shack into a funhouse. As he rounds a corner searching for safety, he finds his bedroom...but it’s not his bedroom anymore.
He stops running.
Three feet away is an entry to a funeral home. His nightstand, his closet, all replaced by the most beautiful white orchids. His bed replaced by a casket. Two evil jack-o-lanterns adorn pedestals, standing guard over whomever, or whatever lies in the box.
Terrified, Jack slowly creeps toward the entryway. The stinging fall air would be a welcome change to what has turned a violent mid-summer heat within the walls. Soaked with sweat, he moves closer.
Jack’s curiosity takes control of his movement. He has been haunted by this dream and knows how it will end. He will find himself lying dead in the casket.
He has wanted this every night for thirty years.
Hazing rituals for the college fraternity were in full swing. Jack was the most responsible party planner so of course he got stuck with arranging the closing ceremonies on Halloween night. Jack placed bowls of chocolates, covered with fake cobwebs, in each corner of the frat house awaiting the college drunks. The doorbell rings signifying there may be an earlier start to the night’s festivities. “Trick or Treat”, a young boy dressed as a scarecrow awaits his treats. Jack grabs a few pieces of chocolate and sends the boy on his way, “Happy Halloween!” the boy shouts back. College is a time when you supposedly meet the friends you will have for a lifetime, Jack would never hear from his roommates again. Check the candy.
Jack handed out around ten pieces of candy that night to a few of the neighborhood kids living close to the quaint college town. He had been unaware that various chocolates were “prepared” for the party, laced with a drug known as skeleton dust. Sick, twisted, friends.
The young boy ran off to a quiet cornfield to enjoy his Halloween winnings with his brother. He had a severe reaction to the drug and went into anaphylactic shock. The brother ran for help as his body seized. An ominous scarecrow could only watch, staked in the ground to protect the corn, and nothing else. Questions surrounded the fraternity but nothing was ever linked back to the house.
As Jack approaches the casket, a calming warmth envelops him. A low growl rumbles through the pumpkin guards as the intensity of the heat rises. Jack reaches out to open the lid but before he can fulfill his dream, the top bursts open. The young boy sits up quickly grabbing at his throat, a putrid ooze foams from his mouth.
Jack’s one attempt to wipe away thirty years of guilt is now. He quickly grabs the fragile boy in his arms and makes his way to the front of the house. A heroic rescue is mere moments away. Reassuring Jack that he is on the righteous path, the front door swings open on it’s own...
From the cool fall weather outside, burning white eyes rush toward him. Savior Jack feels like he is carrying a ton of rocks. The boy he was trying to save burst into flames. Fire melts fabric from his cotton shirt to his skin. Ashes float away as gold embers drop and singe every tiny hair on his arms.
The ghost of the angry young boy speeds toward him, Jack fumbles backward, tripped up by a familiar evil pumpkin at his feet. The young ghost meets Jack face to face, floating inches from the withered man as he falls. A whisper arises from within the spirit... Guilty.
Jack’s fall to the tile is cut short. A large green stem pierces his temple. The illuminated light of life within his empty eyes flicker out.
Peace at last.
Jack Patch used to live in a dimly lit house by himself. In the center of the room sits one carved jack-o-lantern...smiling.
