pumpkins – OLD SCRATCH PRESS

By R. David Fulcher, Old Scratch Press Founding Member

I love all things pumpkin, including pumpkin spice. However, I understand even fans of this seasonal gourd have their limits on just how much pumpkin spice is too much pumpkin spice.

Readers are the same way.

Even fans of scary stories have their own personal limits in terms of exactly how scary, how gory, or how unsettling a story they can bear.

Therefore, I’ve taken three of my pumpkin-related stories and rated them in spiciness, from the most mild to the most extreme.

Mild Spice: “Pumpkin Night at the Pinkstons”

In “Pumpkin Night at the Pinkstons”, from my book The Movies that Make You Scream!, a teenager discovers the secret behind his homecoming date. Full of gooey teenage love, this is the mildest of my pumpkin-themed stories, something like one of the Goosebumps tales by R.L. Stine.

I’ll call this the Pumpkin Spice Latte Level of story.

Here is an excerpt from “Pumpkin Night at the Pinkstons”:

I don’t know exactly how much time passed before realizing that something was very, very wrong. The texture of her kisses changed, becoming clumsy and pulpy in taste. Her smooth gums became loose and stringy, and when I tried to pull away, I realized she was attached to me like a barnacle adhered to the side of a boat’s hull. Long, pointed fingers now clenched my nose shut and I began to get dizzy as that sickening, fruity-vegetable stench began to overwhelm me.

But more horrible were the physical changes taking place to the body I embraced, a grotesque squishyness of the torso and organs like the skin of a rotting tomato.

Medium Spice: “Pumpkin Seed Spit”

In “Pumpkin Seed Spit”, from the Devil’s Party Press anthology Halloween Party 2019, three friends go trick-or-treating and make a horrible deal with an ancient spirit to ensure their survival. Although the protagonists are also teenagers in this story, the stakes are higher, and the final implications for humanity much darker.

I’ll call this the Pumpkin Muffin Level of story.

Here is an excerpt from “Pumpkin Seed Spit”:

Upon reaching the first house near a dead end, they knocked and said in unison, “Trick-or-Treat!” As fifty-year-old Henry Armitage opened the front door, Brian unearthed his bag. The middle-aged man frowned at the kids before starting to mutter something about the lateness of the hour. Armitage gazed into Brian’s bag of seeds and was immediately mesmerized. An orange energy tendril spiraled upward, carrying a single seed into Armitage’s mouth.

Brian, Matt, and Ria wanted to scream, but found it impossible. While their souls were wrenched into knots by the horror they witnessed, outwardly they stood emotionless, even tranquil, as layers of skin and flesh melted away until all that remained of Henry Armitage was a living skeleton.

When the transformation was complete, they advanced to the next house. Ria shared the seeds, and Asenath Waite, a young mother of two, was hideously transformed into a witch with boils, green teeth, and a trail of lesions across her forehead.

Matt was next to present The Pumpkin Tree’s offering to the world. Three seeds were received by a couple and their young baby. Within moments they became a trio of giant pale, eyeless larvae that oozed and squiggled out of their clothes.

Extra Spicy: “The Pumpkin King”

In “The Pumpkin King”, from my book The Pumpkin King and Other Tales of Terror, a man ignores the rules of Halloween to his own detriment. The protagonist is an adult, and this tale has the most shock value of the three.

I’ll call this the Pumpkin Imperial Pale Ale Level of story

Here is an excerpt from “The Pumpkin King”:

I spun around and made for the door, half convinced I was hallucinating if not dreaming. I unlatched the deadbolt, but it clicked back into place as soon as I started to turn the latch. I turned back to the jack-o’-lantern.

“An easy trick, but effective,” the jack-o’-lantern said, its orange light flashing in time to the latch on the deadbolt as it clicked back and forth at will.

“What do you want?” I begged.

“I want you to think on this. There is but one expectation of you this time of year. One simple obligation: To carve pumpkins. To pay homage to the king.”

“What king?”

“Samhain, the King of the Dead.” Its demeanor began to change. Its voice deepened and the reddish-orange glow rose like an enraged fire.

“This is ridiculous!” Now I was beginning to lose my fear and was feeling pissed. This thing, whatever it was, was in my house. I turned to climb the stairs and grab a baseball bat so that I could smash the talkative piece of vegetation into a hundred juicy bits. I was an educated man, and I knew of the myth of Samhain, the Lord of the Dead who arrived every fall to put nature in balance with the deadly strokes of his sickle. I also knew it was pure bunk.

I had only reached the first step when I heard a sound far worse than the maddening click-clacking of the door latch: the metallic whisper of a kitchen knife being drawn from the butcher block.

I turned back to the pumpkin. “Okay. You’ve got my attention. What do you want?”

“I want to carve you,” it replied simply.

So whatever your personal threshold is for pumpkin spice, pay homage to the spirits of All Hallows Eve, and savor the spice before it’s gone!

Happy Writing!

R.David Fulcher, Founding Member of Old Scratch Press

Oldscratchpress.com

Rdavidfulcher.com

by Nadja Maril

Halloween. The weather turns cool. Leaves on the trees change colors, fall to the ground, and orange pumpkins are set out on porches. As a child it was a big deal to decide, what sort of costume I’d find and wear, for Trick or Treating and parties. But first, it was important to get into the mood and one poem, in my favorite book of poems would always do the trick. In the original spelling, the author wrote orphant not orphan. So I knew the poem as Little Orphan Annie. The illustration showed a young woman in front of a kitchen hearth with small children gathered around her. I loved reading this poem, Little Orphan Annie, which was both fun and scary.

Here’s the original version written by James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916) an American poet who hailed from Indiana, who was also a journalist. Folksinger Anne Hill has done a lovely job in the country bluegrass style, setting this poem to music and you can listen to her sing it here.

Little Orphant Annie

by James Whitcomb Riley

Little Orphant Annie’s come to our house to stay,
An’ wash the cups an’ saucers up, an’ brush the crumbs away,
An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep,
An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board-an’-keep;
An’ all us other childern, when the supper things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an’ has the mostest fun
A-list’nin’ to the witch-tales ‘at Annie tells about,
An’ the Gobble-uns ‘at gits you
             Ef you
                Don’t
                   Watch
                      Out!

Onc’t they was a little boy wouldn’t say his prayers,—
So when he went to bed at night, away up stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an’ his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An’ when they turn’t the kivvers down, he wasn’t there at all!
An’ they seeked him in the rafter-room, an’ cubby-hole, an’ press,
An’ seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an’ ever’wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found was thist his pants an’ roundabout–
An’ the Gobble-uns’ll git you
             Ef you
                Don’t
                   Watch
                      Out!

An’ one time a little girl ‘ud allus laugh an’ grin,
An’ make fun of ever’one, an’ all her blood an’ kin;
An’ onc’t, when they was “company,” an’ ole folks was there,
She mocked ‘em an’ shocked ‘em, an’ said she didn’t care!
An’ thist as she kicked her heels, an’ turn’t to run an’ hide,
They was two great big Black Things a-standin’ by her side,
An’ they snatched her through the ceilin’ ‘fore she knowed what she’s about!
An’ the Gobble-uns’ll git you
             Ef you
                Don’t
                   Watch
                      Out!

An’ little Orphant Annie says when the blaze is blue,
An’ the lamp-wick sputters, an’ the wind goes woo-oo!
An’ you hear the crickets quit, an’ the moon is gray,
An’ the lightnin’-bugs in dew is all squenched away,–
You better mind yer parents, an’ yer teachers fond an’ dear,
An’ churish them ‘at loves you, an’ dry the orphant’s tear,
An’ he’p the pore an’ needy ones ‘at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns’ll git you
             Ef you
                Don’t
                   Watch
                      Out!

American poet Carl Sandburg (1878-1967) takes a different approach with this beautiful poem that captures the magic of nature while igniting the element of the unknown.

Theme in Yellow

by Carl Sandburg

I spot the hills

With yellow balls in autumn.

I light the prairie cornfields

Orange and tawny gold clusters

And I am called pumpkins.

On the last of October

When dusk is fallen

Children join hands

And circle round me

Singing ghost songs

And love to the harvest moon;

I am a jack-o’-lantern

With terrible teeth

And the children know

I am fooling.

Fun and intimate, is how I’d characterize this third poem by American poet Sarah Teasdale (1884-1933). Which leads to the question of what kind of poem you’d write, if tasked with writing a “Halloween Poem.”

Dusk in Autumn

By Sarah Teasdale

The moon is like a scimitar,

A little silver scimitar,

A-drifting down the sky.

And near beside it is a star,

A timid twinkling golden star,

That watches likes an eye.

And thro’ the nursery window-pane

The witches have a fire again,

Just like the ones we make,—

And now I know they’re having tea,

I wish they’d give a cup to me,

With witches’ currant cake.

Decorate the outside of your house with scary poems. Instead of fortune cookies give out treats with poetry inside. Halloween is a time for bonfires and storytelling. What a great time to recite poetry. Don’t forget to follow us on Facebook and follow this blog. Today is October 9th which means there’s less than one week left to submit your Cooold Turkey themed Holiday/End of the Year start of a New Year Winter Poems (2), or very short fiction or fact to Instant Noodles Literary Magazine. Members of the Old Scratch Press Collective are guest editors for this upcoming issue. Submission Link here

Tag: pumpkins

How Spicy are You?

Telling Halloween Stories with Scary Poems