The Hungry Pumpkin (Short Story)

I'm Very Hungry

You unlock the door of your diner before the sun comes up. You set up shop, refilling napkin dispensers, sweeping, and dusting off the tables. The air smells of old wood and homemade cleaning products, something you're happy to associate with the family business.

As the sky brightens and the clock hits 7:00, you plug in the "OPEN" sign and resume idly cleaning.

Eventually, you get the urge to look up from the counter and out the front window. A pumpkin stands on the other side of the road, staring and smiling at you. He looks awkward standing there, like he's never seen a person before. Looking at him makes your stomach twist, and the feeling begins to silently overtake you as he crosses the street and enters your restaurant.

"Good morning, and welcome to The Hungry Pumpkin." You recite.

His old green eyes glint, and he says back to you, "I'm very hungry."

You laugh, "Well, we have food for you to eat." You don't allow your anxiety to manifest in your voice as impatience. After all, this is a new customer, and for all you know he might just be a little out of touch.

He saunters over and takes a seat at the bar in front of you.

"What can I get you then?" You say politely, vaguely gesturing to the menu above the bar.

"Give me the fish." He doesn't break eye contact as he replies.

"Alright..." You back up into the kitchen door, and go into the freezer to retrieve a large salmon.

"Steak or filet?" You call through the kitchen window and you drop the fish onto the cutting board.

The pumpkin stares at you with that smile and stays perfectly still.

"Steak it is." You mutter.

You run your knife through the flesh of the fish, comforted only by the safety of having a weapon in your hands as you feel his relentless burning stare.

You pick up a steak, and go to prepare a pan to cook it on when the pumpkin interrupts you.

"I want that." He says, pointing a fat finger at the raw fish in your wet hands.

"Uhm..." You look between him and the steak, "Raw?"

He nods, his waxy skin squeaking against the bar counter.

No one's ever wanted their fish raw. Would serving this to him be adhering to food safety laws? No, of course not.

But still, something wills your hand toward a thick serving plate, and then your feet to the other side of the bar where he sits.

"Here you go sir." You say, putting the plate down a little shakily.

You just want him to leave.

He picks up the fish and eats it all like it's nothing. In one bite. Even the bone. His eyes roll back as he swallows, and you can hear it drop inside of his hollow gourd body.

You're horrified, and at this point you know you can't hide it on your face as you feel your features react abruptly.

"You know, that wasn't too bad." He says. He looks at you knowingly. He sees the anguish he's just caused you, and it amuses him. He gets up and walks out without paying. You don't even care.