The Hiccups

Pumpkineater

We went to see the Pumpkineater. There were two of us, me and Cameron, and we armed ourselves with flashlights and code kits. We carried Boy Scout Handbooks in our coat pockets and candy bars and a railroad flare which Cameron had stolen from his father's workbench. Cameron had a whistle ring and two sticks of gum which he hoarded to himself.

It was October, in the afternoon, when the leaves danced circles at our feet in the curt wind and when the chill of winter death was beginning to settle in on porches and doorsteps. The sidewalks disappeared under our running feet. The wind whistled the dark days passing.

The Pumpkineater lived at the far end of the farthest block, his house lonely, square and brooding. It suddenly reared up before us and we skidded to a halt. I looked at Cameron, this was the dividing line, the place where innocent adventurer stopped and the breaking of rules began. Bicycles were not even allowed to be ridden to this spot. Cats dashed away. The lawn around the house of the Pumpkineater was immaculately trimmed—green, even in this late time of the year. No dog did his business here. No tree grew here.

Cameron and I shied away from the perfect straight front walk, crept instead across the forbidden lawn, breathing lightly we drew up to the side of the gingerbread brown house. It seemed still wet to the touch. It looked freshly painted. So fresh that I found myself reaching to touch it. Cameron slapped at my hand and motioned for me to be quiet.

Around to the back of the house we crept, stopping underneath the one window. Shivers went through us both, we raised our heads. Inside, dimly lit, an orange red hue filled the room, like the light from a hanging jack-o'-lantern.

Pumpkins, there they were. Stacked one upon the other. Butted up against walls, on tables and chairs, filling almost every inch of space. Pumpkins, some bright and lacquered, others bruised and rotten, round, square, oval, large, little, tiny, oblong—some elaborately carved, lidded, some smiling, frowning, screaming, some with their guts pulled out and placed in front of them. One with trick eyes set in that seemed to follow you back and forth. One with a knife spring-jacked into its face. Cameron and I stared, fascinated, into the room. This was part of the dream of our plan to see the pumpkins. To peer into this forbidden window and witness the hoard of the Pumpkineater.

Cameron removed the Boy Scout Handbook from his pocket and paged through it, looking for instruction on how to open a stuck window. Not surprisingly, there was nothing on how to open a closed window—especially one that did not belong to the Scout doing the opening. Cameron shoved the handbook back into his pocket and then I, in a sudden and triumphant flash of thought, produced a small Scout knife that was attached to my keychain. It pulled open into a one-inch blade. Cameron's expression was doubtful but I ignored him and peered over the window ledge again. There, the light of the room had deepened a notch on the colour scale, now a warm brown it would eventually be black. My eyes met the strange gaze of a pumpkin I hadn't noticed before. One with the face of a happy clown that changed to a frown when you turned it upside down. With care and the brazen skill of an amateur, I slipped the knife blade under the rubber seal up the outside window and tried to pry it out. Cameron suddenly grabbed my arm stopping me. He pointed. There was a catch on the horizontal window and it was in the open position. I pocketed my tiny knife and pulled the window to the side. It opened with a smooth yes.

Cameron and I exchanged glances. Behind us the wind was cold and licked at our ears and the back of our necks. An early moon had risen and shone a pale crescent at our backs. Cameron looked at me and I thought suddenly of home: of my dad coming from work at six o'clock, of Scooby-Doo on television, of the warm couch, the sharp smell of supper and my mom moving about in the next room; of my sister upstairs playing her records too loud; of my schoolbooks packed in my knapsack; thoughts of Halloween coming.