The Pumpkin Man (22 page)

“Yes,” Jenn said. Her eyes pulsed with anger. “Because I don't believe I can make things worse. The Pumpkin Man is already free. I want to find a way to send him back.”

She slipped off the couch and crawled around the table. Holding out her hands, she said nothing else; she just waited. And in a minute, a cool thin hand slipped into one grip, a heavier, warmer hand the other.

“All right,” Nick said with tired resignation. “Let's find out how to kill this fucker.”

“Wait a minute,” Jenn said. “Do you have any candles?”

Nick shrugged. “Yeah, I think there are a couple in the kitchen. Hang on.”

He returned with two jar candles. “Will these do?”

Jenn nodded. “Yeah, I think it's just important to turn off all the electric lights and let as much natural energy into the room as we can.”

Kirstin shot her a sideways glance. “Have you been studying?”

Jenn smiled. “Not exactly, I've just read a fair bit more
of Meredith's journal. And I know that all of the stuff we do now with electric fields and gas fumes and radio and TV broadcasting . . . it all closes us in. Or locks them out. Spirits, I mean.”

“So it's actually safer to live in a city?” Nick said.

“To some extent. I think there are holes wherever you go, though. Spirits can get through if they really want to.” She looked at him. “I just want to make it easier. So if we kill the lights and use a couple candles . . .”

Nick lit a match, held it inside the jars to light the candles and then set them on either end of the coffee table. The glow of their natural flames in the darkness gave the trio's cheeks a ruddy orange glow. Their faces seemed to float disembodied in the night. They all reached out to lightly touch an index finger to an edge of the planchette.

“Let's see what the spirits have to say,” Nick said.

“Not spirits,” Jenn corrected. “I need to talk to my aunt.”

“I hope she has her spirit phone turned on,” he answered.

“They are never
off.
Not on the other side,” Jenn promised with a faint smile.

She eyed her friends in the flickering candlelight. Kirstin's normally animated face was drawn and thin. Her eyes were wide, and she was clearly too numb from the day's events to do more than just be present. Meanwhile, Nick's mouth was drawn in a tight line. He was doing this as a favor for her, and he just wanted it to be over.

But Jenn also saw something in both faces that she hadn't the first time they tried this. She saw belief. The first time they had all been playing. Toying. Scoffing, if only just a bit. Now Kirstin's jaw clenched and Nick's lips held no trace of a smile. They looked committed and worried.

Jenn closed her eyes and concentrated. “Okay,” she said. “Just try to put everything from your mind. Focus on my words and will your energy to me. I'm like the transmitter here.”

She felt stupid and theatrical as she thought about what words to use to begin contact. What did you say to call the attention of the dead, spirits who no doubt were used to hearing a billion disparate voices chattering on incessantly every hour of every day? Everything sounded hokey, so all you could do was be direct. She took a deep breath and began.

“Spirits who are near, we call upon you. We beseech your help.” Jenn screwed up her mouth in distaste. Who used the word “beseech” anymore? She stifled a semi-hysterical giggle and struggled to focus.

“Spirits in this house, spirits who can hear me, please listen to my call. We are in desperate need. We must talk to Meredith Perenais. She was my aunt in her life. She lived not far from here, up the coast, and only passed on a few months ago. Please tell her I need her. Her niece from Chicago, Jennica Murphy, needs her now.”

Jennica paused and took another breath. She felt Kirstin's fingers give hers a slight squeeze. “Aunt Meredith, are you here?” she asked.

All of them stared at the planchette in the middle of the board, both hopeful and fearful that it would move. It remained still.

“Meredith Murphy Perenais,” Jennica called. “Please come to us.
Help
me.” She waited a second and then repeated, “Aunt Meredith, are you here?”

This time Nick squeezed her hand, but the wooden ring remained frozen at the center of the board.

“Maybe if we all repeat her name,” Kirstin suggested. “Like Mary Worth and the mirror.”

Jenn cringed at the thought. If you said “Bloody” Mary Worth's name three times in the dark before a mirror, it was said she would sometimes be summoned from beyond the grave. It was a common dare at slumber parties because, if Mary Worth appeared, she would try to kill you from the mirror. Who was brave enough to try and call her?

“Let's try that,” Jenn agreed.

“Meredith Murphy Perenais, come to us,” she said softly. And then she said it again with Nick and Kirstin joining her.

“Meredith Murphy Perenais, come to us. Meredith Murphy Perenais, come to us,” they repeated, their voices growing stronger. “Meredith Murphy Perenais, come to us!”

The planchette trembled beneath their fingers. Jenn opened her eyes wider to watch as it slowly slid across the board. She struggled to let her arm be relaxed, to not influence the device. A part of her wondered if either Nick or Kirstin were doing just that.

The planchette came to rest on the word YES.

“Will you help us?” Jenn asked.

The ring slid forward and paused on three separate letters: H-O-W.

“The Pumpkin Man has come back,” Jenn explained to empty air. “He killed my father, he killed our friend. And he has killed others. Can you help us stop him?”

The ring slipped from letter to letter, its speed decreasing with each movement.

I

AM

BEYOND

HELPIN . . .

The ring stalled on the N for a long while, and Jenn looked at Nick and Kirstin, wondering what to do. It seemed as if her aunt was losing the power to answer.

Finally, the ring shivered and slipped to the G.

“Aunt Meredith, what can I do to stop him?”

The ring moved again. Painfully slow. But it spelled out two more words: LEARN PERENAIS.

“Learn Perenais?” Jenn repeated. “I don't know what you mean, Aunt Meredith. Study the family history?”

The planchette seemed to struggle. It jerked as it moved
between letters, darting forward an inch and then stopping completely. But slowly it moved, and its movements spelled out:

B

E

W

A

R

Suddenly, the candles on either side of the table flared, rising from half-inch tongues to foot-high flames. Heat washed across them, and the planchette suddenly darted beneath their fingers, moving with demonic speed between letters. Nick called them out.

“Y O U,” he said, softly reading out each word in turn.

“WILL”

“DIE”

“LIKE”

“YOUR”

“FATHER”

The candles extinguished.

“Aunt Meredith?” Jenn called. “Aunt Meredith, are you here?”

“Jesus Christ,” Nick said.

Jenn stared at the board, barely visible in the shadows. The only light came from outside the room. She could see Kirstin's face silhouetted with faint blue. Her friend shook her head back and forth, as if denying what had just happened.

“Aunt Meredith?” Jenn called again, but the ring remained still.

“She's gone,” Kirstin said. Her voice shook. “Can we turn the lights on now?”

Jenn looked at the darkened board for a moment. Their fingers all remained on the planchette, but it did not move.

“Yeah,” she said at last, pulling her hand back from the ring.

Nick withdrew his hand from hers and reached out for a table lamp. “Well, I know
I
feel better now,” he said. “Are you okay?” he asked, moving around the coffee table to put his arm around Jenn's shoulders.

“What happened there?” Kirstin whispered.

“I think my aunt was here,” Jenn said. “But it was like she was struggling. I think whoever she was struggling with won out.”

“I hate to say I told you so—” Nick began.

Jenn cut him off. “I know, I know.”

“Do you think something is loose in my apartment now? What was it?”

Jenn shook her head. “I don't know. Maybe it was the Pumpkin Man himself. But I think he's gone.”

“I wish we hadn't done that,” Kirstin said. She had both arms wrapped around her shoulders in a self-hug as she rocked back and forth on the floor. “I don't think I've ever been this scared.”

Jennica broke from Nick's embrace to hug her. “I know, hon. I'm not feeling really good right now myself.” She choked back a sob and fought to get her emotions under control. Her chest was tight and her legs begged to run. Her entire body wanted to just flee, now, without any more questions or séances or thoughts about death. But that wouldn't solve anything, she knew. The Pumpkin Man could be anywhere. “Before she left, she at least gave us a clue,” she reminded them.

“What,” Kirstin asked. “Research your family tree?”

“Sort of. Remember, the police said the Perenais family has been in River's End since the beginning. That house is old. Really old. My aunt came out here and married into the family . . . I know from her journal that she learned her magic from studying things she found in the house. I don't know that anybody really taught her, because she wrote that my uncle didn't really want her to get involved in the things the rest of his family had been
into. But somehow she found out how to do it. Maybe in those old books, maybe in other things.”

“And how are we going to find out?” Kirstin said. “Your uncle's family seems to be gone.”

Jenn shrugged. “I still have my aunt Meredith's journal. There may be more clues in there. And there's the house itself.”

“I don't want to go back there,” Kirstin said. “I am never sleeping in that bed again.”

Jenn nodded. The idea of going back didn't exactly sit well with her either.

“I know,” she said. “But I can't run away from this. It will follow us—or at least me—wherever I go. I need to act before it's too late. It all began in that house. Maybe the only way it can be ended is there, too. I don't know.”

Nick gave Jenn a hug and then looked her in the eyes. “I don't want to go back there either,” he said, “but I'll do whatever I can to help you. That thing killed my best friend. And I want you to be safe again.”

Jenn felt tears welling up in her eyes and she struggled not to cry. “Thanks,” she whispered. A tear slipped down her cheek.

Kirstin joined in the hug and whispered, “I'll help, too. You know I will.”

That's when she lost it. Jenn pictured the board spelling out YOU WILL DIE LIKE YOUR FATHER again, and then she saw Brian's body in the bed from that morning and Kirstin's incoherent terror. She remembered her dad's funeral, which just reminded her how much Nick must hurt right now.

“Thank you, guys,” she said. “I'm so sorry about all of this.”

The sobs took over, and she began to cry harder, her breath hitching as the emotions of the past three months were finally released. Once she started, she couldn't stop. She couldn't catch her breath, but still the sadness streamed out. Nick pulled her gently to the couch and sat with her. He held her as she sobbed in a ball against his chest.

Kirstin sat with them for a while and stroked Jenn's hair. When Jenn's tears began to slow, she got up and gave Jenn's shoulder a squeeze. “I'm going to bed,” she said. “I'm falling over.”

Jenn gave her a soggy smile. “Thanks for everything today,” she said. “Good night. See you in the morning.”

Kirstin smiled grimly and went down the hall. She'd left her things in Brian's room. She supposed that's where she'd sleep.

He could feel it coming again. His first response was to moan inwardly, and then came fleeting thoughts of tying himself to the kitchen table, which would stop his body from leaving home. But he'd had that thought a hundred times and knew it wouldn't help. If his hands could tie him up, they could untie him as well.

The first time the madness had overtaken him, there had been no warning. One minute, he'd been cooking dinner and the next, he'd awoken on his couch the following morning covered in blood, still holding a sticky knife blade. God, the fear he'd felt that morning as he stared with bloodshot eyes into the bathroom mirror, asking himself over and over again, “What did you do?” And he simply couldn't remember.

He'd found the passel of knives lying on the front room floor, equally bloody but tucked into a leather case. He took them all to the bathroom and rinsed the blood away, exploring each weathered knife with his fingers. While it was the first time he remembered seeing them, they felt strangely comfortable in his grasp. Familiar. Each handle fit snugly against the sore spot he felt on his palm below the thumb.