The Pumpkin Man (9 page)

Jenn held a hand to her chest; her heart pounded hard. “It's okay,” she said and stepped forward again, forcing herself to ignore the malevolence of the creature's gaze. “It's dead.”

The doorway opened to a staircase that led down into darkness, but at the top of the landing, the ceiling dropped enough that you'd need to duck as you descended. Nailed to the wall at eye level was a black bat, wings spread wide. For a second, Jennica had the illusion that the bat was flying straight at her.

“Gross,” Kirstin said, peering cautiously closer. “Who nails bats up in their houses?”

“Apparently my aunt,” Jennica said. She closed the door. “Lock it. I'm not going down there.”

After dinner, they decided to try the fireplace. There was a stand of chopped wood on the side of the house.

Kirstin had never built a fire, but Jenn had, so she got on her knees with a candle and peeked into the firebox to open the flue. Then she piled some kindling into the log holder and stacked on a few pieces of wood. She held a lit match to some rolled-up newspaper beneath the logs, then sat back to watch the orange flame flicker and grow. When she was satisfied it was
going to take without further help, she grabbed the rock edge of the fireplace to boost herself up.

As she put her weight on the rock, it shifted and she fell backward, letting go of the rock and landing with a thump.

Kirstin laughed from behind her. “What the hell was that?”

“The rock moved!”

“Uh-huh.”

“I'm serious. Check it out!”

With both hands, Jennica grabbed the rock and shifted it right and left. It slid out of place with almost no effort at all. She set it down on the cement ledge at the base of the fireplace and stared at the resulting hole.

“There's something in there,” she realized, and reached her arm in to pull it out.

It was a varnished rectangular board, which she laid on the ledge next to the displaced stone. Kneeling down to examine it, she found the face etched in black with the symbols of the moon and sun at the upper left and right corners, next to the words YES and NO. The center featured the alphabet in rough yet still ornate gouges, burned into the wood in three lines. Below the alphabet, on the left side, was the word HELLO and on the right GOODBYE. There were also the numerals 1-9 and two circles with stars embedded inside.

“Whoa,” Kirstin said, kneeling beside her. “What is it?”

“It's a Ouija board,” Jenn said, tilting it back and forth. “They use them to talk to the dead.”

“Witches? Like when they join hands and have séances and stuff?”

Jenn nodded.

“How does it work?”

“You're supposed to be with a group of people, and all of you put your fingers on the planchette. Someone asks a question, and the spirits are supposed to work through your joined hands to move the planchette from letter to letter to spell out words.”

“What's a planchette?”

Jennica realized that she only held the board. “I'd say it's what we're missing. Hang on.” She reached back into the space behind the rock and in a moment smiled. “Here it is,” she said, and pulled out a thin wooden piece shaped almost like a heart.

“Can two people use it, or do there need to be more?” Kirstin asked.

Jennica shrugged. “Beats me. But I'm guessing we have enough material here to do the research.” She pointed at the shelves of occult tomes on either side of the fireplace.

Kirstin ran a finger across one shelf and then the next. She stopped finally and slid out a fat green book. “How does
Practical Magic for the Layman
sound to start?”

Jenn laughed. “Sure, why not?” Then she stood up and looked on the opposite shelf for a book of her own and decided on the
Encyclopedia of the Dead
.

They paged silently through the volumes for a moment or two before Kirstin asked, “How does this sound? ‘To entice a fickle lover, take one hair from their comb or brush, combine it with one of your own and wind them carefully around the ripe red fruit of a honeysuckle bush. Prick your finger and drip two drops of blood on the berry. Wrap this charm in a small piece of cloth cut from an unwashed piece of your own intimate clothing, and after invoking the goddess and giving her your request, secret it inside the pillowcase of the lover. This works best if you can find a way to add a spot of blood from your subject along with your own.'”

“Sounds
very
practical,” Jenn said. “Though it might be easier just to ask them out.” A second later she chuckled. “I've got one for you. ‘Curse: to call upon unseen powers to mark someone with misfortune. Frequently curses are cast by utilizing personal items to help identify and tie the subject to the desired punishment. Generally, once cast, curses last until death.'”

Kirstin laughed. “Yeah, so where's the recipe? I know what a curse
is.
”

“Oh, wait—here's a better one. ‘Reanimation: to call upon dark forces to bring life back to the corpse of one already passed beyond. Depending on the length of time since death and the power of the reanimator, the soul possessing the body may or may not be its original. Oftentimes, a demon will seize the opportunity to wear the flesh of the departed in order to walk upon the earth.”

“Gives a whole new meaning to zombie,” Kirstin said. “But come on, there's gotta be a definition in there for a Ouija board.”

“Hang on.” Jennica flipped back a few pages and then smiled. “Here it is. ‘Ouija board: a device used to communicate with the spirits of those who have passed on. The Ouija board, which literally translates as ‘yes, yes,' is thought to have originated in China more than three thousand years ago. In its simplest form, the Ouija is a flat board with the letters of the alphabet. Users of the Ouija focus their energy upon a small glass, touching their fingertips to it. Upon asking a question, they allow a summoned spirit to channel through the foci of the glass to move it from letter to letter, spelling out whatever answer the spirit wishes to impart. In the twentieth century, the Ouija was mass-produced by a popular board game company who manufactured the boards in Salem, Massachusetts, capitalizing on that city's fame as the center of witch burning and the board's reputation as a ‘witchboard.' This led many to dismiss the Ouija as simply a game. In truth, the Ouija can prove a powerful tool to open communication with the dead. Users must beware, however, as it is never a sure thing with whom one is actually communicating. While it might be the spirit one has called, it is equally possible that an imposter has seen the opening between worlds and used the Ouija as a tool to gain trust and thus a foothold to . . .'”

Jenn stopped and shook her head. “Okay, there ya go. The Encyclopedia of Ouija! This entry goes on for another page!”

Kirstin closed her own book and set it back on the shelf. “Your aunt was the real deal, Jenn.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, she was a witch. A real, honest-to-goodness witch, with séances and spells and potions and probably blood sacrifices in the backyard under a full moon! I wouldn't be surprised if there's a bloody pentagram in the basement.”

“C'mon,” Jenn said. “She was my aunt. She may have been into all sorts of weird shit, and I'm sure she tried witchcraft with all the books and stuff around here, but I don't think she was into blood sacrifices. She wouldn't kill people for crissakes!”

“Did you see how those people looked at us today at the General Store?”

Jenn shrugged. She thought about her own years as a wallflower and having to take the nasty comments and digs from socialites. Ironically, they had been girls kind of like Kirstin: blonde and blue-eyed, and pretty, and they knew it, too. She was always amazed that Kirstin was her friend.

“People are mean like that,” she said. “She was probably just misunderstood.”

Kirstin gave her a sidelong glance. “Have you noticed any particular theme about these books?”

“So, she had interests that went beyond Sunday school.”

“Uh-huh. Would you care to go into the basement and see what else we find there below that crucified bat?”

“Pass.” Jennica closed the
Encyclopedia
and replaced it on the shelf. Then she picked up the Ouija board and set it in the fireplace opening, then set the rock back in place. “I just wish all this hocus pocus really meant something. Then maybe I could talk to my dad again.” She swept a tear from her eye and shook her head. “I'm wiped,” she announced. “See you in the morning?”

“What about the fire?” Kirstin asked, pointing. The logs had burned down, but there were still glowing orange embers.

“It'll die on its own,” Jenn promised. A wave of depression rolled over her. “Just like everything.”

Returning to her aunt's bedroom, Jennica couldn't help but look at the door to the basement. Just beyond the white-painted wood, she could see the mummified bat in her mind's eye. And when she looked at the dark wood of her aunt's dresser, she imagined Meredith there, brushing her hair in the evening, thinking whatever thoughts she'd had out here in the middle of nowhere, night after night. All alone for years.

“Who were you?” she murmured. Then a shiver shook her spine. A part of her worried that her aunt might answer.

She brushed her teeth and pulled on her oversize T-shirt, then turned out the light seconds before slipping under the covers of the bed. She'd changed the sheets, but still she could smell someone else on them, smell the alien nature of her surroundings. This was not her room. This was not her house. This was not where she belonged.

November 2, 1984

 

The only true evil in this life is small-mindedness.

That evil thrives, unchecked.

If only it could be cut out, like eyes from a pumpkin.

Sometimes it was really hard to be Jennica Murphy's best friend.

Kirstin loved Jenn; she'd felt instantly close to her since the first day they met. It had been back at the student union in college. Kirstin was sitting in a big, cushy red-leather chair, surreptitiously spiking a paper cup of Mountain Dew with vodka, but just as she tipped her flask under the cup lid, a couple jocks ran through and banged into the back of the chair, nearly toppling her to the floor. She'd spilled the entire cup down her shirt.

“Son of a motherfuckin' bitch!”

A dark-haired girl sat near her, feet tucked under her butt, oblivious to everyone else. The girl was actually studying—
serious
about it. Only then had she looked up. “What happened?”

She'd had the meekest of voices, but Kirstin had answered with a bellow that everyone in the union—and probably out on the quad—could hear. “Those fuckwads just spilled pop all over me!”

“Hang on a minute,” the girl had said, setting her book to the side and reaching into a gym bag. “I have a towel.”

The next few minutes were spent patting down Kirstin's shirt. But from the most awkward moments come amazing friendships.

They were opposites: that was clear from the start. But Kirstin had been attracted by Jenn's selfless streak, and Jenn was no doubt inspired by Kirstin's wildness. They balanced, each admiring
qualities in the other that were lacking in themselves. Jenn's restrained nature reined in Kirstin's party girl—at least enough for her to graduate. Which was why it was funny for Kirstin to find herself now in the position of being Jenn's compass.

Kirstin's cure for bad feelings was to go out and talk to people. To drink a little. To laugh a lot. Okay, maybe drink a lot, too. Jenn could never keep up with her in either department, but it was the trying that counted. And right now, her friend was sitting in the front room of her dead aunt's house, reading old musty books about magic spells and secret potions.

Kirstin grinned and shook her head. “Uh-uh,” she said to the empty bedroom. “This ends now. Tonight, we rock!”

Strolling idly into the family room, she asked, “Whatcha doing?”

Jenn looked almost like she had on the day Kirstin first met her: legs tucked up beneath her, curled up with a book. “What's it look like?” she answered, stifling a yawn with a fist. “Trying to bone up for the How to Turn a Jilted Lover into a Toad test.”

“Oh, that one's easy.” Kirstin grinned. “Just set them up on a blind date with Bernice Kunz. She'll give them warts just by looking at them.”

“Ha ha.” Jenn smiled, closing the book. “What's up?”

“I was thinking maybe we could head downtown for dinner tonight,” Kirstin offered. “Maybe try that bar that the grocery guy mentioned. Casey's?”

Jenn shrugged. “Guess we could, but how do we know they even have a kitchen?”

“Because I learned from my roommate a long time ago . . .” Kirstin answered, pulling her cell phone out of her pocket. “Phone first!”