Wanted (10 page)

“Huh?” I stared at Dad, my heart pounding.

“Devin,” Dad said, “we also hired two dozen monkeys to sit on the pumpkins and keep them from hopping away.”

Mom and Dad both burst out laughing.

I stood there with my mouth hanging open. I waited for them to stop. “Uh … does this mean you don't believe me?”

That made them start laughing again.

“No, we don't believe you,” Mom said. She reached out and grabbed my hand. Her hand was very warm. Mine was frozen.

“We don't believe the vines were crawling or the pumpkins were breathing,” Mom said. “We know you don't want to be here, kiddo. But making up scary stories won't help you get home.”

“I — I didn't make it up.”

She squeezed my hand. “Go back to bed, Devin. You were having one of your bad dreams.” She tucked her hand back under the covers.

I turned and started to the bedroom door. “Sorry I woke you up.”

I was pretty sure it wasn't a bad dream. It's true I have a lot of nightmares. And yes, they are very real. And I remember them all after I wake up. And sometimes I get confused and think they really happened. But not for long.

And this time I knew it couldn't be a nightmare. Because I wasn't asleep. When I saw the reflection of the jack-o'-lantern, I was talking to Lu-Ann on the phone.

I was finally starting to breathe normally. I walked down the hall to my room. This was an old farmhouse, and the floorboards all creaked as I walked.

The house groaned and cracked and made weird noises all the time. And the old radiators hissed and rattled when the heat came up.

Like a haunted house.

I scolded myself for thinking like that. “Come on, Devin. You're only going to be living here for a week. What could happen in a week?”

I heard my sisters giggling in their room. It was nearly midnight and they were still awake. They were so excited about living on this farm and in this creaky old house, they could barely sit still. And they stayed up till all hours making up pumpkin games and songs.

Why couldn't I enjoy it like them?

Pumpkins don't breathe. And vines don't slither like snakes.

Why did I have to imagine these things?

Just relax, Devin.

“Ohh!” I uttered a cry as a large figure stepped into the dim hall.

It took me a few seconds to recognize Mrs. Barnes. She stepped toward me with a smile on her round face. Her long braids fell down the back of her heavy gray nightgown.

“Trouble sleeping, Devin?” Her silvery eyes studied me.

“Uh … kinda,” I said.

“You're probably just excited. Farm life is more exciting than people think.”

“Exciting?” I said.

She nodded. “All the creatures in the outdoors and things growing everywhere. It's a world apart from city life.”

“You got that right,” I muttered.

“I have just the thing for you,” she said, motioning with one finger for me to follow her. “A nice hot cup of pumpkin tea.”

Huh?

“Pumpkin tea?” My stomach did a quick flip-flop.

“Just the thing to relax you, dearie.” Her silvery eyes didn't blink. I knew she was trying to be nice. But she was starting to freak me out.

“Uh … no thanks,” I said. “I'm fine.”

Her face fell. She looked disappointed. I said good night, stepped into my room, and closed the door behind me.

Pumpkin tea?

A few seconds later, I climbed into bed and pulled the covers up. The bedroom window rattled, and I felt a cold wind blowing over the room.

I shut my eyes and tried not to think about the farm. Instead, I thought about Polly Martin's Halloween party, and Lu-Ann and my friends scheming to make it more exciting.

I opened my eyes and gazed into the darkness. It took a while but I finally started to feel sleepy. Yes. I was about to fall asleep. My eyelids felt heavy … heavy …

The last thing I saw was an orange glow on the bedroom window glass.

 

Next morning, bright sunlight poured into the bedroom window. It warmed my face and woke me up. I sat up straight, instantly alert.

During the night, I had a bad dream about scarecrows. Scarecrows in my house. No, wait. In the dream, my mom and dad and two sisters — they were chasing me through a farm field. And as they ran, they all turned into scarecrows.

Crazy.

I yawned loudly. I stretched my hands high above my head.

The sunlight felt nice on my face.
Today is going to be better
, I told myself.

Today I'm putting on my new face. A whole new attitude. I'm going to be like my sisters. I'm going to make the most of my two weeks here. I'm going to have FUN.

I had a smile on my face as I turned, pushed back the covers, and lowered my feet to the floor.

“Aaaaack.”

I expected to feel the hard floorboards. But instead, my bare feet sank into something warm and squishy.

I jerked my feet up in surprise. “Oh, yuck!”

They were covered in some kind of drippy orange-yellow goo.

Slowly, I peered down.

“Oh, wow.”

Leaning forward, I saw the round puddle of orange glop on the floor beside my bed. I quickly recognized the sour smell.

Pumpkin meat. Pulpy, sticky pumpkin meat.

I was staring down at a pile of it, a huge puddle of pumpkin guts.

How did it get there?

Someone dropped the puddle of pumpkin guts beside my bed. But who?

It had to be a joke, a mean joke. Someone knew I would step in it and be totally grossed out.

Dale and Dolly didn't do this, I decided. It just wasn't their style. Their jokes were silly — not mean and disgusting.

Someone had sneaked into my room during the night and left that pile of gunk there. Who in this house would do such a thing?

I couldn't help it. I left orange, pulpy footprints across the floor as I walked to the bathroom. I took an extra-long shower, and washed my feet at least five times.

I was still thinking about the pumpkin guts as I made my way to the kitchen. The house has a big farmhouse kitchen with a fireplace on one wall, a long wooden table like a picnic table, and a super-sized stove and fridge.

Dale and Dolly were already at the table, spooning up big bowls of cereal. Mrs. Barnes turned from the sink and smiled at me. “Did you finally get to sleep, Devin?”

I nodded. “Yes. No problem.”

“I'm making you a big plate of scrambled eggs and bacon this morning,” she said. “You work up a big appetite on a farm.”

“Cool,” I said. I studied the twins. They were splashing milk on each other. Eating each other's Corn Flakes.

I knew they weren't the pumpkin-goo culprits.

Zeus hunched in front of the fireplace, watching us eat. He was the biggest cat I'd ever seen. Bigger than our old cocker spaniel. The cat never made a sound. Just watched us and followed us silently.

After breakfast, Dad led Dale, Dolly, and me out back to a wooden shed. He pointed to a pile of small pumpkins on the ground in front of a low bench.

“I brought these little pumpkins here for you to paint,” he said. He pointed to a small table with jars of red, black, and white paint. “Paint funny faces on them. You know. Some creepy ones. Some grinning ones. Some cute faces.”

I picked up a little pumpkin and rolled it around in my hand. “And why are we doing this?” I asked.

“People like to buy ready-made jack-o'-lanterns,” Dad said. “You know. Pumpkins they don't have to carve.”

“I get it,” I said.

The girls were already sitting on the bench, opening jars of paint.

“Go wild. Paint the funniest faces you can,” Dad said. “We'll sell them for ten dollars each.”

Dolly dipped a paintbrush in a jar of red paint. Then she raised the brush to Dale's face. Dale tried to squirm away.

“Hold still,” Dolly said. “I'm painting you cool red lips.”

“Stop right there,” Dad said. He grabbed Dolly's wrist and pulled her hand away from Dale. “Don't paint each other. You already have funny faces!”

“Ha-ha,” Dolly said. “You're so funny.” She pulled her hand free and smeared a red stripe on Dad's forehead.

He laughed. He thinks everything the twins do is hilarious. “Paint the pumpkins,” he told them. “Be serious. I mean it. This is work. Not play.”

He headed back to the house.

The girls placed pumpkins in their laps and concentrated on painting them. Dale moved her brush in circles, making big black eyes on her pumpkin. Dolly painted the whole front of her pumpkin white. Then she started to add red eyes on the white background.

“Nice work,” I said. “You two are good face painters.”

“Can I paint
your
face?” Dolly asked. She poked her brush at me.

I scooted away. “You heard what Dad said. We have to be serious. This is work.”

“Look. I'm almost finished with mine, and you haven't even started,” Dale said.

“Okay, okay.” I picked up a small yellowish pumpkin and smoothed the dirt off it with my hand. “I'm going to make all my pumpkins look just like you two,” I said.

Dolly held hers up in front of me. “This one already looks like you, Devin,” she said. “See? It's yellow and wrinkled and gross?”

“Let's see who can paint the funniest one,” I said.

I had the little pumpkin in one hand. I reached for a paintbrush — then stopped.

“Hey!” I let out a cry when I heard the sound. Like a low groan. Coming from the pumpkin!

Suddenly, the hard pumpkin skin turned
soft
. Soft as human skin!

“Devin, what's your problem?” The twins were staring at me.

“It … it's the pumpkin,” I stammered. “It feels soft — like a human face. And I heard it
burp
or something! Look. It's ALIVE!”

The girls just stared at me.

I heard it again. A soft groan.

With a startled gasp, I jumped to my feet. I dropped the pumpkin. I bumped the table. It toppled over — and all the paint jars went tumbling to the ground.

Red, black, and white paint spread in wide puddles at our feet.

The girls jumped up and danced over the spilled paint. “You ruined everything!” Dale shouted angrily.

“We were having fun,” Dolly said. “You spoiled it.”

“What's going on here?” Dad appeared, jogging across the backyard toward us. “What happened to the paint?” Of course, he had his eyes on me.

“I'm sorry, Dad,” I said. “But … the pumpkin … I picked up a pumpkin and its skin got soft and it made weird noises and it felt like a human face, not like a pumpkin.”

The words all burst out in a whoosh. I didn't take a breath.

“Which pumpkin?” Dad asked.

I pointed. The pumpkin sat on the ground at the edge of the puddle of red paint.

Dad bent down and picked up the pumpkin. He tapped it with a finger. He squeezed it. “It's hard, Devin. It feels like a pumpkin.”

“But, Dad —”

He squeezed it again. “Not making any sounds, is it?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I'm really sorry. But —”

“Devin, come here,” Dad said softly. He put a hand around the back of my neck and guided me gently around to the other side of the shed. “Devin, let's have a talk.”

“You mean our usual man-to-man talk where you tell me I'm acting like a jerk?”

“Yes,” he said. “That talk.”

“I'm totally sorry about the paint,” I said. “But the pumpkin really did feel weird. And —”

“Devin, I know you didn't want to do this farm thing. I know you're unhappy about it. But your bad attitude is going to spoil it for everyone else. I need you to pitch in and help out. The girls need you to look after them and guide them. Not scare them and ruin their projects.”

“I know, but —”

“Do you think you can just shape up? It's only for such a short time.”

“Sure, Dad,” I said. “No problem. I'm going to try a lot harder. I promise.” I raised my right hand like I was swearing an oath.

I was being sincere. I really did feel bad. I didn't want to be the one to mess up all the time.

If I see something weird, I'm going to ignore it.

I'm going to be a happy camper for the rest of the time here.

I followed Dad back around to the side of the shed. Mrs. Barnes had helped the girls set the table back up with fresh paint jars.

The three of us started to paint faces on the little pumpkins again. The twins were really good at it. They painted some crazy, goofy faces. I painted angry, scary faces, mostly black-and-white.

As we painted, the girls started singing their jack-o'-lantern song again:

I hate that song.

I begged them to stop. Guess what? That made them sing the thing even louder.

I was so happy when Mom came out and took the girls away. She was going to drive them into town to do some shopping.

I counted about twelve pumpkins to go. I put my serious face on and got into it. I wanted to see how many different expressions I could paint.

I've always liked Art class. Our Art teacher says I'm a little bit talented. I can draw really well. In fifth grade, I did a few watercolors that are now hanging in the hall at school.

I had my head down, concentrating on a really sad white face, when it suddenly grew dark around me.

A shadow fell over me. A heavy shadow.

I looked up — and saw a boy standing over me. A boy in jeans and a white T-shirt —
and a big, round pumpkin on his shoulders instead of a head!