“Couple miles,” Jim answered. “I want to get as close to the site as we can. You sure the police won’t bother us, Mitch?”
“My brother said they packed up and moved out. Dug a bunch of holes but found nothing.”
“You really think this Pumpkin Boy snatched Jody Wendt?”
Mitch replied, “Who knows? Most of the places he’s been seen are around this spot. You got a better idea?”
Again there was silence.
“I still say we should kill him,” Pete Henry said.
“Maybe he’ll kill you!” Jim said, and then there was another, longer, silence.
Eventually the car came to a stop, after going into and then leaving a pothole.
“I think we ought to leave it here,” Jim said, his voice clearer.
“Sounds good to me,” Mitch said.
Car doors opened and then closed. There were sounds of fumbling and then Scotty heard them leaving the car.
The shuffling footsteps suddenly stopped.
“Hey, Pete, did you bring the camera?”
Amidst more laughter, Pete said, “Shit,” and Scotty heard a car door open and then close again.
“Yeah, I’ve got it.”
“And you brought a flashlight?”
Again the word: “Shit!”
Mitch laughed. “Stay with me, bozo. If we find the Pumpkin Boy, we’ll let him eat you.”
“Eat this,” came Pete Henry’s reply, and again there was laughter.
The voices, laughter and shuffling steps receded.
In a few moments, Scotty was alone.
And, suddenly: he felt alone.
He realized he had not brought a flashlight, either.
And where was he going to go?
He had no idea where he was, or where to look.
He knew his only chance to find the Pumpkin Boy was to trail along after his brother and his two friends.
Otherwise, he might as well stay in the trunk of the car.
He reached out and pushed the glow bar.
Instantly, the trunk popped open.
Scotty climbed out.
It was not as dark as he feared. There was a fat rising moon that peeked through the trees with yellow-gray light, and Scotty’s eyes were already used to being in the dark from being in the car trunk. The car was parked on the side of a rutted dirt road, with thick woods to either side.
He could still hear Jim and his friends, though barely; there was a blurt of laughter and he went that way, to the left of the car, into the woods.
To his relief, there was a narrow path, half-covered in leaves and pine needles.
The laughter came again, a little closer, but still far away.
And then, suddenly, there was real silence.
It was as if a stifling cloak had been thrown over the forest—nothing moved, or breathed.
Scotty became very afraid, to the point where he had no further interest in the Pumpkin Boy. All he wanted to do was go back to the car and wait for his brother to come back.
He turned around, but now was unsure which way he had come. The path had branched off and there were two paths in front of him, which split at a fork. He walked tentatively up one, looking for scuffmarks of his own sneakers, but it was smooth and untouched.
He turned back to find the other path, and now couldn’t locate it.
The moon dipped into clouds, leaving darkness—then burst out with orange light like the light through Venetian blinds, cut into slats.
Scotty had no idea where he was.
He heard a single sound, a loud thump, and then stifling silence again.
As if the forest was waiting.
Then: a faraway snort of laughter.
He wanted to head in that direction—but there was no path.
Then he saw a flash of light, close-by.
“Jim?” he called out, loudly.
The light flashed again, just ahead and to the left of the path he was on.
He walked in that direction.
A third glint, and he broke through a rank of bushes and found himself in a clearing.
The moon glared down, higher now, filling the leaf-scattered bare spot he was in with orange-gray light.
He took a step and fell into a depression filled with leaves. He sank almost to his knees, then waded to the lip and pulled himself out.
Now he saw that he was surrounded by holes and depressions. It was like being on the cratered Moon. He remembered what his brother and Mitch had talked about in the car: a place where the police had been, full of holes.
Now he became very afraid.
There were muted sounds all around him now: rustlings, the break of a twig, scampering sounds.
He felt like he was going to wet himself, and closed his eyes, beginning to whimper.
A rasping voice said: “Scccotty?”
He thought he knew the voice, and opened his eyes with hope—
But it wasn’t Jim.
Scotty yelped.
The Pumpkin Boy stood right in front of him, his huge orange jack o’lantern head glinting in the sallow moonlight.
“Ohhh…”
Scotty wet himself.
The Pumpkin Boy cocked his head to one side; his smile, lit dimly from within, looked almost comical. When he spoke again a slight hiss of steam issued from his mouth and eyes and nose holes: “Sccccotty, it’s me. Jody Wennnndt.”
A portion of Scotty’s fear left him, but he was still trembling. The wet spot on the front of his jeans and down one leg began to feel cold.
With a series of little creaks, the Pumpkin Boy sat down on the leaves in front of Scotty. His thin metal limbs jutted out in all directions. “Sit down, Scccotty. Talk to mmme.”
Scotty felt himself almost collapse to sit in front of the mechanical man.
“Is…it really…you?” Scotty got out in a halting whisper.
“I…thinnnk so. I can see, and wwwwalk, and talk. It feels like I’m in a ddddream. And my hhhhead hurts all the ttttime.”
“I…” Scotty didn’t know what to say.
“And I nnnnever sleep, now. And my eyes are hhhhot.”
“You went to your house—?”
“Yes, I ccccan’t do that again. He won’t llllet me. He ccccontrols what I do.”
“Who—”
As if he had forgotten something, the Pumpkin Boy suddenly unfolded his limbs and stood up. The process seemed to take a long time. There was the faint odor of machine oil and heated air.
Scotty looked up; the Pumpkin Boy was now looming over him, his gloved hands opening and closing.
“I’m ssssorry, Sccccotty,” Jody whispered.
“For what?” Scotty said.
With the sounds of metal sliding on metal, and a faint metallic groan, the Pumpkin Boy reached down and gripped Scotty around his waist. Scotty felt himself hoisted slightly up and then pressed tight to the Pumpkin Boy’s cylindrical chest.
He heard a faint beating there.
The smell of oil was stronger.
The Pumpkin Boy walked with Scotty pressed tight against him with one enfolding arm.
Scotty, his own heart hammering, counted five long steps.
He let out a long weak cry.
Jody’s voice said, very softly, “I’m ssssorry, Sccccotty, but he says I’m not a ggggood Ted.”
7
Grant felt as yellow and dried out as he knew he looked. It was getting bad again—like it always did after Pumpkin Days began. He couldn’t get through the mornings without that first drink at breakfast, and, by lunch, if he didn’t already have a pint in him, his hands began to shake and he couldn’t concentrate.
But, with the booze in him, he was as good at his job as he ever was.
He still knew he was a great cop—even if he was a walking car wreck.
And today, with the first pint already smoothly settled in his gut and veins, he could even face the Pumpkin Festival itself.