It’s late.
I wish Inkling was here. I saved him some pumpkin pulp. When no one was looking, I managed to get a lot of it from the bucket Nadia used. I put it in a Ziploc bag and hid it under the sink in the bathroom.
He’s going to love it, though of course he prefers to eat the whole pumpkin.
But where is he?
He’s only gone out once or twice on his own.
I open the window by the fire escape so he can climb inside when he comes home.
Nadia has finally finished her pumpkins. One of them is carved to look like a skull. The orange skin is peeled off and only the white shows. Another has a silhouette of a black cat.
The third one looks like a sea urchin. She gave it a small, surprised face and then stuck candy corn into the skin from top to bottom. Spiny. The fourth is just carved like a giant eyeball, with veins threading across it.
We put them on the dining table. Mom lights candles and Dad leaps around taking pictures.
Somehow, I’m not mad at Nadia anymore, even though she’s still wearing my hoodie. The pumpkins she’s carved are just so, so good. I can’t be angry.
But then she turns to Dad and says, “Hank took my pulp and hid it in the bathroom.”
Just like that, I’m mad again. “So what?” I say. “You weren’t using it.”
“I told you you couldn’t have these pumpkins,” says Nadia.
“And then you took my pulp.”
“It’s just pulp!”
“I’d have given it to you if you’d asked,” Nadia says. “The point is you were being all secretive and it was only this morning I told you not to touch my pumpkins.”
“Stop being so bossy!” I cry. “Stop acting like you don’t go in my room!”
“Oh, little dude,” Dad coaxes.
“Leave me alone!” I yell.
I’m not just mad at Nadia. (Though I am mad at Nadia.)
I’m also upset about Chin being upset.
And I don’t know why Inkling’s disappeared.
And I hate all this lying I’ve been doing.
I’m just—
I don’t know what I am.
I don’t know.
I run to my room and slam the door.
Eyeball Has Large Bites Out of It
Bam!
Snarfle snarfle.
Bam!
Snarfle snarfle.
The sounds wake me in the middle of the night. My glow-in-the-dark alarm clock says three a.m.
I grab my flashlight and head into the dining area.
Two pumpkins, eyeball and sea urchin, are smashed on the floor. Candy corn from sea urchin is scattered across the carpet. Eyeball has large bites out of it, distinct teeth marks. Sea urchin seems to have been jumped on.
Skull pumpkin is still on the table, but it’s rocking back and forth. Back and forth, as if it has a bandapat inside it. And then—a big bite mark comes from within. And another. The soft, whitish flesh of the peeled pumpkin disappears in seconds.
Skull is gone.
Inkling ate it.
“Stop!” I cry. Too late.
“Oh, but it’s so, so yummy!” moans Inkling. “I missed dinner.”
“You have to stop!” I reach for where I think he is but only manage to grab the end of his tail—then it slips out of my grasp. “Those are my sister’s pumpkins!” I look around wildly but can’t tell where he’s gone. “She worked on them all afternoon. She’s been planning them for weeks!”
The eyeball on the floor wiggles, and another bite comes out of it. “You don’t understand,” says Inkling, talking with his mouth full. “They’re pumpkins. Yummier than any other kind of squash.”
Still holding my flashlight with one hand, I feel blindly around the eyeball. I manage to connect with fur. I grab the scruff of Inkling’s neck and pick him up like a kitten.
“Put me down.”
“I saved Nadia’s pulp for you!” I scold.
“Pulp is nice, Wolowitz, but it’s not the same as a whole pumpkin.”
“I told you I’d get you one on Friday!”
“I’ll eat that one, too. Don’t worry.”
I am so mad. “I told you not to eat people’s jack-o’-lanterns,” I say, giving him a shake.
“These weren’t on anyone’s stoop. They were on the dining table like the delicious dinner they are!”
And with that, Inkling kicks my arm with his hard back feet, twists his neck, nips my hand—and hurls himself out of my grasp.
Ow!
That hurt.
For serious.
Inkling’s jumped back to the table, I can tell. The black cat pumpkin is rocking. “Stop!” I cry again, feeling around for him.
Fwap! Fwap! Fwap! The pumpkin rolls down the length of the dining table. Inkling grunts and growls at it, like it’s alive.
They fall to the floor and the pumpkin bursts. Inkling’s claws tear it the rest of the way open, and a giant bite appears.
I drop my flashlight and it blinks out. The room goes dark. I leap toward Inkling and the cat pumpkin. My feet slide out from under me. Suddenly I am rolling across the floor, holding the pumpkin, holding fur.
The pumpkin crumples.
Inkling squeals.
His back feet kick my stomach. We’re all fur and pumpkin goo, kicking and wrestling in absolute darkness. I’ve got one of his ears and I’m pulling on it. He seems to have a mouthful of my hair.
We’re rolling and fighting. I’m trying to get the pumpkin from him, to see if there’s any way to save it, when—
Ow! I hit my head on a chair leg.
That really hurt. Ow, ow, ow.
I let go of Inkling. I drop the pumpkin, stop rolling, and lie there for a second.
I put my hand up to my head to see if I’m bleeding.
Hm. Not sure. My head is wet, but it could be pumpkin goo or even Inkling spit.
Yuck.
I hear claws skitter across the floor.
“Wait!” I yell at Inkling. “You can’t leave me to take the blame for this! Plus, I might be bleeding!”
He doesn’t return.
I collapse back and stare into the darkness. My parents’ voices float out from behind their bedroom door.
“I’ll go,” says Mom.
“Why is he up?” moans Dad.
“Who knows.”
“Find out why he’s up,” says Dad. “Did I tell you he has an imaginary friend?”
(You remember, right? That’s another lie I tell to cover up for Inkling.)
“The friend’s name is Wood Erk,” Dad continues. “I think I sat on him a couple weeks ago. But then I forgot to find out how he’s doing.”
“You’re half asleep,” says Mom. “You’re not making any sense.”
Her feet come into the dining area and she flips on the overhead light. I am lying in a pile of smashed cat pumpkin, next to a shattered sea urchin pumpkin. The skull is gone. The eyeball has several distinct bites out of it.
Bites!
Oh no.
If Mom sees the bite marks, she’ll know they aren’t mine.
Quickly, before she can see them, I throw myself on top of the eyeball, punching it with my fists.
Ow!
Okay, it’s a lot tougher than I thought.
I try again.
Ow, ow!
That’s not gonna work. I grab the pumpkin and heave it against the wall with all my strength. It hits with a thump and smashes to bits.
“Hank!” Mom runs over and grabs me by the shoulders. “Stop! Calm down! What are you doing?”
I don’t have an answer.
What am I going to say? I’m covering up evidence of the huge pumpkin gluttony of my invisible bandapat?
Can’t say that.
“All Nadia’s pumpkins!” Mom moans. “What were you thinking?”
“It wasn’t me!” I blurt. It’s true, so it’s what pops out of my mouth.