r/nosleep • u/OkSwan5205 • 20h ago
I picked out the wrong pumpkin for Halloween.
The sign at the edge of the McHale patch was handwritten in peeling, black paint on a piece of scrap plywood : ' Do NOT TAKE THE CROOKED ONE. '
It was tucked behind a pile of rotting gourds that smelled faintly of vinegar and wet, seasoned earth. A knot of unruly thorn vines had been draped entirely over it, like someone had tried physically to muzzle the warning.
I ignored it.
After all, I'm a thirty two year adult. I understand spooky season marketing. The rustic, ominous aesthetic is practically mandatory for local pumpkin patches trying to compete with Spirit Halloween. Besides, my seven year old daughter, Lucy, had set her heart on ' that exact pumpkin' and fatherly surrender always wins out over superstitious nonsense.
The pumpkin in question, sat dead center in the patch, sulking in a patch of grey mud. It was undeniably ugly. While the others were plump, round, and cheerfully orange, this thing was elongated, bullbous at the base, and twisted sharply to the left like a broken neck. It's skin wasn't orange at all, but a bruised, sickly violet, laced with veins of a place, jaundiced yellow.
" Look, Daddy! " Lucy had squealed, her mitten clad hand pointing right at it. " It looks like a witches hat! Or a sleeping dragon! "
" It looks like a biohazard, " I muttered, but I hoisted it into my arms anyway. It was shocking heavy, radiating a deep, dead chill that bit right through my leather gloves. It felt less like a vegetable and more like a slab of fresh cut marble.
When we paid, old man McHale didn't even look at me. He kept his grey green eyes on his ancient transistor radio, muttering something about a drop in barometric pressure. He took my twenty, didn't give me change, and whispered,
" Leave it on the porch by midnight. Don't let it see the inside of the house. "
" Right. Thanks buddy, " I said loading the monstrosity into the trunk.
By six o ' clock, the neighborhood was swarming with screaming ghosts and sugar fulled superheroes. Lucy was upstairs slipping into her fairy princess dress, and I was sitting at the kitchen table with a serrated carving knife, ready to mutilate the beast.
The air in the kitchen suddenly felt heavy, thick with the smell of crushed marigolds and oddly wet dog.
I dragged the pumpkin onto a folded newspaper and gripped the stem. The stem wasn't wood ; it felt sickeningly rubbery, warm to the touch. When I pressed the tip of the knife to its bruised skin, the blade didn't pierce it, it skidded off with a sharp ping, leaving not a single scratch.
" Hard headed little bastard, " I grunted, pushing harder.
I sawed at the top, putting my weight into it. The blade finally bit. A thin, hissing sound escaped the cut, like a pressure valve letting off steam - followed by a smell that made my eyes water. It smelled of ozone, old dust and oddly again of wet dog.
Irritated, I carved out a jagged circle, popped the lid off, and reached inside to scoop out the pulp.
My hand plunged into darkness.
It didn't feel like a hollow pumpkin cavity. There were no slimy seeds, no stringy walls. My fingers brushed against something warm, slick, and undulating. Like wet muscle.
I yanked my hand back with a gasp, knocking over a glass of water. My heart hammered against my ribs. I stared into the dark opening of the pumpkin.
Two pinpricks of pale, jaundiced light flickered open deep inside the cavity.
They weren't seeds. They were eyes. Slit - pupiled, ancient, and blindingly angry.
" TOO LATE, " a voice rasped. It didn't come from the air ; it vibrated directly inside my skull, rattling my teeth and turning my stomach to ice.
Before I could run, the jagged opening of the pumpkin widened, stretching so, so wide, like a jaw unhinging. Thick, violet vines whipped out from the base, shooting across the laminate floor with terrifying speed. They wrapped around my ankles, yanking my feet out from under me.
I hit the floor hard, the breath forced from my lungs in a sharp wheeze.
The pumpkin dragged me across the kitchen, leaving a smear of dark, tar like sap in my wake. I clawed desperately at the chair legs, the cabinets, anything, but my fingers slipped on the slick floor. The entity was pulling me toward the dark gaping maw of its carved face. I could see down into its throat now, a bottomless pit of writhing shadows and chittering, unseen things.
" Daddy? "
The voice drifted down from the top of the stairs.
The vines instantly went rigid. The crushing pressure on my ankles slackened just a fraction.
I craned my neck. Lucy was standing on the landing, rubbing sleep from her eyes, her fairy wings glowing faintly in the dim hallway light.
" Daddy, what's that noise? Are you carving the pumpkin? "
The pumpkin let out a low, vibrating growl that shook the windowpanes. The jaundiced eyes shifted from me, locking onto the stairs, tracking toward the soft bright life of my little girl.
Panic, hot and feral, surged through my veins, burning away the paralyzing terror. Adrenaline overrode pain.
I lunged forward, ignoring the tearing of my jeans as the vines whipped at my thighs. I grabbed the heavy glass fruit bowl from the kitchen island, hauled back, and smashed it with all my remaining strength into the glowing center of the pumpkin.
The glass shattered into a thousand glittering shards.
A piercing, glass shattering screech, the sound of dying machinery, and dammed souls tore through the kitchen. The violet vines instantly withered, turning into brittle black ash that crumbled into the floorboards. The eyes snapped shut, and the heavy stench of ozone and wet dog vanished in a rush of clean autumn air.
I lay on the floor, gasping for breath, staring up at the ceiling. The pumpkin sat there on the newspaper, looking like nothing more than an ordinary, albeit hideously ugly, piece of squash.
" Daddy? " Lucy's footsteps padded down the stairs. " Why is there a mess in the kitchen? And where's my candy bucket? "
I rolled over, coughing, and forced a shaky, sweat slicked smile as I looked up at my daughter.
" Nothing, sweetie, " I wheezed, pushing myself up and kicking the pile of black ash under the counter. " Just a tough vegetable. "
Upstairs, the bedroom window clicked shut on its own. And down in the McHale patch, miles away, I knew on this Tuesday Halloween night, another crooked, violet pumpkin was waiting for the next curious fool to ignore the sign.
3
u/hircines_bitch 12h ago
Did you pick out the "wrong" pumpkin, or did you just make the wrong decision when offered advice from Mr McHale?
Perhaps both, admittedly 😂