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THE JACK-O-LANTERN By Eric Christ |
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Billy finished carving the jack-o-lantern and was about to insert the candle when he found himself gazing into the blank sockets, rimmed with strands of stringy pumpkin pulp. He thought he saw a movement, or maybe a glint from inside it. He stared a while longer but saw nothing. Must be nerves. He shrugged, picked it up, and carried it into the living room. He placed it carefully on the window ledge, its visage facing the window, lifted the lid by its stem, and deposited the candle in a small hollow at the bottom of the pumpkin. He glanced outside as he struck a match. Streetlights began flicking on in the deepening gloom. Trick-or-treaters should start ringing the doorbell anytime. His little sister was already out with friends. She had begged Billy to come with her, but at fifteen he was too old for childish games. Besides, he’d had to take care of some things earlier, and it was best that she wasn’t here to see it. He lit the candle and replaced the lid. “There. That’s enough out of you.” He shook his head as he walked back to the family room. He stopped. The jack-o-lantern sat on top of the TV in the corner, its narrow triangular eyes glowing a bright yellow. “That’s not right.” He went back to the living room. The pumpkin was on the window ledge. He went back into the family room. The jack-o-lantern was on the TV, its mouth set in a grim straight line and broken into tiny pointed teeth. He glanced behind him, but couldn’t see the window from where he stood. He walked to the entryway that separated the two rooms and stopped when he saw the pumpkin sitting on the window ledge. He looked back into the family room. He could see the arcadia door and part of the bookshelf that was next to the TV, but not the TV itself. Billy rubbed a hand over his face. This was crazy. He must be seeing things. He noticed a fleck of dried blood under his thumbnail and frowned. He thought he’d gotten it all. He’d deal with that after taking care of this stupid jack-o-lantern. He walked to the window, picked up the pumpkin, and carried it into the kitchen table, where he could see the TV and the front window. He set it there and looked at the TV. No jack-o-lantern He looked at the window. Not there either. “Because it’s here in the kitchen, idiot,” he muttered. “Right in front of me.” The doorbell rang. Billy sighed. “Stay,” he said, pointing to the jack-o-lantern. He walked to the door and opened it. It was the jack-o-lantern. He gasped and stumbled back, got his feet tangled and fell on his butt. “Trick or treat!” the jack-o-lantern said, holding up an orange sack. He tried to catch his breath. Not the jack-o-lantern, just a stupid kid in a jack-o-lantern costume. With his mother standing behind him and looking at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Go away,” he rasped. “No candy for jack-o-lanterns.” “But you have your light on,” the jack-o-lantern whined. “Come on, dear, we don’t want anything from him,” his mother said. “You stink! And your jack-o-lantern is ugly.” Mommy steered the brat down the walkway and Billy pushed the door shut with his foot. He clambered to his feet —and screamed. The jack-o-lantern perched atop the hall table, facing the door, its eyes dancing with flame. “Get out of my face!” Billy roared. He knocked the pumpkin to the floor and pounded at it with his shoes, grunting in vicious glee with each stomp until it was an orange, slimy mess mashed into the carpet. “That takes care of you.” He stalked into the bedroom, past his father’s body on the bed, and washed the crusted blood out of his thumbnail in the bathroom sink. He dried his hands and left the bathroom. The jack-o-lantern rested on his father’s blood-streaked white belly, the grim line of its mouth turned up in a triumphant grin and blazing with a reddish-yellow light. “Is that what this is about?” Billy shouted, unaware of the tears spilling down his cheeks. “My old man? I did what I had to. I saw what he did to Patty last night. He didn’t know I was there, but I was. It was sick and wrong, and he deserved what he got!” He paused to sniff. “This never would have happened if Mom hadn’t died. She wouldn’t have allowed it. Never.” Images from the previous night flashed through his mind, of his father on top of his sister, grunting and thrusting, and poor Patty pinned underneath, helpless. His watery eyes narrowed. Had she been helpless? He didn’t remember hearing her scream for help or plead for the old man to stop. This morning, as she and Billy had gotten ready for school, she acted no different than any other morning, as if nothing had happened the night before. At the time, he figured she was in shock or denial, but now he wondered. He glanced at the jack-o-lantern Was that a knowing glint in its fiery eyes? Was Patty not a victim, but a willing participant? Had she wanted it? “She’s only ten,” he whispered. But he knew the truth, felt it deep inside him. Dad hugged her more often and bought her more gifts. She never turned him away or threw out his presents. Billy felt hollow and sick. That’s what the jack-o-lantern was trying to show him. He should have seen it himself, long before last night. The job wasn’t done yet. Billy gathered the pumpkin in his arms, left the bedroom, picked up the blood-stained and pumpkin-smeared carving knife from the kitchen table, and settled into the love seat in the front room, laying the knife on the cushion beside him and cradling the jack-o-lantern in his lap. He wouldn’t have to wait long. She’d be back soon. * * * |
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Author Biography: 
Eric Christ is a lifelong Phoenix-area resident and graduated from Ottawa University in 2000 with a Bachelor of Arts in English Composition. He currently works as a business analyst and technical writer, and in his spare time writes short stories, reads countless books, and sings along with his karaoke machine. His web site is www.ericchrist.com |
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"The Jack-O-Lantern" - © Copyright Eric Christ 2005 |