The Pumpkins

Horror writer, Joshua Bryant, delivers this beautiful tale of undying love... Happy Halloween! 🎃

Eggs for breakfast, cooked in butter. A steak for lunch. A steak for dinner. Exercise every day. I was more toned and athletic than ever, but she wouldn’t care. I didn’t really either.

It was Sunday, and like always, we were to meet just after sunset, in the grove. The trees were decorated with their leaves in yellow, orange, and red. A chilled breeze was arcing out of the northern sky to redden cheeks and noses. It was an evening I enjoyed, not only for the changing of the season, but also because she was more comfortable in the cold. Or, perhaps, that is only what I thought.

I drove down the road, humming along with the nearly silent radio. I was sipping tea from a thermos. I hadn’t put any sugar into it. I’d pretty much cut sugar out entirely.

The sunlight was fading quickly in the west, its scarlet burst of light creeping away before the encroaching violet of night. Glancing out the window, I saw plastic skeletons dancing in yards and grinning pumpkins with eyes aglow resting on porch steps. The season was heavy in the air and with its innocence came an inevitable melancholy. I wondered what she would want to do tonight. Last week, I had taken her to the park, but there were so many people there, she had become agitated. Neither of us wanted that to happen again.

I drove beyond the town limits and soon pulled off the road and parked beneath the sprawling arms of a willow. I shut the engine off and turned the radio up for one last song. I reached into my breast pocket and then remembered I had quit smoking. I finished my tea.

I waited until the sun had completely departed, then, I climbed out of my car and began walking into the grove. The trees here were always so vibrant in the spring and summer, but now in autumn, their lives seemed to be loosening their grip. Even with the fiery colored leaves, their trunks and branches looked gnarled and twisted to me, like the petrifying limbs of lonely old crones. I pulled my collar up to cover my neck. I didn’t want to be thinking these things or feeling this way. I wanted to be able to smile at her without it being forced. She always knew when I was anything less than candid.

At the grove’s center, the land dipped inward slightly, forming something like a pit. I moved very carefully down the slope. I didn’t want to slip and roll my ankle again.

At the bottom, I bent over and unearthed the folded wheelchair. I slapped the dirt from the seat and the leaves from the spokes before pulling it open. I set it aside. Looking down at the box, I couldn’t stop myself from heaving a sigh. Then, I kneeled down and gave three gentle knocks.

Within the box, I heard her utter the smallest of sounds. I smiled and whispered: “C’mon now, it’s time to wake up.”

In reply, she placed her hand on the other side of the lid. I heard the softness of her skin quietly rubbing against the wood. My heart began thudding. It always did.

I reached over and dusted the silver lock off before putting the key inside and turning. It clicked and she pushed on the lid weakly but impatiently. I laughed.

“I’m opening it, just give me a second!” I said, to which she laughed as well.

I undid the hasp and threw the lid wide, the hinges squeaking. The smell rose up and enveloped me, like the cough of a cobwebbed crypt. I put the lock in my pocket and looked down at her, all wrapped up in her black silks and red velvets. Her tiny body like a collection of bird bones beneath all that fabric. She looked up at me. Her luminous red eyes drawn deep in the sockets of her sunken face. She smiled and it was tender, even with her fangs gleaming in the dapples of moonlight. I had to say it: “I’m in love with you.”

“Still?” She asked, her voice softer than any breeze.

“For as long as you exist.” I replied and rolled my sleeve up.

I gave her my wrist and I saw the ferocious hunger flash briefly in her eyes. She opened her mouth like a steel trap and for a second, I was frightened she would not restrain herself this time. Yet, just before her teeth snapped shut, she flinched. She closed her mouth and looked away from me, shame dimming the greed that had so suddenly changed her demeanor.

“It’s okay,” I said.

She returned her gaze to me. She parted her lips, spread her teeth, and with exquisite kindness, she bit me. Her fangs reopened the two punctures that now never healed entirely. Then, she began to drink.

I felt a draining sensation, but I did not reel. I had become stronger in more ways than one. My vitality seemed to benefit her as well. Her skin gained color and her flesh plumped much quicker than usual. Her eyes rose from the sockets, the lashes fluttering like raven feathers.

Her long, black hair lost its brittleness and softened almost to the same degree as when she was alive. Of course, she did not regain herself entirely. To do so would leave me barely alive, even if with all the health measures I had undertaken.

She closed her eyes and wrinkled her brow. With tremendous exertion of will, she stopped drinking and withdrew her mouth from my wrist. Quickly, I applied a bandanna to the punctures and knotted it tightly. I smiled at her as she licked the remaining crimson from her now pink lips. She opened her eyes and smiled back.

I leaned down and took her frail body in my arms. She wrapped her arms around my neck and let her face fall against my chest. She sighed and whispered over and over again: “I missed you, I missed you, I missed you…”

I stood and began setting her in the wheelchair. But, suddenly, she tightened her grip and began protesting.

“No! I don’t want to be that far from you,” she said. “Couldn’t you just carry me around the trees instead? It’s a beautiful night here and… I never get to be held for very long anymore.”

I squeezed her tightly. I put my face against the top of her head. I smelled her hair. For a long time, all we did was be there, aching together.

Eventually, I walked up the slope with her in my arms. I carried her into the trees. After hours in silence, she said something that made me laugh at first, but my eyes brimmed with tears after.

“It’s almost Halloween. Can you bring me one of those plastic pumpkins? The real ones always wilt.”