Pumpkin Moon

By: Hannah Bertalot, Short Story Editor

Salem placed a newly carved pumpkin on the front porch of his house, joined alongside the other four his family had carved. Each had its own personality, reminiscent of the person who carved it. His mother’s was carved patiently, with delicate details. His younger brother’s had a monstrous face gouged into it with the sum of a five-year-old’s dexterity. His sister’s had similar quality, with the exception that she had taken the time to carve cat ears above the eyes. His father’s had a particularly rough look, as his choice of tool was a small saw from his workshop, rather than a kitchen knife.  

Salem’s seemed boring in comparison, as he had gone for a classic look, with sharp, triangle eyes and teeth. He looked them all over briefly, then smiled faintly at the collection of pumpkins. With his contribution to the family tradition complete, he stepped back inside the house to clean up and get on with his evening. 

The next morning, Salem stepped out of the house, keys jangling in his hands. Even in his rush to get out the door, he did notice the pumpkins were moved. Nothing too substantial; one was turned a little too far to the left, one leaned awkwardly against another in a manner that it hadn’t been last night. It didn’t immediately occur to him as strange— it could have easily been his siblings playing with them, he knew they wouldn't keep their hands off them. He didn’t devote too much thought to it, though, as he rushed across the lawn to get into his car- he needed to get to campus before he missed class. 

Amid the mornings that followed, his family noticed similar discrepancies in the pumpkin’s positions; though they were minor enough that it could have been dismissed as them settling against an uneven surface. The old wooden porch wasn’t exactly flat, nor was the bench, nor the table. The gusty October air could have been enough to shift them.

Two evenings before Halloween, however, Salem noticed a difference that was not so easily ascribed to chance- the stems had grown. He had to double-take, then knelt down in front of the bench to look closer. It wasn’t a trick of the eyes; they had grown thicker, longer. Small thorns had sprouted. 

After that, his siblings no longer played with the pumpkins. 

In the nights that followed, the plants grew thornier. Salem’s parents fussed over the matter and argued whether they should discard the pumpkins and do away with whatever befell them. Salem and his siblings protested throwing the pumpkins away over what could have been a fluke. Ultimately, the agreement was that they were to be thrown out the day after Halloween.

On Halloween night, Salem went out with friends. His parents were busy trick-or-treating with his little siblings, so he figured he could get away with staying out past curfew. It was long past midnight by the time he pulled up to the curb, so he wasn’t surprised when the house was dark. He figured everyone must have been tired after walking the neighborhood, since usually, his mother left the lights on and waited for him to be home before she went to bed.

As soon as he stepped onto the porch, however, a distinct chill ran down his spine. Something was wrong. 

Almost all the pumpkins were missing from their original spots on the porch. His was the only one that remained as it was this morning. A hollow creak sounded behind him, and Salem whipped around defensively, startled. He breathlessly gasped as, in the bright moonlight, he saw moving forms as they crawled toward him, wailing incoherently. He stumbled into the door as his keys uselessly fumbled against the deadbolt, then the porch’s motion sensor light flicked on. The shroud of darkness was ripped away, and revealed the overgrown forms of the pumpkins; vines that stretched and reached, twisted in a manner that could almost be humanoid. The four that were animated crept toward him slowly as they cried out to him. As the key finally fit into the keyhole, he threw the door open, then stumbled back into the dark house. By the time he had locked it again, they were almost at the threshold.

He recoiled as he felt the. . . whatever those were, because those weren’t pumpkins, threw themselves against the door. 

“Sss . . . Salem! Saaallleeeemm!” 

His heartbeat crescendoed in his chest with terror as they wailed his name. 

Why did they know his name?