3. Chapter 3
Catherine Van Tassel
Alow rhythmic thumping sound and a bizarre snorting yank me from my sleep.
Stomp. Crunch. Stomp.
Where am I? My mind feels foggy, wrapped in exhaustion.
I try to roll over but find I can't move, and when I blink, my vision is blurred by shadows.
“Over here! I’m right here,” a deep and booming voice shouts. It echoes through me and instantly has my eyes snapping open wide. Panic breaks through the brain fog and I try to yell, but a thick and velvety pressure is pressed tight against my lips, binding my jaw completely shut.
What the fuck?!
Panic surges and suddenly a flash of memory hits me.
The car crash, the strange pumpkin patch, the talking pumpkin and then the horse.
A huge terrifying horse that was on freaking fire, shooting red flames into the air.
I remember my terror at the sight of him now and how my knees buckled. I must've fainted.
My heart hammers against my ribs and I begin to thrash wildly, but the restriction only tightens around my chest, pinning my arms to my sides. I breathe in and the sharp scent of damp earth invades my senses, causing my brow to furrow.
I tilt my head back hard, forcing myself to focus on the moonlit meadow around me and realize my nightmare from before hasn't ended.
The big black stallion stands near a freshly dug grave and my brows furrow. True fear hits me when I realize it isn’t the horse that is causing the stomping.
A few feet away, a headless man dressed in a white shirt, brown trousers, and suspenders stumbles through the grass, its arms outstretched and fumbling.
Immediately my body spasms, my feet trying to shuffle away even as I’m tied to the ground while terror chokes my being and has me screaming through my binds.
“You’re going to trip, you idiot. Pay attention,” the a voice shouts.
My attention darts toward the sound, landing squarely at the base of an old, gnarled tree, and resting at the base of it is a big orange jack-o’-lantern and its carved mouth is moving. The vegetable is yelling at the headless corpse.
Worse yet, the infrequent bursts of light from the fire breathing horse light up the area and shed real light on what is actually holding me hostage.
Green leafy vines sprouting directly from the talking pumpkin are wrapped around me and are currently sealing my mouth shut to where I can't speak or shout for help.
I can barely move. I freeze, my muffled cries dying in my throat as I'm completely trapped by the monster’s weeds.
Panicking like never before, I shriek when the headless man suddenly takes a big, clumsy, lurching step forward right at me as his boot catches on a root.
He pitches forward with a heavy thud, and rolls, thankfully, a few feet away.
While his arms are thrashing blindly, his hands slap hard next to the patch of moss near where the pumpkin sits.
“Watch it!” the pumpkin yells, but the corpse doesn't listen.
It nearly sends the pumpkin flying, but eventually its fingers wrap around the base of the pumpkin and lift the heavy gourd into the air. With a sickening, loud crunch, the body rams the pumpkin onto its empty neck stump.
A bright flash of orangey red sparks around the collar, sealing the flesh and vine together.
The big jack-o’-lantern blinks his carved eyes as if adjusting to his new elevated height. He rolls his neck and lets out a long, satisfied sigh that sends tiny wisps of orange smoke curling at its jagged smile.
Then, the carved eyes, glowing orange as if lit from a candle, snap to me.
He freezes and I watch as he realizes I'm wide awake and staring at him in sheer and unadulterated horror. Instantly, the tight pressure on my lips vanishes as the green and leafy vines unravel from my mouth and snap backwards like startled snakes retracting into the man’s arms.
“Oh, I beg your pardons,” the jack-o’-lantern man says.
His voice is so much smoother with a soft lilt now that it's attached to a chest. He takes a step toward me, his hands raised in a peaceful gesture.
“I'm so deeply sorry about that. The vines and my power are so much greater than usual and I just couldn't stop the…” he trails off, noticing my fear.
Beside him, the big horse lets out a rumbling snort and takes a threatening step closer as smoke and sparks of fire blow from its nostrils.
The pumpkin man gazes down at me as my heart begins to hammer anew before a clever gleam glints in his orange carved eyes.
“Hey Brom, I think I see a spider just there,” the man says, pointing a gloved finger at the base of the tree. “I knew I spotted one. Look, right there he is.”
The terrifying horse lets out a high-pitched and pathetic squeal of fright and rears up on its hind legs. A long flame shoots from the horse's mouth as it bolts backward into the woods, its hooves pounding against the ground in a frantic retreat.
With the horse gone, the pumpkin man returns to me and offers a remarkably polite hand to help me up from the grass. “Now then. Let's get you out of my leaves, shall we?”
I don't dare breathe, let alone move, as the scent of damp earth invades my nostrils. The pumpkin headed man towers over me, blocking out the moonlight, and heat radiates in waves, from his large, brawny, man-built body toward where I wait until the big vines unfurl around me.
“Hold still,” his odd voice rumbles and I slam my eyelids shut.
His tone isn't threatening, but I press my back against the hard bark of the tree all the same. I watch as his vines slither out from beneath me and return to somewhere on his person and realization dawns as I figure out what he’s doing.
He’s not going to hurt me. He's untying me.
He kneels in the dirt, his movements surprisingly gentle as my focus centers on his leather-gloved, very big human hands.
In agonizingly slow movements, I watch transfixed as he coaxes the stubborn, heavy vines to unthread their heavy coils.
He has to pull one especially stubborn plant away from my ankle, treating my calf like it's made of the finest porcelain.
“I’d like to know how you managed to land right in the middle of my pumpkin patch, tonight, of all nights,” he says.
The orange light in his hollow stare flaring bright as he looks at me, glowing with amusement as the curves of his smile stretch even further. “The woods here are usually much better at keeping strangers like yourself out.”
As the final coil unloops and winds back under his shirt at his forearm, he doesn't pull away.
His touch lingers a little too long for my overstimulated senses, but somehow I don't mind the gesture.
His touch is warm as his very human hand rubs, caresses really, where the vine tugged a little too much.
Across the meadow, a low whinny echoes through the trees, accompanied by the faint and eerie glow of orange embers glowing in the distance.
His terrifying horse is waiting but the pumpkin man before me is shockingly tender, and he slowly draws his hand from me, as if worried I’ll get so frightened I might faint again.
“Here you are,” he says, handing me my glasses, which I put on, grateful I can finally see the hazy edges of the forest around us.
He stands, eclipsing the moon from view again as he turns and lets out a loud whistle.
A moment later the brush rustles loudly and the huge horse steps into the clearing, its hooves leaving faint smoking imprints on the ground.
Plumes of smoke and orange embers drift from its nostrils as I peer at the sleek muscles of its chest. Instinctively I shrink into myself, worried the big beast could send a fire blast my way like it did the pumpkin before, but the stallion stops a few short feet away before its master and lowers its head.
“Easy boy,” he says, the orange light in his eyes dimming slightly as he rubs at the animal’s nose. The big beast nuzzles at the pumpkin man’s palm, and the fire in its nostrils cools to a low and soothing glow.
He turns back to me and extends a hand to where I lie on the ground to help me up.
I stare at it.
“The cold is settling in and you're shivering. And trust me when I say you’re not going to want to be near here when the clock strikes midnight, sweetheart. We’ll have to make our way to my home, and from there we can discuss getting you back to yours.”
My brow furrows again as I look from his outstretched hand to the fire breathing animal at his side. “Your home?”
“Yes, a hunting lodge,” he replies, gesturing toward the untamed woods and open hillside. “It sits just across the hill there at the edge of Frank Stein's property. You'll be safe with me and Brom for the night.”
I stare at him, slack jawed at the talking pumpkin’s mention of the richest man in the world.
How is this happening? Why is this happening? Surely this is some sort of waking nightmare?
His jagged mouth is moving but I can't hear him.
My mind is spinning in so many circles I can't make sense of it as I try to process everything that's happened tonight.
“I… I don't know how it happened," I stammer, my voice breaking. “I was driving and then a black cat was in the road, and then the car crashed. The next thing I know I woke up and you’re talking except you were just a pumpkin.”
The carved corners of his mouth turn up at the ends, softening as I ramble, his expression transforming into one of concern.
Suddenly a cold spike of panic flares in my chest and pierces through my shock. My hands fly to my skirt pockets but find them empty. “Oh my god, my phone,” I gasp. “My phone, my bag, I mean everything is still in the car. I have to go back and find it. I have to get my things!”
I scramble up off the ground, my heart racing and pounding in my chest all over again as reality sets in and I realize I need to contact my family and let them know I'm okay.
My parents are probably worried sick by now and no doubt wondering where I am.
I need to call the police about the talking pumpkins. Oh my gosh, the insurance company.