No Pumpkin, No Cry: a story in 60 seconds

Gourds have feelings, too

“Now be careful,” his mother warned him as she placed the knife on the kitchen counter. “This is sharp, okay?”

The boy nodded eagerly as he reached out for the blade.

“But before we start carving,” she continued, her fingers still hovering over the plastic orange handle, “I want you to draw your design on the pumpkin with this marker. Then I’ll help you cut it.”

His mom kissed him on the forehead and left the kitchen.

The boy stared at the pumpkin and tried to visualize the face. He wanted his jack-o’-lantern to have triangle eyes, a wide, jagged smile, and a set of flames shooting out from its head. He picked up the Sharpie and popped off the top, but right as the inky felt tip met the pumpkin’s orange shell, he heard what sounded like a squeal.

“No, no stop. That tickles!”

The boy scrambled backward and nearly fell off his stool.

“Did…did…you just talk?” he stuttered.

“Does it look like I’m talking?” the pumpkin replied.

The boy scratched his head. “No…I mean, not really. You don’t have a mouth.”

“I may not have a mouth,” the pumpkin declared, “nor eyes nor ears, but I am well aware of my tragic fate; I will be sliced and diced, gorged and gutted, eviscerated and lobotomized…”

“That’s not true!” the boy cried out. “I would never hurt you. You seem like a friendly pumpkin…”

“So set me free, boy!” the pumpkin pleaded. “Set me free!”

The boy glanced around the room. His mom wasn’t listening.

“How?” he whispered.

“Just put me outside on the front steps, and by morning, I’ll be gone.”

The boy furrowed his brow as he considered the suggestion. With concerted effort, he managed to wiggle the giant gourd off the counter and into his arms, and a few minutes later, he had dragged it outside and onto the front stoop.

The pumpkin bade him farewell. “Thank you, my dear boy. Thank you. I don’t know how I will ever repay you.”

The boy waved goodbye and quietly closed the door. He tiptoed down the hallway toward the kitchen but hadn’t gone more than a few feet before he heard footsteps descending the staircase.

“Where’s your pumpkin?” his mom asked as she peeked into the kitchen. 

“I put it outside. I don’t want a jack-o’-lantern for Halloween anymore; I want scary cupcakes instead.”

His mom rolled her eyes. “Fine. We’ll go to the store tomorrow and pick up supplies. But what should I make tonight for dinner…Oh, I know!” she said suddenly. “Mommy will make a bubbling cauldron of her spooky pumpkin soup!”