By Maryam Patel
After waiting 12 painful months it’s finally my favourite time of year again – time for pumpkin picking. Burnt orange leaves fall to the ground and crunch under my steps. A cool breeze caresses my cheek as I turn to face the sight of hundreds of pumpkins.
Pumpkins stretch into the horizon, endless and bright. As I walk into the field my heart is warm, there’s nothing better than having this time alone to enjoy the autumnal scenery.
I kneel to pick my first pumpkin. The stalk is twisted and tangled forming somewhat of a monstrous look. I place it down in my cart and hear a cackle, a laugh of some sorts, but I choose to ignore it. My hands tremble around the cart handle. My breathing quickens. Goosebumps coat my skin. Still, I choose to ignore it.
Something in my body is tingling, a burning sensation almost, as if tiny creatures are jumping all over me, but again I choose to ignore it. I aim to enjoy one of my favourite times of the year. I skip down the path humming to myself, smiling at the thought of carving these into jack-o’-lanterns once I’m back home.
A pumpkin rolls past me. And another. And another. Pumpkins are going back and forth as if they’re playing a game of tag with each other. Weaving in and out I can almost hear the faint mischievous laughter, like children in a playground. I attempt to walk forward when suddenly a pumpkin rolls right at my feet. It stops me in my tracks. I try to step over it, another one appears. And another. And another.
The burning sensation has gotten stronger. Anxiety flames across my whole body. Why did I choose to be alone? Why is this happening?
I tell myself I’m hallucinating, I tell myself this is only part of my imagination. Surely it is, but that cackling is only getting louder.
There’s a figure in the distance, I can’t quite make out who or what it is, but I’m willing to take any help I can get. I drag my cart behind me. Each step is taken with caution. I’m patiently waiting for another pumpkin to block my path. Now I can hear a new type of eerie noise, like a voice faintly beckoning me, although I struggle to make out the exact words. I can’t help but run closer and closer towards the voice. It’s as if my body is being pulled forward, no hesitation, no resistance.
Voices are surrounding me, suffocating my mind, eating me up from the inside. My body isn’t my own anymore. My brain feels corrupted. I can’t think straight. What is happening to me?
My vision is a haze, the world spinning around me. But through that fog, one thing remains clear, the sharp, intense figure cuts through the blur. A scarecrow stands before me. Tall, lurking and thin it towers over me. Why is it moving? Am I losing my mind even more?
It’s moving, but is it? Am I finally at my breaking point? I can’t tell anymore.
I don’t dare to speak. The scarecrow leans over me creating a giant shadow encapsulating me whole. It’s tilting its head, observing me, studying me, probably thinking of ways to torture me. Prickly straw pokes out from every side of it, sharp and spiky – the kind that looks like it could impale me to my death.
The air is pressing in on me. The dry rustling of straw is filling the silence. I take the slightest step back and hear a branch snap under my foot. Hundreds of pumpkins come rolling towards me from every direction. Me and the scarecrow at the centre of this ritual. Round and round they go; their spherical bodies are circling me until it’s a blur of orange.
A scent of my own fear is in the air. My own screams fail to escape my lungs – as if my voice has been stolen from me. I want to run. I want to escape. But I can’t. I feel physically incapable. I’m stuck in this circle, being tormented by these inanimate objects which suddenly have some sort of insane conscience.
Clouds flood the sky, the bright autumn sun which would make the trees glow is gone. All I see is grey filled clouds with a faint light behind them which one would only assume is the sun, but with my mind racing at a million miles per hour I can only think of the worst.
And I was right.
I lift my head slowly up to the sky. Voices, screams and maniacal laughter still consumes me, but I try to look for some sort of hope. Yet, I find the complete opposite. Up above me I see the glowing light twist, warp and transform into a sinister sight. The face of a jack-o’-lantern is glaring right at me. Bright neon eyes in that semi-circled shape, a mouth large enough to cover my entire vision. The eyes have no pupils, they’re hollow and endless, yet are piercing down at me. Staring into my soul. Evil feels like it’s consuming me whole, eating me alive. Gnawing at my very existence. What have I done to deserve this?
There are no walls, yet I feel that they’re closing in on me. I’m being suffocated by the atmosphere. Sweat drips down my face. The gentle wind that once caressed me is now slapping me back and forth. My chest tightens. The voices are only growing louder, the words twisting into chaotic madness. Screams, laughter and whispers are filling my head. I still don’t know what is real.
My feet feel as if they’re lifting off the ground. I know I’m just hallucinating. No. I look down – I’m floating. My body is moving on its own. Again. Why can’t I control my own self? This can’t be real. I’m moving closer and closer to the malevolent presence in the sky.
All the cackling and shrieking is louder than ever before, a wicked laughter fills the air. The crackle of fire drowns out the voices. Heat scorches my face, the smell of burning straw is thick in my throat. Smoke is leaving patterns on my skin, ashes covering my scars. An artistic blaze with hues of amber and golden, almost like an oil painting. The scarecrow which was once taunting me had disappeared, succumbed to the fire and gone. I’m glad, it feels as if this nightmare could finally be over.
I forget I’m floating for a second, the fiery madness distracted me. I want to scream. To shout. To run. But my body won’t let me. I look up and realise the jack-o’-lantern thinks that it’s my turn.
It’s smiling right at me.
