“Sounds boring,”
Jonathan answered with a yawn. “Go on.”
“Well, it’s
nothing like this place. It feels younger, because it’s not really as
advanced. But it also feels much older,
in a way, because of its long history.
Oh, and because of the fact that there are dragons there.”
“Dragons!”
Jonathan’s eyes grew the size of boulders.
“What the smell? I want to go there! But wait. Pumpkin, are you high? Your story was called
‘Happy Halloween.’ You’re telling me
that they celebrate Halloween in a completely different world?”
“It’s not called
Halloween there. There, it’s called The
Night of Ghouls. But it’s nearly the
same as Halloween in this world. In the
place I come from, it’s our most sacred holiday.”
“Oooh, is it
story time?” Awana squawked. She dashed
to Jonathan’s side and knocked over his dad in the process, propelling him
across the room. Fortunately, a table
broke his fall. Unfortunately, the table
was laden with every comestible assortment imaginable. Beneath his weight and momentum the small
structure snapped, and olives, crackers, chocolate, pickles, caviar, pig ears,
sausages, and liver leapt high into the air.
One of the pig ears smacked Jonathan’s mother in the face and almost
knocked her out cold; furthermore, caviar splattered across her Battleship
board (she was winning, by the way) and rendered it useless.
“That’s it!” she cried. “I have been slaving over the food for this
evening since three in the morning, and not one person has lifted a finger to
help me!”
“Mom, why in the
world did you wake up at three to start cooking?” Jonathan inquired. “I mean, thanks for the food, but there are
only seven of us here. You cooked enough
for half the U.S army!”
She looked at
him, her eyes wild, and stabbed a threatening finger in his direction. “That’s
why you’re not president, mister.” She stormed away, and the last they heard
before she slammed the door was, “Take your pills! I’m getting some fresh air.”
Awana stared at
Jonathan and rubbed his arm in a way that was about 10% seductive and 90%
awkward. “So Johnny boy, what do you
think about cuddling on the couch while we listen to Pumpkin’s stories about
The Night of Ghouls? Maybe we can spoon!”
“Yeah, cool, be
there in a second,” the boy lied, turning his attention to the seated
squash. “Please, Pumpkin, won’t you tell
us about this holiday of yours?”
“I’m good right
here, guys,” said Jonathan’s dad, dipping some liver in caviar that had
streamed across his shirt. “I have the
best seat in the house.”
“I don’t really
feel like getting into the history of it,” Pumpkin muttered wearily. “Maybe later.
In fact, there’s not much to tell.
I’m sure you guys would get bored within a few minutes.”
“What are you talking about, Pumpkin?” cut in the
ethereal voice of Ghost as he reappeared next to Jonathan. “The Night of Ghouls is your favorite day of
the year! One time, you managed to tell stories about it for an entire
twenty-four hour period. Of course, I
did fall asleep around hour four. But
hour eighteen was definitely my favorite.”
Pumpkin
shrugged, which actually looked like a pathetic hop, as squashes do not have
shoulders. “I just think they would find
it boring.”
“Well, then tell
them about him,” Ghost encouraged.
“Him? No, I couldn’t.”
“Him? Who’s
‘him’?” Jonathan asked. “Batting for the
other team, Pumpkin? I knew it.”
Awana was
testing out different poses on an open couch to Jonathan’s right. She was attempting to look as appealing as
possible, but alas, it looked as though she were in the middle of a very
rigorous and painful session of squats.
“No, no,”
Pumpkin addressed Jonathan. “Ghost is
talking about my cousin.”
Jonathan pulled
Ms. Unicorn from his pocket and proffered her to his friend. “Would it be easier for you if you were
holding Ms. Unicorn?”
“Probably not.”
“Then I rescind
my gift.” The boy put the glorious creature back in his pocket. “She’s too good for you, anyway.”
“Well,” Pumpkin
commenced, “The Nights of Ghouls. Ghost
is right. It is my favorite holiday, and
I think it’s because of the memories.
When I was just a squashling, my family would spend more time preparing
for that holiday than they did for any other.
We decorated our hut, baked many kinds of sweets, and wore sometimes
hilarious—but usually terrifying—costumes.
And every year, my slightly older (but always less mature) cousin,
Gourdo, would come over. This isn’t to
say that The Night of Ghouls was the only time we saw each other. We were born around the same time, and
fostered a friendship even as seedlings.
Also, it turned out that my family lived very near to his. So we spent much of our youth together, going
on adventures, pulling childish pranks, and laughing the days away. As we got a bit older, and life got more
serious, we learned to talk to each other about all of our thoughts and
troubles.
“So, as you can
see, he and I were very close. Everything
there was to know about us, we knew about one another. We confided everything to each other, which
is actually quite surprising, if you knew him.
You know me as the kind of squash who always does what is right. That’s because I grew up and no longer cared
about pulling pranks and getting into trouble.
Well, he decided to continue doing down that route. Getting into constant trouble was his
lifeblood. He reveled in doing the very
opposite of what he knew was right. But
whenever I connected with him, he was the same wonderful cousin I had always
known. It was as if he were living two
separate lives: one around me, and another around the rabble-rousers in the
area. I tried to show him the error of
his ways, and he would pretend to learn from my advice. Then he would continue to cause problems for
people (and squashes) around our city.
“Even so, I loved him as I loved my own
soul. But one day, something strange
happened. And it happened to be on The
Night of Ghouls, ten years ago. You see,
when he arrived at our hut that particular evening, rather than wearing some
extravagant costume, the only thing he wore was a cape. He told everyone to call him ‘Super Pumpkin,’
which I found quite fun at first. I was
amazed at how he never seemed to stray from this heroic character he had
created. As we went from house to house
for treats, he kept a watchful eye on his surroundings. If anything remotely wrong or evil was
happening nearby, he would put an end to it. Some children, whom you would refer to as
“teens,” went around the neighborhood that night and snatched bags of treats
from younger children. When he saw this
particular incident happen nearby, he beat up an entire group of the little
thugs and started to hand out their treats to kids who had very little. He was so perfect in this new role that I was
surprised the next day, because he sank right back into his normal troublemaking
ways.
“A year later,
he came to our house with the same outfit.
He acted in the same manner that he had the year before, but this time,
he talked down to me. He acted as though
I weren’t even worthy of being around him.
But we still went from house to house for treats together, and yet
again, he put an end to any wickedness that happened around him. The oddest thing was that, when I saw him the
next day, he was still wearing that cape.
And when I saw him a few days later, that cape was still there! I can’t
even begin to tell you how hurtful it was when he continued to talk down to
me. He was once a rogue, and he used to
cause trouble in the neighborhood. But
then he transformed, and he wanted to destroy evil so badly that he became
self-righteous—and all he could see were others’ imperfections. He demanded that everyone call him ‘Super
Pumpkin’ permanently, so that became his name.
He would not even answer to Gourdo anymore.
“The last time I
spoke to him, I tried to explain that his self-righteousness was just as
evil—if not more so—than the flaws that he saw around him. I tried so hard to reason with him, and then
he struck me and dashed off. I don’t
know where he went. That was five years
ago. I wish that I had been able to show
him how wrong he was. He needs to see
that. But to be honest, more than
anything, I miss my cousin. I remember
the good times we had. I remember how we
talked about things that we couldn’t tell anyone else about. I want that relationship back. But—I don’t know. Do you think a broken relationship can ever
be fully restored?”
Jonathan looked
at him and sighed. “Dang it,
Pumpkin. I thought that all I had to
worry about today was whether I’d eat light or dark meat! Now this? Come on!”
“Pumpkin, that
story was so beautiful and sad, like a dead swan,” said Awana, approaching
him. She knelt down and placed a hand on
him. “I for one think that it’s never
too late to restore a relationship, no matter how broken it seems.”
Pumpkin sniffled
and turned to her. “For a girl who looks
remarkably like a cocker spaniel, you say wise things from time to time.”
The girl nodded
at him. “Well, I should. I did play a lot of Scrabble when I was
younger.”
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