A Pumpkins' Halloween Read online

  “Daddy, No!” Erin began to sob again. “I don't like that, stop.”

  “Are you telling us that this sicko is diddling his daughter?” asked April.

  “Would you let Henry tell his story and quit interrupting?” Murray chided her. “You always did that… always with the questions, always with adding your two cents.”

  “Well, excuse me!” April responded contentiously. “Please, go on, Henry.”

  But before Henry could go on, from up the road came a group of teenagers barely dressed in any sort of costumes for the holiday. Mostly, they were all wearing different types of sports jerseys while holding inexpensive plastic bags from a grocery store. They had approached the old man and the old woman who still sat nestled in their chairs at the end of the driveway. “Trick-or-treat!” they shouted at the elderly couple at a level that was clearly more than needed. The old woman having been suddenly startled, let out a small gasp while putting a hand on her chest, showing herself clearly shaken from the shouts of the boys.

  “Aren't you lads a little old to be trick-or-treating?” the old man asked having become snarky.

  “Ah, no!” sarcastically replied one of the boys.

  The old woman then reached into her bowl of candy pulling out one of the treats before offering it to the nearest boy at the end of an outstretched arm. She then said with a smile, “Here you are, young man,” and waited for him to open his bag.

  “Awe, not Mounds, I want one of the Snickers,” cried the boy with a tone of entitlement that suggested he’d felt the world needs to kiss his bottom.

  “You’ll get what you get, you little punk,” said the old man.

  “Hey, what's your problem?” asked another one of the boys as he nodded towards the old man. His voice seeming to seethe in his displeasure of the old man’s lack of respect as it became high-pitched before breaking.

  As he looked up from his seat, the old man could clearly see the teen’s heavy acne showing through all the face paint he wore in his school's colors. And upon gazing at the youth’s pimply face, he became embittered.

  “Go on, get the hell outta here, all of you,” snapped the old man as he feigned getting up to challenge them.

  “Whatever, dude,” snapped the teenager who had his face painted. He and his friends then lumbered over to the next house having made sure they trampled straight through the old couples flowerbed that separated theirs from their neighbor’s property.

  “What a bunch of jerks!” Ally cried.

  “Yeah, well, not much we can do about it, can we?” added Murray dismissing the situation. “It's over now, anyway. At least, they didn't get egged.”

  “Please go on with your story now, Henry,” April said, speaking up and having wanted to change the conversation away from the rude boys. “You were at the part where Erin's perverted father was... was… Well, not being a very good father.”

  “Yes, so after Erin's father had finished with her he told her, ‘Now don't you go being a ninny and telling anybody about what we’ve just done. That's a special secret shared only between daddies and their daughters. Nobody can ever know about it, okay?’”

  “Okay,” Erin said abjectly.

  “Remember, if you ever talk about the special game we play, Mr. Mckutchin will get you, and you don't want Mr. Mckutchin to get you, do you?”

  “No, daddy, I don't want mean old Mr. Mckutchin to get me.”

  “Well, he won't, as long as you keep our secret. Now, why don't you get your coat and your hat on, and we'll go down to Party Town to pick out your costume.”

  “Okay, Daddy,” Erin agreed.

  Mr. Mckutchin was known by all the kids in the neighborhood as being the creepy, mysterious man to which they were all afraid of for reasons unbeknownst to them. Nobody ever saw him coming or going from his great big house that was across the street and a just a touch down the road from Erin’s home. But sometimes, people, scary and furtive people, his ilk, would occasionally visit Mr. Mckutchin at night. They would pull their vehicles into the long, poorly lit driveway that led up to the eerie dwelling. Then, the cars would disappear into the house’s garage as if being swallowed whole.

  Erin never saw anybody living there, not even so much as a landscaper who would occasionally tend to the brush and bramble that choked the front yard. But she had noticed the ‘No Trespassing!’ sign nailed to an old oak tree at the very edge of the property. Its message clearly letting everyone know they weren’t welcome on Mr. Mckutchin’s land.

  Every once in a while, late at night, when Erin would look out her bedroom’s window to stare at the old, capacious house looming in the shadowy darkness, she couldn’t help but think of the place as a fortress. Or, maybe even a prison that held its victims consisting of kidnapped, scared-to-death and crying children, who’d been locked away deep within the belly of the house’s basement. The mere sight of the dwelling ominously perched across the street would frighten Erin so much that she would pull down the window shade, hoping to block the image of the house from her mind so she could go to sleep.

  The other kids in the neighborhood would also tell her stories about Mr. Mckutchin. They would say that he was a cannibal. That at night he would set out to kidnap children from other nearby towns. (Such towns, of course, nobody had ever heard of.) And then, after snatching up, he would lock them away in his dungeon where he would force feed them, making them fat and supple. His end goal eventually being the slaughter them, where he would consume their flesh, like a real-life witch from Hansel and Gretel.

  Other kids would like to tell tales that he was a Nazi war criminal still hiding out from being prosecuted for his horrible crimes. That he had mutilated and altered his face, hoping to hide his identity as to escape the law.

  The other kids in the neighborhood had told Erin that, even though it has been many decades since the end of the war, Mr. Mckutchin still can't let go of his enjoyment of all the evil things he did during combat. And, if you listen carefully at night, you can hear the cries of anguish and torment coming from the people he tortures in his house. His killing spree forever living on in the form of his psychotic delusions and sick fantasies that he takes out on unsuspecting victims that he convinced to show up at his house.

  *****

  When Erin and her father arrived at Party Town, Erin was feeling well again and in better spirits, and the sight of so many costumes to choose from had her feeling dizzy with excitement.

  “I'm gonna be a ballerina. No, I'm gonna be a fairy. No, I'm gon—”

  “Why doncha be something scary?” asked her father. “You're always supposed to dress as something scary on Halloween.”

  “No! I don't want to be something scary. I wanna... I wanna... I wanna be a princess.”

  “Okay, honey. Let’s see what they have in princess costumes for my little princess.”

  Erin settled on a bluish purple gown with matching gloves and a tiara. She thought she looked just like Cinderella if only Cinderella had dark brown hair instead of blonde.

  “I love it, I love it,” she cheered aloud. “Can I get it, daddy? Please!”

  “Of course you can sweetheart,” her father told her.

  Three days had passed since picking up the costume and Erin was now counting the remaining days down to Halloween on her calendar. “Just two more to go,” she told herself as she put an “X” through the 29th with a big red magic marker.

  But as Erin sat in her room, she had heard her father come home from work that day in a huff and then go right to the refrigerator to grab a beer.

  She knew not to bother her daddy whenever he came home from work and, at once, started drinking. She knew what his drinking would ultimately lead to, and, right on cue, a short while later Erin’s father came looking for her up in her room.

  “Honey, Erin, are you in here, honey?” he asked, leaning his head through the door.

  Erin didn't say anything at first as she hid under her bed hoping he would just go away.

  “Erin,” he ca
lled out again. “Where are you, sweetheart.”

  Knowing that he would eventually find her, Erin didn’t want to make her father angry for having had to go looking for her. So she decided that it would be best if she just came out from underneath the bed to see what it was her daddy wanted.

  “I'm here, daddy, I'm under here,” she called.

  Grabbing the edge of the coverlet and flipping it up atop the bed, Erin's father looked underneath the mattress and box spring to see his little girl entwined between some old shoe boxes and a couple of stuffed animals.

  “What are you doin' down there, honey?” he asked in a calm fatherly tone. “Come on out and see me. I've missed you. Daddy's had a long, tough day at work, and I could use a hug and a kiss from my little angel.”

  Erin came crawling out from underneath the bed, even though she didn’t want to, and her father then sat down atop of it, picking her up and placing her upon his knee.

  “You weren't hiding from me, were you?” he asked with a sad look on his face.

  “No, daddy,” Erin said.

  She lied.

  “Tell me about your day at school, sweetheart. Did everything go okay today?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Erin said with a sigh.

  “That doesn't sound like everything's alright. Tell daddy what happened.”

  Erin paused for a moment not sure if she wanted to tell her father about the boy at school who had put gum in her hair today, or how the teacher, Mrs. Fallon had to cut it out with a pair of scissors. She just wanted to tell her father that she wasn't feeling right and that she wanted to go to bed early tonight. In the end, though, she did end up informing her father about the boy and the gum.

  As she told her father all about the evil thing that Adam Schultz had done to her today in class, all because she wouldn't agree with him that Regular Show was better than Sponge Bob, Erin’s father began sliding his hand up between her legs.

  “Daddy, stop,” she said, breaking away from her story. “I told you I don't like that!” she whined.

  “It’s okay, Erin,” her daddy told her as he firmly but gently forced her legs back open. “Just keep telling daddy your story.”

  “No, I don't want to,” she began to cry. “I don't feel well. I want to go to bed.”

  “Daddy wants to play our special little game for a while, and then you can go to bed, okay, sweetheart?”

  Erin was visibly upset, but she knew there was nothing she could do about what was going to happen. When daddy was distressed, and been drinking, he was going to get his way. So, she just tucked herself away into a place deep inside her mind, a place where nobody could find her, where nobody could touch her, where nobody could hurt her.

  Erin's father finished the game and then went to leave her bedroom so he could get a fresh beer, but on his way out, he looked back at Erin saying, “Goodnight, sweetheart, sweet dreams,” to her before turning out the lights and heading downstairs. Erin then cried herself to sleep under the warm glow of her Winnie the Pooh night-light.

  The next day on her way home from school, Erin had asked the bus driver, Mrs. Boyle, if she would drop her off at the end of her street where her friend Madison got off the bus. She said, her father would be working late, and she was to spend the evening at Madison’s house until he came home. It was a lie, but Erin didn’t think it was all that big of one.

  The real reason Erin didn't want to go home was that she knew her daddy would be there and she didn’t want to see him. She knew she couldn't hide away forever, but a little time at the park that was just down the street wouldn’t hurt. She knew being a little late coming home wouldn't have her father worrying himself to death.

  Spinning in circles on the merry-go-round, a few trips up and down the slide, and a little quality time on the swings had done wonders for Erin's spirits.

  As she swung on the swing ever higher and higher, Erin dreamed that the swing would eventually reach the moon. A rubber mat seat and a couple of partially rusted up chains were all she needed to escape this world and to be able to travel to far off places where she could hide forever. Places with no monsters, not bad guys, no daddies that liked to drink and play games with their little girls that required them to not wear any clothes.

  Erin began pushing herself harder and harder on the swing with all her might, reaching ever higher into the atmosphere. With each upward stint, she had felt like she was about to lift off breaking the Earth’s gravitational pull on her. But, unfortunately, though, each and every swing would conclude with her coming crashing back down again.

  After all of Erin’s energy had been spent trying to get her rocket ship to fly, she sat forlornly on the swing and unhappily thought about how late it was becoming. She was sure that her daddy was looking for her by now and most likely angry. She began to cry at the thought of her father being cross with her. How he would punish her for not coming straight home after getting off the bus, for making him worry.

  She soon began to sob uncontrollably, and as she gasped for air, tears started streaming down her cheeks. She felt trapped, abject, utterly alone.

  “Erin,” a voice said. “Why are you crying, did you hurt yourself?”

  Erin looked up, and a man stood before her with his dog that was held on a thick leash. He was tall, like a giant, but had a kind face. Still, his freakishly abnormal size had taken her aback, frightened her till she almost screamed.

  “I don't know you,” Erin said as she wiped away her tears with the palms of her hands. “I'm not supposed to talk to strangers.”

  “Well, I know you,” the man said. “And that’s very good advice. You shouldn't talk to strangers; you never know what sort of bad people are out there.” The man then offered her his handkerchief so she could dry her tears. “Did your father teach you that?”

  “I have to go home now,” Erin said with nervousness in her voice as she got up off the swing. The man's dog began sniffing her coat and then her hands.

  “Very well then,” said the man. “Perhaps maybe I should walk you home. You seem a bit upset.

  “I already told you,” Erin whined, becoming even more agitated by the man’s sudden presence. “I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.”

  “I already told you, Erin, I'm not a stranger,” said the man giving her a subtle smile. “I live on your street, we're neighbors.”

  Erin looked up at the man quizzically. She knew he wasn't one of her neighbors like he said he was. She had never seen this man before, she would have definitely remembered him if she had. But, then it hit her. Mr. Mckutchin.

  Erin suddenly tensed up, she wanted to scream, but her voice abandoned her. She thought about running, but she knew she couldn't outrun the giant, and definitely not his dog. This is it, she thought to herself. What every kid in the neighborhood had lain awake at night afraid of. He's gonna lock me up in his basement and feed me bugs and rats until I'm fat enough for him to cook me up for dinner, and then he’ll feed what’s left of me to his dog.

  Erin's eyes quickly became once again embedded with the moisture of soon to be shed tears as she looked up at him in a frozen suspension of fear.

  The man just simply reached out one of his lengthy arms, offering her his hand.

  “Come along with me then Erin if you’re not too hurt to walk. It gets dark early this time of year, and you should probably be getting home.”

  Erin took Mr. Mckutchin’s hand and found that it was warm and gentle, just like she remembered her mother's used to be. They began walking together out of the park, his Great Dane, Morty, excitedly cavorting up beside her. The slobbering pooch was also an enormously huge thing, Erin thought. He reminded her of a horse, or possibly a donkey with his size and upturned ears. She watched as he ran around playfully and had even thought fleetingly that he was as big and dark enough to be easily confused with a bear. She had also noticed that he had a set of teeth on him that could strike fear into the hearts of the wickedest of bad guys. Erin wasn't afraid of him, though, not with the way h
e excitedly tried to play with her. She actually found herself comforted by his presence as they walked together like old friends.

  And as they further moved along up the street, the man, who Erin was now assured of as being Mr. Mckutchin, asked her again, “Did you hurt yourself back there on those swings?” to which Erin replied, “No.”

  A moment later she asked the tall, large man, “Are you Mr. Mckutchin?” in her small elfin-like voice. A question to which he replied, “People have called me that, yes.”

  “Did you have a bad day at school today, and maybe that’s why you were crying?” asked Mr. Mckutchin as he looked down upon her with thoughtful eyes.

  “No,” Erin said somberly.

  “Are you going to lock me up in your basement until I'm big and fat, and then eat me, and then feed my bones to your dog?” asked Erin in a tone which almost made her sound like she had already accepted her fate.

  “Heavens, No!” Mr. Mckutchin laughed out boisterously. “Is that what all the kids are saying about me? Well, I guess it’s better than being a Nazi on the run who likes to torture people in his basement. I never quite found out who started that one.”

  Erin cracked a smile at Mr. Mckutchin when he laughed, and it was at that moment she knew he wasn't going to hurt her. She knew the stories that her father and the other neighborhood children had told her about Mr. Mckutchin were never true.

  “Then, why don't you ever come outside your house?” she asked him quizzically.

  “I'm outside right now, aren't I?” he answered.

  Erin thought about his response and soon recognized the erroneous her question was. She then squeezed his hand a little tighter.

  “Then why do you have that no trespassing sign on your lawn and all those bushes keeping people from seeing into your yard?” she asked.

  “Ah-ah-ah,” Mr. Mckutchin then said. “It's my turn to ask you a question.” He then paused momentarily. “Were you crying because you miss your mom? I know how hard it sometimes is to lose someone you love.”