Only Pretending

A few feet behind, the school doors banged open and closed.

Nash Burtone jumped. He had thought he was the last kid to leave this blustery afternoon. He’d stayed behind to help the chemistry teacher. He cleaned her beakers and organised the stock cupboard like the true nerd he was. He couldn’t help it. The other kids treated the teachers with disdain. But Nash treated them like everyone else, with friendliness and enthusiasm. Man, no wonder he got bullied. He looked over his shoulder at the building’s entrance. ‘Woah.’

Wilona Wymane, the prettiest girl in the year above, stormed out of the building. She crossed her arms before her chest, scowling out at the world.

His heart thudded harder. He didn’t need to ask why Wilona was leaving at such a late hour. She was a bad girl. The kind his mother always warned him about. He knew a teacher must’ve kept her behind for detention. Yet, the reasons for detention could be myriad: backtalk, truantism, smoking. His mother would have something sharp to say about such a provocative girl. But Nash couldn’t help his infatuation. He turned back around to face the road. ‘Okay. Be cool,’ he said to himself. ‘Be cool.’

Behind him came the older girl’s footsteps, fast, confident, and full of attitude.

Nash’s chest tightened. She would now be staring at his back. What would she be thinking about him, this skinny, geeky kid? He squared his shoulders and straightened his back. He tried to adopt a man’s swagger but forgot how to walk. His movements became awkward and stilted. He attempted to remind himself how to manoeuvre his limbs in a way that didn’t look weird. ‘Oh jeez,’ he whimpered.

The darkening street, lit by carved jack-o’-lanterns on either side, curled away from the school. The candles within flickered and cast an orange glow across the pavement. The features of pumpkins’ faces cut irregular shadows into the light. Discarded leaves scattered the road—orange and brown—wet with the recent rainfall. The burnt, smoky aroma of October lingered in the air. There was no wind; the air was still.

He began to sweat, and his tongue darted to the corner of his mouth. He didn’t stand a chance in school, not against some of the school superstars. But now, it was the two of them. And there were no teachers to watch. He could ditch his good-boy persona, even if only for a few minutes. This moment was his chance. He had to impress her. But how? What could he use? It had to be spectacular. He flicked his eyes this way and that. ‘Ah.’

The nearest jack-o’-lantern was on a brick wall to his right. A wet, green lawn waited beyond. The pumpkin had a cheeky grin and squinted eyes as if it were laughing at him. As if there was some joke he didn’t get. Only the pumpkins were in on it.

Nash hesitated. The adults always told you to leave the pumpkins alone. But so what? The jack-o’-lanterns refreshed each morning. The mess would disappear come daylight. Nobody knew who did it. Some suspected the pumpkins were a feature of the universe—something that happened. So, what did it matter if he smashed a couple to impress a girl? There were no teachers, parents, or cops around to tell him what to do. Nobody would know, and he’d look cool. Win-win. He hooked his hand around the back of the pumpkin and swiped. ‘Oops!’

The jack-o’-lantern dropped to the ground and split, spraying its gooey guts everywhere. The candles immediately went out, sending tiny plumes of smoke into the air.

Nash’s heart beat an irregular tattoo. This minor vandalism was the first naughty thing he could remember doing on purpose. Man, he felt alive. He bustled ahead, sure that some adult voice would shout out of the mist to ask him what he thought he was doing. He looked back over his shoulder. He and Wilona locked eyes for a second.

She was grinning.

His mouth went dry, and a silly smirk spread across his cheeks. Red-hot warmth bloomed to the surface of his skin. Wilona had noticed him. He’d done it. He turned back around and hurried on, whispering under his breath. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’

The next jack-o’-lantern came up on his side. The wet grass stirred behind it, black in the darkness. The mischievous pumpkin had one eyebrow raised.

Nash trembled. He didn’t have to think twice about it. Nash had broken free and slipped into a new way of thinking. What a fool he’d been, being a good boy and doing what adults told him to do. Misbehaviour was the way to get what you wanted. He flicked his hand. ‘Whoops!’

Splat. Pumpkin brains pasted the ground.

A quick look confirmed that Wilona was watching and chuckling. ‘Oh boy.’

Another pumpkin. This one was a skull, unnerving in its anatomical detail.

‘Oops-a-daisy!’

Squish. The afternoon grew dimmer.

She was still laughing and shaking her head.

Another, with a simple carved face. As though done by a child with a poor understanding of what a jack-o’-lantern should look like.

‘Oh n—’

The pumpkin bit his hand. Except the pumpkin was now hovering above his head.

Nash yelped. His mind crashed, and he had no thoughts at all. He did not yet feel the pain in his arm. Nash stared at the shadowy, scaly thing in something akin to wonder. ‘Wha—?’

The jack-o’-lantern dangled at the end of a vine that sprouted between its eyes. It was green, and its body resembled the vegetation that called this soil home. It also had a large, upwards-facing mouth and a lot of needle-sharp teeth. It was a hulking bipedal thing with reptilian claws that dragged along the ground.

Nash froze; his mind flash-banged into paralysis. He understood it all. This thing had pulled the old anglerfish trick—it had used a lure to bait prey. Nash had provoked the beast. And too late in life—but younger than his peers—he understood the dangers of pretending to be something you’re not. He struggled in the thing’s clutches like a bug stuck to flypaper. Nash had time to scream.

But that scream cut off short in a bubbly squeal. The thing that had pretended to be a pumpkin pulled Nash in. Nash met his skin-ripping, bone-snapping, blood-splattering, flesh-mangling end. Like the pumpkins before him, his insides sprayed across the pavement.

A few feet behind echoed the sounds of footsteps running in the opposite direction.

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Sunday, December 10, 2023

Written for the December 2023 #BlogBattle: ‘Provoke’