Jack-O-Lantern

You stumble upon a broken forest, blanketed with dead crunchy leaves under a full moon. Crunch, crunch, crunch they go as you stomp through the darkness. Wind whistles through the naked branches like a tea kettle. Your teeth rattle like old bones.

You think you see a light cutting through the dark distance, and warily you drag your heavy legs on. Scraping your ankles, rubbing your wrists and arms. You pull the ends of your jacket tighter around your body and hold it there, the broken zipper biting at your palm.

You should've brought a lamp. You should’ve known this wood was too thick to traverse. Every uneven step over a thick stick or downed tree threatens the vitality of your ankles, yet you just couldn't let anyone talk you into cowardice. The stick house in the woods was probably something a third-grader thought up to get everyone worked up.

You're no third-grader. In fact, you've faced scarier things. At your age, sticks are just sticks, and there are no hidden shadows in the dark. The stick house is just a story. The hooting is just an owl. And the crunching is just the dead leaves and dry sticks under your feet. The… extra crunch, just…

In a held breath, you turn yourself around to find… nothing. Momma didn't raise no fool. Not a complete one, anyway. You know how it is in the movies.

You don't turn back to your patch immediately. That's how they always get caught. You scan the forest floor, the sky, between the trees. A bulbous shape rests nestled between them, but it could be anything. Trick of the light. Or maybe a third-grader came to scare you.

You press forward, never letting the dark figure out of your mind. You're tense. No longer able to relax. The distant light becomes a bit brighter. The wood becomes a bit quieter, except for the echo of footsteps.

You begin to sweat. The hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention, and your breathing becomes shallow. You walk faster. Crunch, crunch… crunch. Faster. Crunch, crunch… Crunch. Are the crunching sounds becoming louder?

Before you know it, you're sprinting toward the light. Crunch crunch crunch crunch. You were right, someone is following you. Chasing you! Once again, you know better than this, but something in you can’t help but want to know.

You chance a glance behind you, almost tripping in the process. You’re sure it’s that same dark shape as before. Only closer! You scream, a futile cry, for these woods are empty of all but you and the shadow.

Brighter and brighter the light becomes. You didn't know you were this agile, ducking branches and hopping timber. Finally, you reach the light, which lies inside an impossibly large mound of sticks.

Out of breath, you stare at it, bewildered. Where do you go from here? You don't have time to think. The thing touches you, and your soul leaves your body. It flinches backwards, and you fall on your behind, scooting backward toward the mess of sticks.

Your mind is in a horrible disarray. Your assailant throws its hands out in defense. Like it doesn’t want you to do… something. It steps closer and closer to the light. Orange? Yes, its outstretched arms are orange and ridged. So is its face.

It steps closer again, and you can’t stop the scream that rips through you. It flinches again, but this time crouches with its hands out, showing its fleshy palms. Its face is carved with the most horrible rictus. Its eyes, dark triangles.

You back away, and it waves its hands fervently. It doesn't want you to back into its stick house. You look back at it— from this close, you can see it actually does have the structure of a home. Not a whole lot of insulation from this October chill, though.

You turn back to the orange thing. Sure is cold to be out here at night, and so skinny with no jacket. That’s right: it is a rather small thing. And it’s shivering.

It looks at you— no, at your jacket. You remove it and offer it to the thing. Without wasting a single second, it snatches it from your hands and throws it on. Then, it actually looks you in the eye. It invites you into its stick house, where you stay the night. Boy, will you have a story to tell.