The Last Jack O Lanterns

George looked down at the smashed gourds and wondered who could have possibly done such a thing.

His father had grown pumpkins in this field for generations, and nothing like this had ever happened. The Fontnoirs had five hundred acres, half of which were just for pumpkins. The East field had been set aside for pumpkin growth, and the jack-o-lanterns on the fence posts around the field had been smashed to bits. Laying in the road, they appeared to have been left as a warning. It wasn't many, maybe fifteen gourds in all, but Daddy looked worried.

George tried to mimic the look, and his father must have found it funny on a ten-year-old because he laughed, dispelling some of the worries that had hung around him like a cloud.

"What happened, Daddy?" George asked, smiling a little as the tension wafted away.

"Well, kiddo, I think maybe some hellions came and wrecked up our jack-o-lanterns."

"What are Hellions?" George asked, getting a little afraid as he thought of monsters or devils coming out after dark.

"Oh, just kids out for a good time. Normally I wouldn't be too mad about a little Halloween goofing, but they may not be done, and next time it might be the pumpkins in the field. I can't just stand by and let that pass. Come on, Georgie. We're gonna have to call the sheriff."

They tromped back to the house, putting their work on hold as they went to call Sheriff Langford. Juan passed them as they left the field, and Daddy told him to get some of the boys together and clean up those pumpkins. Juan said he would and called to the others in that rich Spanish that George was just starting to pick up. Juan and Micho were teaching him the basics, but when they spoke together, George was lost amidst the tumble of words that came spilling out.

Daddy said they spoke like a river, fast and dangerous.

George thought they spoke like the people he saw in church sometimes, the ones touched by the holy spirit.

"Daddy," George asked as he came into the house, "why would someone do that to our pumpkins?"

"Well, son," His father said, his fingers turning the dial on the phone that he refused to replace, "sometimes, people are jealous of what a man has. Sometimes, instead of coveting, they decide it might be better to destroy. Sometimes it's because he can't make it himself, sometimes, it's just greed, but they can't really help themselves. In the end, it all amounts to the same thing. A man either has to be broken of it, or he has to die."

George heard someone pick up on the other end, and Daddy told the dispatcher he needed the sheriff out to the farm right away. George watched as his father laid out the situation for the Sheriff. He needed someone to investigate this little issue. He couldn't have this sort of thing happening to his crops. If it was hooligans, then he didn't want to press charges. Boys would be boys, but he wanted this to stop.

When Daddy hung up, he seemed in a much better temperament, and George was glad to see him smile again.

"Looks like everything's gonna be okay, kiddo."

George smiled, following his dad out into the field.

If his Daddy said everything would be okay, George saw no reason to doubt him.

* * * * *

The next day, though, it was even worse.

Juan came to get Daddy while they ate their breakfast, his face unhappy to have to give such news so early in the morning.

"Mr. Fontnoir, there's been a problem with the pumpkins again."

Daddy had been putting salt on his grits, a fried egg buried somewhere amongst the grain mush, and he looked up unhappily as he told Juan to show him. George left his shredded wheat on the table and went to see what all the fuss was about, shivering as he walked out into the chilly morning air. The sun was just peeking over the farm, and his arms prickled with goosebumps as the air lay heavy on them. The three walked out amongst the field, the corn parting for them as they headed out to see about the pumpkins.

There were broken pumpkins along the fence line, and it appeared they had come into the field this time. Thirty or forty broken gourds were lying in the field, their skin glistening in the early morning sun. George and his father picked through them, seeing what could be salvaged, but most of it was a wash. They found four that weren't too badly damaged, and George asked if he could use them for jack-o-lanterns. Daddy said he didn't see any reason why not. Despite being mostly whole, they were still damaged, and he'd never be able to sell them.

After his chores, George sat on the porch and carved his pumpkins as his father called the sheriff and had him come out to see what had happened.

The Sheriff's visit had been different the day before. Daddy had been more amused than angry, but today he seemed really mad about his pumpkins. He and the Sheriff had joked about the pumpkins they had smashed and the tricks they had gotten up to the day. Daddy had told him again that he didn't want to press charges, but he definitely wanted this to end. Today, George could hear him shouting at the sheriff that this was getting out of hand and it needed to stop.

"We'll put a cruiser across the road tonight and see what we can see. If they come back tonight, we can catch them in the act and drag them in. Might mean you have to lose a few more pumpkins, but it'll prolly mean the end of it."

"If I keep losing pumpkins, Frank, I'm going to take this into my own hands. I don't wanna shoot someone's kid, but I will if this keeps up."

"Don't do anything hasty, Mark. Let the law handle this."

"Like you did yesterday?" Daddy said, and the Sheriff didn't seem to have an answer for that.

George tried to show his father the pumpkins when he came stomping up the porch, but he didn't seem to notice. As the sun went down, George lit the candles in three of his pumpkins but saved the fourth as he wanted to do something special with it. There was a little ledge on the window of his room, and he toted the small pumpkins upstairs and pushed the door to his room open with a foot. The pumpkin overlooked the farm from its high perch, and as George lit the candle with a long kitchen match, it filled the alcove with a sick yellow light.

He heard Daddy call from downstairs to tell him that dinner was ready, and he blew the candle out as he closed the window.

He’d light it up again after dark so he could turn it and watch its weird grin flicker.

From up here, he could see the fields of pumpkins, including the bare fields that Juan and his hands had cleared out. George wondered how many more would be broken tomorrow, and he hoped it would be none. Daddy had been really mad about all the smashed pumpkins. George remembered a time not too long ago when his father had been so mad that he locked himself in his room for a week.

That had been after Momma had gone to be with Jesus and taken his little sister with her, and George didn't ever want to see Daddy like that again.

After dinner, George went to his room to play a little, but his Daddy went out to the field with his rifle, saying he was going to sit out and keep a watch from the porch.

George sat awake for a while that night, but as the crickets chirped and the frogs croaked outside, George felt his eyes getting heavier and heavier.

The last thing he saw as he drifted off was the pumpkins winking face as it flickered on the ledge.

It had gone out when he woke up, but his fathers anger had only intensified.

He could hear him yelling from the front lawn, and George snuck downstairs, peeking out the front door to see what all the ruckus was about. Daddy was shouting at the Sheriff, who was already standing in the dooryard with his hands in his pockets. He looked peaceful, but George could tell that he didn’t really appreciate getting yelled at so early in the morning.

"You say you had your best man on it, but still, I have smashed pumpkins all over my field."

"I know you're upset, Mark, but you might want to remember who you're talking to. I'm an officer of the law, and I won't sit here and listen to you disrespect me."

"Then why didn't this man of yours do his job? I have half a field of pumpkins that are nothing but fertilizer now. If this fellow was at his post like he was supposed to be, he could have stopped this from happening."

"I don't know. He should still be out there since he never checked back in this morning."

The two of them had gone to the Sheriff's cruiser, hitting the mic and trying to raise the officer who had come to watch the farm. When the Sheriff couldn't get an answer, he and George's father headed into the field, George trailing behind them. He was curious, wanting to see what the two men were talking about. If the officer had fallen asleep, George figured he would get yelled at, which could be funny to watch.

As they crossed the field, now empty of a few more pumpkins, George hung back in the corn. He didn't want to make it obvious that he was following them, but he still wanted to see what would happen. As George peeked through the stalks, he could see the squad car sitting down a small access road across from his father's farm. His dad and the Sheriff approached the car, and they must have seen something they didn't like. The sheriff ran up to the car, and when he opened the door, something came tumbling out and splattered against the ground. His Daddy ran over too, and as they lifted the thing up, George could see it was a man in a policeman's uniform.

Even with the corn stalks obscuring his vision, it was impossible to miss that the man's head was smashed in.

George snuck back to his room as the Sheriff used the radio in the car to call for help.

George sensed that things were about to become very bad.

* * * * *

That was the first night George saw the Hellions.

He was sitting at his window, watching Daddy as he paced around the yard and kept watch. It was late, the moon hanging high overhead, but George just couldn't get to sleep. He had sat on the front porch most of the day, his deer rifle across his lap. Things had changed after the sheriff found the body, and now the farm felt more like a prison. Juan and the hands went about the usual chores, rotating the crops that needed to be taken in and clearing away the mess from the night before. The Hooligans had flattened another thirty pumpkins, and now there wasn't a pumpkin anywhere near the road. The area around the fence was cleared away and appeared to be getting closer to the house with each passing night. Daddy had sat up that whole night, watching the field with his rifle as two squad cars circled the farm every half hour, and when the sun came up, the pumpkins had still been smashed.

The cops could talk about the thick fog that had rolled in early in the morning, but it hadn't stopped Daddy from being completely furious with everyone. George had woken up to the sound of his Dad telling the Sheriff that he didn't need the police. He told them not to bother coming back that night, that he and his men would handle this, and that he didn't need such ineffective help. The sheriff had been calm throughout the whole endeavor and finally told his Daddy not to do anything foolish.

"If you shoot some kid for smashing up some pumpkins, I can't arrest you, but the town might have other ideas. I'd hate to see a lynch mob raised because of a little helling."

As the cruiser rolled off, Daddy yelled for Juan to get to work before heading off to bed.

He hadn't told Geroge to keep watch, but he hadn't had to.

This was their farm, his birthright one day, and it was as much his to protect as it was his dad's.

When his father came out around sunset to find his son dozing on the front porch, rifle across his lap, he had ruffled his hair and told him to get some rest; he would take it from here.

As George went inside, he knew he should have been exhausted, but as he watched his father pace around, he found that he couldn't be less tired.

As he sat and watched, he saw something roll in slowly. A thick fog came creeping over the crops. It wasn't a normal fog, not the wispy stuff they got this time of year. It was thick and deep, a winter fog, and as it crawled across the fields, George saw shapes stumbling through it. As it came close to the house, George could see it part as if it refused to come closer than the porch. Daddy stood amongst it, barely visible, but George wasn't looking at him.

He was watching the figures who came creeping towards the house.

They were man-shaped, but their heads were lumpy and deformed. They moved seamlessly through the fog, cutting through it like a shark through water. They approached the porch, clearly looking for George's father, and as he took notice of them, he cut loose with his shotgun. George jumped as the blasts parted the fog, but if the bullets bothered them, they didn't show it. His Daddy backed up, firing again before reaching for more shells, and as they came closer, George could see why their heads looked so strange.

They were topped with pumpkins.

Each of their heads was a snearing jack-o-lantern. Their eyes seemed to blaze with hateful fires, and George thought he could hear them chuckling to themselves as they approached. They carried farm implements in their hands, scythes and hatchets and hoes, and the longer he watched them, the more of them George saw. At first, it had seemed like only three, but as they continued to spill out of the fog, George counted as many as a dozen. They came closer and closer, and Daddy blasted them from the porch as they backed him towards the door.

His bullets may have had little effect on them, but George noticed them stop when they saw the Jack-o-lanterns he'd put on the porch rails.

The group paused, halted by their smiling, glowing counterparts, and as they turned to leave, George could only shake his head and wonder why.

When the door banged open, he flung himself into bed when he heard Daddy come thundering up the stairs, worried that he might get in trouble.

As the adrenaline left him, he felt his eyes getting heavy as he focused on the flicker protector outside his window, the candle burning low as he went to bed.

* * * * *

George and his Father were coming off the porch when they saw Juan and the hands taking more pumpkins in barrows from the east field. Even from here, George could tell that they looked too hurried in their work, and his Daddy sped up as he came towards the men. Some of them put their heads down and hurried along, but Juan stood his ground and waited to receive the reprimand he knew was coming.

"Mr. Fontnoir, we were just cleaning up some more pumpkins before,"

"Before I noticed?" his father asked, barely able to keep the anger out of his voice.

Juan nodded, not looking away, "Yes, sir."

"How many?" George's father had asked, winter ice in his voice.

"There are only about seventy pumpkins left. The ones we found this morning look like they were frozen in the fields before they broke them. I don't understand how they did it, but they have been ruined, nonetheless."

Daddy nodded, but his glower never changed, "I want you and your boys to come by tonight. We'll take all the pumpkins left and put them in the barn. Tonight, we're going to catch whoever's been doing this. Tell your friends to bring whatever they have for protection, and get ready to stay up tonight. I'll pay all of you double, but I need every hand available."

Juan thought about it, finally nodding as he told Daddy that he could count on him.

George followed him back inside, watching as he called the sheriff next and told him about the night before.

"I don't think this is just helions out for some Halloween pranks. Something weird is going on, and if you want to help, be here tonight around sunset. I'm going to set a trap for them, and if we have enough hands, maybe we can settle this without violence."

He nodded and "mmhmmed" into the phone, and when he hung up, George smiled and said he could count on him too.

But his father shook his head, "No, I want you inside while all this is going on. If anything happens, I want you to call the police and let them know to send more help. I know it's likely to be scary here all by yourself, but I want you to be brave, okay?"

"Sure thing, Daddy. I'll be here if you need me.

His dad had ruffled his hair then, smiling at his son with real pride, "I know you will, kiddo. I have faith in you, and I hope that after tonight, we can get back to farming and leave all this nonsense behind us.

George hoped so too, but as they went about making plans and getting ready for the night to come, the Helions he had seen last night were never far from his mind.

* * * * *

George stood at his window once again, watching the barn as it flickered with light. The sheriff had shown up around sunset with three other officers from the county station, and the four of them had gone off to join the dozen or so armed farmhands. Daddy had lit the pumpkins on the porch, their lights glittering as the sun set over the fields. George could see them getting ready as he lit his own pumpkin, and the candle danced happily as the jack-o-lantern smiled over the fields.

As night spread itself across the farm, George yawned and leaned against the window sill. It had been a long day, and his eyes were getting heavy. He needed to stay up. He had to make sure that if Daddy needed his help, he would be there to call in that help. The moon rose to replace the sun, hanging full and ghostly over the remaining crop. George thought the east field looked weird without any pumpkins to add color to the dirt. Daddy and Juan, and the other men had stacked them up in the barn, and now they were just waiting to see if the men in the pumpkin masks would come back again. He had asked dad if the men in the masks were the Helions he'd been talking about, but his father hadn't answered. He had looked strange when George said the word Masks like he couldn't quite believe what he had heard. George hoped that was the case. The alternative seemed to be that Daddy didn't think they were masks at all, which was far scarier.

As George watched the barn, he yawned again, leaning on his hands as he tried to stay awake.

He sat up a few seconds later, deciding that was too comfy. He rubbed his eyes and stood up, trying to focus on the blurry barn that hunkered outside the cropland like a hunting cat. He could see his Daddy out front, the shotgun held in his hand, and the sheriff in his furry coat standing next to him. George felt better with the sheriff there. He knew that his father didn't think much of him after the mess with the deputy, but George had always liked him. He was friendly, not prone to speaking harshly to the kids in town like some of the men he hired, and he was always trying to help people.

George snorted awake, that last blink having lasted a few seconds longer than he'd meant to, and got up to walk around. He would not fall asleep. He would stay awake and keep watch. His Daddy needed him to stay awake. If he needed help, he needed to be able to get it for him. He sat back on the window seat and rubbed his eyes angrily. He would stay awake. He would stay awake. He would….

He shook himself awake, realizing he had fallen asleep.

The scene outside his window had changed, and not for the better.

The deep fog that had been there the night before had rolled in again, and George couldn't see anything beyond the front porch. The barn was a shadowy, flickering thing, sitting ghostly behind the fog. George could see shapes moving in that fog. There were flashes out there, the sounds of gunshots muffled as they came to him, and George realized that the Helions were back. The lumpy heads of their attackers could barely be seen through the fog, but George saw many, many more than had been there last night. There was something else out there too; something big. Its antlers poking up through the fog, moved much faster than any of the pumpkin men. It was cutting a sharp path for the barn, and George backed away from the window as a shudder ran up him. It had felt like the thing had seen him, though he didn't know how that could be.

He didn't know how they were doing out there, but he remembered what his Daddy had said.

He needed to call for help.

He flipped the light switch in the hallway, but the lights stayed dark. The thought of running past the open doors to dark rooms, rooms where a hand could be waiting to grab him, made his legs shake, and he went back to look for a flashlight. The flashlight wouldn't make the hands go away, but it would make him brave enough to do what he needed to do. The light on the nightstand was dead, the camp lantern in the closet was dry and would need more kerosene, and the matches he had would go out if he ran.

He looked to the window, and that was when the answer came to him.

He opened the window and took the pumpkin inside, the candle burning low but still burning. He hugged it close as he ran down the hallway, holding the bottom so the candle wouldn't fall out. It threatened to gutter a few times, but as George came thumping down the stairs, he saw that it was still lit and breathed a sigh of relief. The living room was dark, but the moon provided a little bit of light. George went to the landline in the living room and dialed the familiar number that every child is taught to dial in an emergency.

He balanced the pumpkin in his arms as he put the phone to his ear, but the sound made his blood run cold.

The line was dead.

Whatever was happening, they had cut the power.

George looked at the front door, and suddenly he wanted nothing so much as to be with his father. Daddy would protect him. Daddy would make all the monsters go away. George was still young enough to believe in the talismanic power of his parents, and he needed to touch him and hug him close so that all the bad things would just be a bad dream the next morning.

He came out onto the front porch before he could think better of it, and the door flapping shut behind him sounded as good as a dinner bell to any boogins nearby.

The steps creaked ominously as George came down with his jack-o-lantern light. The fog was thick around him as he moved amongst the corn, and the barn was a bright torch off to his left. It felt too bright, like a beacon rather than the comfortable light of lamps, and the closer he got, the more he could feel the heat as it baked away the fog. The barn was burning. George knew that somehow, but he still needed to get to his Daddy. His father would make it all go away, just like when Momma died. He would make it all okay, and when he woke up in the morning, all this would be a bad dream.

He came out of the fog and saw the barn as it spewed its ashes toward the sky. Whatever was in there was gone now, and George prayed that his Daddy was somewhere else. He came around the edge of the barn, towards the front, and the pumpkin was becoming heavy in his hands. Why was he still carrying it? He should have dropped it by now, but it seemed fitting that he kept it. The warmth was nice as the small candle burned its life away, and when he rounded the front, he saw the door sagging as it bulged against the inferno it barely contained.

His father lay before the doors.

He was in two pieces. Something had cut him at the waist, and his Daddy had fallen onto the dust of the barnyard. His gun was still in his hand, a scattering of shells around him where they had spilled out of his hands, and as George crouched beside him, feeling the tears rolling silently down his face. He was dead, his eyes wide and staring, and the look on his face was shocked, disbelieving.

Terrified.

The snort of a horse brought him around, and George cradled the pumpkin as he stood up to see what was coming for him.

The rider broke the fog, his green armor glistening with the water from that hellish mist. His rack of antlers was magnificent as it sprouted from his sea-green helmet, but the eyes of the rider burned like the coals in a winter fire. He saw George, his horse pawing at the ground as if it longed to charge him, but the knight stayed still as he and the boy locked eyes. As he stood, taking deep breaths, George felt cold in a way he had never felt before. He would have said such a thing was impossible, not with the barn burning behind him, but his arms and legs felt numb, and his teeth began to chatter as he locked eyes with the green knight.

He heard the plop before he was aware that he had dropped it, and when he glanced down, he saw the remains of the shattered jack-o-lantern at his feet.

"A shame," whispered a voice.

It sounded like a corpse whispering as it was forced from a frozen grave, and when George looked up, he saw the blade coming in fast and strong.

He thought this must be what the wheat sees before it is cut.

It was his last thought before his head fell to join the ruined pumpkin.