The Pumpkin Man

the low carved ceiling grew lower.

“Where do you think this leads?” Kirstin asked.

Jenn considered where they were when they’d entered the tunnel and its spatial relation to her bedroom. “I think we’re walking underneath the backyard,” she said finally.

“Is there a hidden village back there?” Brian asked.

Jenn laughed. “I don’t know. If we knew about it, it wouldn’t be hidden, would it?”

Kirstin shrugged. “We really haven’t walked back there much. Who knows what’s behind this damn house.”

“Well, I can tell you one thing,” Nick said, huffing. “It’s uphill. Because we are definitely climbing.”

The light from the basement was long gone by the time the claustrophobic passage ended.

“We’re here,” Nick announced. A heavy wooden door blocked their passage. “Wherever here may be.” He tried the old tarnished knob, but it didn’t budge. “Well, that sucks.”

“Wait,” Jenn said, pulling from her jeans pocket the key that had opened the door above. She handed it to him. “Try this.”

Nick inserted the key into the dark lock and twisted. It didn’t budge. But it had inserted cleanly into the lock.

He tried again, turning the opposite way. Still the key didn’t move. Then he pulled it out just a hair and tried again. This time, the key turned and the lock clicked.

“Nice work,” Brian said.

“I’ve got lots of experience with old houses.”

Almost as one they stepped into an open room beyond the door, then stopped to hold up candles to illuminate their surroundings. Their lights revealed a room with five pillars spaced at equal intervals in a circle.

“What the fuck?” Kirstin said.

“Yeah,” Brian echoed.

The rough-hewn floor of the passageway had been replaced by a spiral pattern of white mosaic. The color of the tile changed from bone white to cream to sand before gradually cycling back to blazing white. It all converged and curved around a large flat stone in the center of the room that looked like amber, golden brown and reflective of depth.

But, what dominated the group’s attention was not the floor or smooth limestone walls. A large white stone coffin rested on a stone pedestal just off the center. Behind the coffin, in the far wall, a half dozen golden handles protruded. Upon looking closer, lines of separation became evident. These lines etched out the hidden cracks of small doorways that would lead, no doubt, to more coffins.

“My bedroom leads to a stairway that leads to a basement that leads to a coffin. We’re in a crypt,” Jenn said, stating the obvious.

“Smells like it,” Kirstin said, pulling the sleeve of her shirt over her nose.

“And like pumpkins,” Nick added, pointing at the ground.

A half dozen pumpkins sat in a line at the base of the coffin. The eyes and mouths were carved to reflect macabre screams of agony.

“That’s too fucked-up,” Kirstin said. “I mean, Jenn finds pumpkin pieces back in Chicago and also here, right by her bed, and here is—”

“I’d really like to get out of here,” Jenn whispered. Her chest suddenly felt tight, and she began to shake. She could feel tears forming at the sides of her eyes and she had an uncontrollable urge to lie down. “Now,” she said.

“This way,” Nick suggested, and pointed at a second doorway just on the other side of the coffin. “That’s gotta be the way out. Nobody would go into a house and through a basement to reach a grave.”

He put his arm around Jenn to steady and comfort her, leading her past the pumpkins to the door. Once it was open, the light of their candles showed a series of steps that spiraled up and away from the tiny mausoleum.

“Let’s go,” he urged.

He held her arm as they ascended the narrow stone steps. Soon they could see light from above, and then they were standing in another tiny room. A steel door stood just in front of them, with grates in a window that let in the day’s fading light. Jenn turned and looked at the door they’d just walked through. In an archway above, one word was carved into the stone: PERENAIS.

Kirstin followed her friend’s gaze. “Jenn, that was your aunt’s married name, wasn’t it?”

Jenn nodded, unable to take her eyes off the etching of a name she’d seen on so many papers from her father’s lawyers. Papers related to the will and deeds of her aunt’s property. “Yeah,” she said.

She turned away and reached out for the door that she hoped would let them out of the crypt and back into the realm of the living. This time, the handle turned easily. She stepped out onto a walkway of jagged limestone interrupted by occasional sprouts of dry brown grass.

Kirstin, Nick and Brian exited behind her, and the door slammed shut. They all stood outside what looked like a tiny stone shed. On the outer door, the inscription also read PERENAIS. Beneath was drawn something that had, of late, grown too familiar. To the side, in the weeds, glowed the rotting physical remains of the same oval shape: a pumpkin.

Jennica looked away from the door. Tall stands of brown grass surrounded the mausoleum they’d just exited, and around that were several other gravestones. The markers revealed death dates ranging from the 1920s to the 1970s. Nearly all of the surnames remained the same.

“It’s a family cemetery,” Jenn whispered.

Kirstin grimaced. “Well, I guess we know where that drawer of skulls in the kitchen came from.”

“Oh my god,” Jenn said. “I hope not! My aunt may have been a lot of things, most of them weird, but . . . a grave robber?”

“Isn’t that better than the other way you’d get skulls?” Nick asked.

Jenn looked at him. “What would that be?”

“Hmmm, well, for starters by boiling the heads of people you’d decapitated.”

She shook her head in disgust. “Aunt Meredith wasn’t like that. I mean, I didn’t know her that well, but . . .”

“Um, where are we?” Kirstin interrupted.

The group looked up from the mausoleum entrance to absorb the surrounding landscape. The hill they stood atop sloped gently down on either side to a long brown valley. They could see the grass end far below at a narrow road and the row of homes that was the upper periphery of River’s End. Behind them the hill continued steadily upward, disappearing in a maze of brush and scrub trees. On the other side of the mausoleum, at the end of a faint winding path, glimmered the roof of Jenn’s aunt’s house. The grass had grown up to obscure some of the path, but there was no question that a path had been worn from Meredith Perenais’s home to here.

The sun darkened to a deep red as it sank on the horizon, the top barely visible above the trees on the other side of the Russian River.

“We should go back to the house,” Jenn said. “Before it gets dark.”

“Jenn,” Nick said.

She could tell he didn’t want to speak. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to. She raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

“That pumpkin . . .” He pointed at the one sitting next to the crypt. “It’s not that old. It’s rotting, but . . . if it had been here more than three or four weeks, we wouldn’t have even seen it.”

“Yeah, so?” Jenn asked.

“I really think maybe we ought to call the police.”

She shook her head. “And what am I going to tell them? That I found pumpkin pieces in the house of the guy that everyone in town assumes was the Pumpkin Man, a hideous killer? C’mon. Like they’re going to take that seriously. Someone has been here, yes. If we’re lucky, then yeah, somehow, someone got wind that we were here, in ‘that crazy woman’s old house,’ and decided to play a little joke. They got into the crypt from out here, got into my bedroom because we left the door unlocked, and then they left us a little present. I hope it’s not the work of my dead aunt or her dead husband. That’s ludicrous, right? Even with that Ouija board. So I’m going to go with the idea that we’ve got some kids in the area who like the legend of the Pumpkin