The Pumpkin Man

carving. There were long, needle-thin blades and double-sided ones. There was a mini scimitar, and a carver with an edge the size of an X-Acto. But as different as the steel blades were, they were a matched set, each encased in a dark mahogany wood shaft.

He had cleaned and dried the blades, watching in horror as the red water swirled down the drain of his bathroom sink.

What did you do?

He’d showered, trying in vain to remember anything from the night before. He’d scrubbed his hands and face and hair until he hurt.

What did you do?

He’d cleaned the stains from his couch and disposed of his clothes, all the while waiting for a knock on his front door and a party of men in blue.

What did you do?

The police never came. A couple days later, the knives were gone. He turned his apartment upside down, but they simply weren’t there anymore. He began to think that he’d dreamed the whole horrible bloody morning.

Then, a short time later, he awoke on his couch again in the very same way. The knives were back in his living room, still wet with congealing blood. He cleaned them and himself, and eventually they disappeared again. The cycle happened again.

And again.

At first he’d had no warning. He simply woke up in blood with no real memory of the night before. But now was different. Each time the Pumpkin Man came, he could feel it. Just before his world went black, it was like a door opened in the back of his mind, a draft of hot wind blowing in to cloud his vision. It was happening again now. And as his sight faded, he had just enough time to cry out one phrase.

“Please, not again.”

But the cry was in vain.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

Kirstin couldn’t sleep. She was exhausted, running on nothing. Every couple minutes she yawned, but her eyes refused to stay closed. How could she sleep after the events of the day?

She pulled Brian’s pillow close and tried to snuggle into it as if he were there. It didn’t help. His bed was comfortable, and the pillow filled that spot where another body should be. Kirstin had always liked sleeping with someone else. It made her feel secure and loved. Maybe that’s why she was always the flirt. She wasn’t ready to settle down with someone, but she couldn’t bear to sleep alone either. And so she moved from man to man, never staying long enough to get trapped but never staying alone long enough to get lonely.

She clung to Brian’s pillow and breathed in his scent. She’d really liked him—right away, from the very first things he’d said in the club. She pictured him then, laughing and telling jokes and buying them drinks. And then she pictured him from that morning. What was left of him.

“Damn,” she murmured, and rolled over. The bedside alarm clock read 1:17.

She threw off the sheets and stood up in the middle of the room. There was nothing she needed more than sleep, but that just wasn’t coming. So she pulled a loose T-shirt over her head and then slipped on yesterday’s jeans. She’d already tried masturbating, but that had only ended up bringing her more images of Brian. So she decided to take a walk. Sometimes that helped her insomnia.

Kirstin tiptoed past Nick’s room, assuming that he and Jenn would be sleeping there, but when she got to the family room, she saw they’d never left the couch. They were stretched out together, Jenn curled up with her thighs pressed to her tummy, Nick lying behind her, one arm draped across around her shoulders and chest.

She walked quietly past them and slipped her gym shoes on at the door. She wouldn’t go far; she didn’t know San Francisco particularly well and she didn’t want to get lost. Plus, she didn’t want to leave Nick’s apartment door unlocked for hours while she wandered the city streets. But a little air might help.

Down the single flight of stairs to the apartment building foyer she went, and then she realized she wouldn’t be able to get back in if the front door of the building locked behind her. She debated going back upstairs to look for Nick’s keys but saw a phone book sitting in a corner under the mailboxes and smiled. Lodging the phone book in the door so that it wouldn’t close all the way, she stepped out into the moonlit night. The building could be unsecure for ten minutes, too.

The air smelled heady with life, scented with some kind of flower and a hint of eucalyptus. There must be a tree nearby, she realized. And flowers. They seemed to grow everywhere here. She’d decided already that no matter what Jenn wanted, she was going to stay on the coast. This city had everything Chicago offered and more, and the weather was more temperate. There were beaches and plenty of tan guys, too.

She looked back at the front entryway and repeated the address in her head—523—before turning left to walk down a tree-lined sidewalk. The street sloped gently downward along a row of tall, thin houses. The neighborhood was quiet, but in the distance she heard the occasional car and a light hum. And after spending a couple weeks in the middle of nowhere, the city was suddenly much louder.

Walking to the end of the block, she stopped at a quiet corner, debating whether she should turn and make a loop or just go straight. She opted to simply walk straight and then back to avoid any confusion. San Francisco, she’d noted, had lots of oddly planned streets.

She followed the sidewalk for ten minutes or so before she reached its end. There were no cars waiting for the nearby light to change. She saw a Chinese restaurant on a corner, its entryway blocked by a cage of iron bars. She wondered idly what time they pulled those bars open every morning, when the street began to wake up. With the moon shining bright overhead, it seemed strange that all the little shops were still. Like a moment out of time. She imagined the shadows suddenly growing thick and dark, manlike creatures materializing to lurch toward her, daggerlike nails pointed in her direction, leering hungrily—

Kirstin shook away the vision and turned to make her way back up the hill. Again she thought of maybe moving to the city once things were settled. She definitely couldn’t stay out in the middle of nowhere for too long, and that’s what River’s End was. She needed this: even with it asleep, you could feel the electricity of the city.

The walk back to Nick’s apartment was harder than the one away; the sidewalk was on just enough of an incline that Kirstin found herself breathing heavily. She stopped at an intersection where the green light ushered nobody through; there was nobody around. Well, if nothing else, she was getting a workout. She hoped it would serve to help her sleep.

On that thought, she suddenly raised her eyebrows and let out a yawn. She nodded to herself. Yeah, now she would definitely sleep.

The numbers 523 were suddenly visible above a doorway. Kirstin took a deep breath and approached. The phone book remained where she’d left it, so she picked it up as she pushed the door open. Once inside, she dropped it back on the floor by the mailboxes.

Something scraped behind her.

Kirstin straightened and looked around. The brown and white tile pattern on the floor of the foyer beyond the stairway slid from moonlight into shadow. One of the overhead lights was out. She could see down the first-floor hallway, though, since the ceiling lights at the end of that hall were still lit.

As Kirstin stepped toward the stairs, debating whether she should run up them or if she was just being silly, a dark shadow detached from the others and moved toward her. It could be someone who lives here, she told herself, but another voice said, You left the door wide open and look what came inside.

The figure stepped into the light.

Kirstin saw the knife first, a long, tapered blade that glinted evilly. Then she saw the face of the man carrying it and her brow wrinkled in puzzlement. Instead of screaming or running away, she stood still and asked, “What are you doing?”