Magic Pumpkins  

    Halloween a year ago Rafe and I found Clifton Chenier
up Clutter Holler with his hands tied behind his back
and his legs mangled where a truck had run over him.
Seeing that big, old half brother of mine stuck in a
wheelchair, staring at television, out there at
Granny's house beside a wood stove about tore my heart
out.
    "Who done this to you, Clifton?"
    "Warlin Magley."
    Then the story tumbled out of Clifton. Warlin had
caught him stealing gasoline and decided to fix his
wagon. Of course, the police in this corrupt county
wouldn't do nothing. Warlin's brother is sheriff, and
them Magleys look out for one another, which is why
Rafe and I decided to pay Warlin back our own way.
    It was a bitter cold Halloween, wind a blowin through
the hollers and dark as the inside of a played out
mine. Me and Rafe had it all planned out. We were
going out to Warlin's and pay him a visit, but first
we had some business of our own to attend to.
    When Rafe pulled up his pants with Metallica still
blasting from the speakers and the crickets going
crazy in the underbrush, he said, "You been taking
them pills, so's you won't get pregnant, ain't you,
Bonnie?"
    "Do I look like I'm stupid," I said. "Hell there's
lots of guys in Harlan County better looking than you,
Rafe. Why would I want to get stuck with you?"
    Right away Rafe got an attitude, started driving so
fast the pickup veered back and forth on the dirt
road, spewing gravel this way and that.
    I grabbed the dials of his CD player and cranked the
music down. "You want to slow down, Rafe?" I said.
"How do you know I wasn't just playing with you when I
said that?"
    "Ah Bonnie," he says with a little whine in his
voice. "You good-looking women know how to tear a guy
up inside."
    "You shouldn't be so sensitive, Rafe," I said
fiercely. "You know there wasn't a man born yet can
hold a woman like me."
    "Somebody ought to do something about that," Rafe
snarled.
    "Well if you was man enough, maybe you would," I
said, lighting up a cigarette.
    He didn't say a word after that until we got all the
way to Warlin's property. He's got him a shack back up
Cooter Hollow. Got him a garden, a motorcycle, a
couple of busted washing machines he claims he can
repair, and a six-foot high woodpile.  Me and Rafe had
him cased out pretty good. We knew he drank hard every
night till around ten o clock when he stumbled out to
his Ford and drove home from the Hourglass Tavern
doing about ten miles an hour.      
    In the meantime Rafe and I crouched down in his
garden beside these humongous pumpkins there by the
wood pile watching Warlin's lights slowly come up the
holler. 
    "You hear something funny?" I said, staring at these
giant pumpkins Warlin had growed.
    "You ain't getting cold feet, are you, Bonnie?" Rafe
whispered as a sliver of moon, white as dead bone,
suddenly threw the cabin in shadows.
    "What do you think, Rafe?" I said. "I'm just thinking
about what Warlin done to Clifton."
    "Well I figured Warlin, being your former step-father
and all, you might have a soft spot for him."
    "I'd just as soon have a soft spot for a
rattlesnake," I said. "He was a man knew how to use a
razor strop on a child and wasn't afraid to do it
either."
    "That's the way step fathers is," Rafe said as Warlin
stumbled out of the truck and slammed the door behind
him, cursing being alive as he went.
    "What's he so pissed off about?" Rafe whispered.
    "Maybe some kid asked him for a trick or treat," I
said as Warlin banged through the screen door, and a
bare light on a cord came on inside the cabin.  
    "OK, let's go," Rafe said. "This one's for
Clifton."
    That's when I had this vision of Clifton sitting in
that wheelchair he's stuck in for the rest of his
life, and I said to myself, "Right on, let's go."
    As we crept up on Warlin, a ton of things run through
my mind. I thought of how Rafe dared me to moon them
teenagers that hung around in front of Skelly's Sunoco
and how I done it. I thought of driving stock cars out
at the speedway. I thought of that bar I used to dance
in over at Pikeville and how them big old boys would
stick five dollar bills in my bra. I thought of
growing up hardscrabble with nine other kids while
Earl, Momma's first husband, and Warlin, her second,
got drunk and beat Momma and us up. I thought of how I
made the honor roll in high school and then quit my
senior year when I got pregnant. I thought of the job
offer to begin nurse's training over in Ashland and
how that was a chance to get free and clear of this
hellhole before long. And I thought of Clifton who was
never going nowhere again.
    Rafe elbowed me in the ribs as we crouched by the
low-lying, kitchen window. We could see dirty, old
Warlin in his coveralls settin at the table, tobacco
juice dribbling down his chin, staring at a human
skull and talking to himself.
    "What's he doing?" Rafe whispered. "He's nuts, ain't
he?" 
    "He thinks he's got powers and communicates with the
devil," I whispered back. "He's just full of shit
though."
    "Well he's sure a frightening sight with that old
filthy beard."
    "What's a matter, Rafe, you getting scared?"
    "No, I ain't scared," Rafe said, taking his tire iron
and breaking out the window. "Hey you, Warlin, we come
for you!"
    Warlin whirled around, a scared look on his dirty
face as me and Rafe climbed in through the window,
blocking Warlin's way to the door.
     Because it was Halloween and we needed a disguise,
we was wearing sheets and some fright masks we picked
up at the convenience store. I had the gun in my hand
and Rafe had the tire iron.
    "What you want with me?" Warlin said, real
nervous-like, standing up and backing towards the
door.
    "Ain't no use to run, Warlin," I said.
    "What'd I do to you two?" His big, deep voice was up
about an octave.
    "We're going to pay you back for what you done to
Clifton Chenier," I said.
    "Why it's you, daughter," Warlin said. "Surely you
ain't going to hurt your own step-father."
    "You ain't no father nothing to me," I said,
gesturing to Rafe. "Go on and work him over, Rafe."
    "Wait a minute, you two," Warlin cried. "You lay a
hand to me and you'll pay the price. I got magic you
see. I'll get revenge!"
    "Is that so?" Rafe said, springing across the room
and clobbering Warlin right between the eyes with the
tire tool.
    "It ain't going to do you no good to scream," Rafe
said as he continued whacking Warlin's head. There's a
certain sound of human flesh breaking that makes you
feel all sick in side, but it didn't seem to bother
Rafe any. He kept on going until Warlin was sprawled
out on the floor, his head looking like somebody
poured a can of tomato juice on a beat dog. 
    "What are we going to do with this tire iron?" Rafe
asked me once Warlin stopped moving.
    "Well wrap it in newspaper and take it down to the
lake," I said, watching  Warlin closely to see if he
was still breathing.
    "Good idea," Rafe said. Then suddenly he laughed.
"This was as much fun as winning those heats at the
stock care races. You hungry, Bonnie?"
    "I don't reckon," I said, thinking me and blood
didn't agree.
    "Well I am. I'm going to get me one of those big, old
pumpkins Warlin's got growing out there in his
garden," Rafe said.
    "Well he ain't got 'em growing any more," I said. "So
help yourself."
    Rafe disappeared out in the darkness and left me
alone with Warlin's body. I'm not superstitious, but I
got this strange, damn feeling being alone with that
corpse because somehow Warlin had died with his eyes
open, and it just seemed to me those evil, brown eyes
kept staring at me, warning me about magic.
    A few seconds later, Rafe came back, lugging the
biggest, damn pumpkin I ever seen. He could hardly get
the orange monstrosity through the doorway and up onto
Warlin's filthy kitchen table.
    "This thing would make one helluva Jack o Lantern,"
Rafe said, searching around in Warlin's kitchen drawer
for something to carve with.
    "What would you do with a Jack o Lantern, Rafe?" I
said, "put it on the roof of your truck?"
    "That ain't a bad idea, Bonnie," Rafe laughed, taking
one of Warlin's Bowie knives and cleaving a big hole
right down the side of that giant pumpkin. Neither one
of us was looking for what happened next. 
    There was an awful groan from inside that pumpkin,
and this red-eyed rat the size of a raccoon leaped out
and went straight for Rafe's throat. Rafe swung at the
demon and tried to fight him off, but he was an
aggressive rat like no other either of us ever saw. 
    "I'll knock him away, then shoot him, Bonnie!" Rafe
cried, thrashing and scrambling all around the
kitchen. 
    I lifted that revolver and tried to get a bead on
that rat as it jitterbugged back and forth, trying to
climb its way right up Rafe's T-shirt again. 
    "Bonnie! Bonnie! You got to shoot him! Shoot him
now!" Rafe screamed.
    That's when I saw the whole thing clear as day. Rafe
was the kind who couldn't keep his mouth shut. Sooner
or later he'd start bragging and Warlin's brother, the
sheriff, would be on our trail. That would be the
beginning of the end. 
    No, the easiest thing would be to let the rat do its
job. That way I'd have one pain-in-the-ass man out of
my life, and there wouldn't be a lick of evidence to
place me at the murder scene  
    "Rafe," I said, "you're going to have to deal with
that rat yourself. You been leaning on me too long."
    "You double crossing, bitch!" Rafe screamed as the
rat tore at the tendons of his throat. 
    Meanwhile, I stepped out the backdoor of the cabin to
get away from all that crazy fighting in the kitchen.
The moon was a perfect Halloween sliver as I made my
way down the path of the holler past Rafe's pickup
truck. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that the rat
was going to deal with Rafe and leave him dead on the
kitchen floor.
    On the other hand, in a half hour I'd be able to walk
to town and tomorrow morning, after I said good-bye to
Clifton, I'd be on my way to Ashland. With just the
lightest breeze blowing and the moon hanging creamy in
the autumn sky it was the most perfect Halloween
imaginable, that is, until I heard the squealing and
the sound of thousands of little footsteps. 
    Then feeling a little queasy and uncertain, I turned
back toward Warlin's cabin and saw them coming,
hundreds upon hundreds of red-eyed, pumpkin rats
coming straight for my face. 



 Having successfully negotiated that
experience known as going to college, but better
described as sponging off the generosity of mom and
step-dad, Shane Kellerman has gone on to great things
in the retail world, a well-earned diet regime, and a
second career in the world of spec fiction. No doubt
he will soon be elected governor of his state.

Contact Shane Kellerman at: shanekellerman@yahoo.com








 
October 29, 2001

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