I realize this isn’t the correct season to post this but I found it perusing my post archives and realized I never posted it. So, here’s a little bit of Halloween in March. Hope you enjoy! ❤

~*~

“Look, it’s a full moon tonight,” said Tim, holding the freshly carved pumpkin.

“Yep,” replied his sister, Emma. “It’s perfect for Halloween.”

Tim placed the pumpkin on the porch, the candlelight flickering through the carved eyes and mouth. He stepped back and admired his handiwork. The pumpkin looked alive, eager to be part of the night’s festivities.

“What should we name him?” asked Tim.

Emma examined the pumpkin’s toothy grin. “He looks like an Evan.”

Tim wrinkled his nose. “That’s too human.”

“Well, Jack is too cliché,” Emma sighed. “How about Casper? That sounds Halloween-y.”

“Casper was a ghost,” Tim objected. “This pumpkin is orange.”

The twins thought hard until Tim suggested, “What about Rusty?”

This satisfied them both. “Rust it is,” Emma conceded with a nod.

And so his name was Rusty. Rusty felt fortunate to have a name, unlike the smaller pumpkin stationed on the other side of the door, which had been carved by their parents. The twins didn’t even seem to notice the other pumpkin before going back inside to work on their Halloween costumes. It didn’t bother the other pumpkin; both knew they had a job to do.

As the evening fell, Rusty began to feel the warmth of the candle inside him. The flame grew stronger, casting eerie shadows across the porch. The nameless pumpkin had told him about the children dressed in costumes that would soon arrive, looking for treats. Rusty was ready to shine his light and help them find their way their way to the candy bowl.

The first group of trick-or-treaters appeared at the end of the driveway, their eyes lighting up at the sight of Rusty’s glow. They approached the porch, chattering amongst themselves. Rusty felt his heart swell with joy as they exclaimed over his grinning face. One little girl, dressed as a fairy, reached out to touch his carved cheek, her eyes wide as the warmth felt the candle’s warmth against her fingers.

“This one’s got a nice smile,” she told her mother before turning her attention to the selection of candy bars that was being offered. It would be the most important decision of the night after all.

The twins had gone all out with the decorations this year, with spider webs stretching from the porch railings and a scarecrow standing guard over the pumpkin duo. Rusty watched as the children made their selections from the candy bowl, comparing their choices to the others’. The nameless pumpkin was silent beside him, a comforting weight as the night grew darker. Rusty promised himself he’d remember this night forever.

But, like everything, Halloween came and went, and the night passed.

The trick-or-treaters had thinned out, leaving only the occasional straggler to knock on the door. Rusty felt the chill of the night as the candles inside them began to die out, leaving him in darkness. As the warmth of the flame disappeared, he felt strangely hollow, missing its warmth.

In the days that followed, Rusty noticed his smile wasn’t as bright anymore. The edges of his eyes began to sink, and his cheeks grew less plump. When the children passed by without a second glance, he felt a heaviness settle in his chest. He no longer had the joy of trick-or-treaters tromping by but now had to content himself with watching the twins leave for school. Quietly, Rusty hoped the twins would remember him and reignite his candle once more. They did not.

One morning, Rusty mustered the courage to ask the nameless pumpkin next to him, “Why am I changing?”

The nameless pumpkin looked at him with a knowing gaze. “It’s called ‘rotting,’ my friend,” he said gently.

“What’s rotting?”

The nameless pumpkin took a deep, slow breath, his expression calm and tone even. “It’s what happens to all of us after Halloween. We were picked from the patch, carved, and filled with light to bring joy to others. But now, our purpose is fading.”

Rusty’s heart sank. He didn’t want to fade. He enjoyed being the beacon on the porch, the focal point of the twins’ Halloween wonderland. “Can’t we do something to stop it?” he asked.

The nameless pumpkin’s wrinkled eyes looked sad. “This is the natural cycle of our existence. After we’ve served our purpose, we return to the earth. It’s the way of things.”

Rusty stared into the night, the flickering memory of his flame bright in his mind. But what happens after? Will anyone remember us?  The idea of disappearing into the ground frightened him, but each day, he could feel his form softening, his grin losing shape, and his light growing dimmer.

One evening, Emma came out to the porch with a sad look on her face. She picked up Rusty, examining him closely. “You’re not looking too good, buddy,” she said as she examined his softening smile and dark moldy spots. Tim joined her, and together they decided it was time to say goodbye to the pumpkins that had served their purpose and brought joy to many children.

They carried Rusty and his companion to the backyard, where they had a small compost pile, placing the two pumpkins gently onto the soft mound. “This is where we go when we’re done,” whispered the nameless pumpkin. “This is our graveyard.”

Rusty felt the cool earth beneath him, in stark contrast to the warmth of his candle—a memory now distant. He watched as the twins’ footsteps faded into the house, leaving him and the nameless pumpkin to the quiet night and the cold ground.

Days turned into weeks, and the porch grew quieter. The decorations were packed away, and the only visitors to the backyard were squirrels and birds. Rusty felt a strange kinship with his silent companion as they softened and shrank together. Just as he felt his form begin to disappear, the nameless pumpkin whispered, “Look.”

Beside him, a tiny sprout pushed its way through the soil, unfurling a pair of delicate green leaves. “We’re not gone. We’ve just changed. Our light has dimmed, but we’re giving way to life.”

Rusty stared at the sprout, a mix of confusion and wonder filling him. The idea of being part of something bigger brought him comfort. He watched the plant grow stronger, its green tendrils weaving through the remnants of their former selves.

As the days grew shorter and the air crisper, Rusty felt his body softening more, his shell collapsing inward. Yet, his friend’s words remained clear in his mind. “Even in our end, we are the beginning.”

Rusty felt his essence seeping into the soil. The thought didn’t scare him as much anymore. He surrendered to the earth at last, watching the fall leaves drift around him in a flurry of color. It was a peaceful end.

Winter turned to spring, bringing sunshine, birds, and blossoms.

One warm autumn afternoon, Tim and Emma found a tiny pumpkin sprout stretching up from their compost pile. Over the course of summer, this sprout grew into a small pumpkin plant, its vines stretching out, claiming the space that had once belonged to Rusty and the nameless pumpkin. By October, it bore small, round pumpkins—a miniature reflection of those before.

When Halloween came, the twins selected the largest pumpkin from the patch. “This one,” Tim said, holding it up. “Nice and plump.”

Emma nodded in agreement. They carried it inside and laid out their carving tools. That night, as they finished their work and placed a candle inside, the pumpkin’s grin grew wide as the flickering flame filled him with warmth. It was an almost familiar warmth.