Bloody Pumpkins
Bloody Pumpkins
“Why do you always make the pumpkin smiles so big?” Grimm asked, walking past where I was sitting on the porch carving my pumpkin. He'd only allowed me to carve one this year, he said he was tired of all the children being frightened by the ghoulish faces on them every year.
I sighed, “Well, honey, I think they look happier with the bigger smiles.” I picked up the pumpkin I had been torturously murdering for the past half hour and turned it to face him.
He paused on his trip down the front steps, holding his trusty maglite (truth be told, it was the 311th one he'd owned since MagLites were invented) and a bundle of decorations. “It looks just as frightening as the ones you make every year.”
I sighed wearily and set it down in front of me. “You're right. I'll put this one on the back porch where only we can see it.” I muttered, cleaning up the stray bits of pumpkin innards and seeds from the wooden floor.
He started on his journey to the front yard to finish decorating before the sun started to rise and we had to retreat inside again. “Why can't you just make them normal jack-o-lanterns like everyone else?”
A very good question to be asked. It was one answer I knew, but I couldn't bring myself to explain it. “I just like the way they look this way.” I muttered, taking my failed attempt at art and headed inside to put my one jack-o-lantern on the back porch.
I dropped into one of the deck chairs and stared out at the flower garden that was the back yard of our Victorian-style home on the outskirts of Havre, Montana. It had been forty years since Grimm and I had moved into this lovely home, we'd have to leave soon since neither of us looked a day over 25.
It was a shame, really. Grimm loved this house more than all the others we'd lived in. I supposed that it reminded him of his mortal life. I never asked because that was one thing we never spoke of, it was an unwritten rule between us: Never speak of the past.
I still thought about mine, though. It'd been 132 years, 216 days since Grimm found me, a newly sired vampire starving on the streets of Drain, Oregon. I hadn't gotten my fangs yet when he'd found me. My sire had caught me one night while I was walking home from chorus practice and left me for dead.
I shook myself, no sense in dwelling on that painful memory. Being left like an abandoned infant, craving the blood of every person who walked by the alley where I hid, unable to break their skin or even stand to catch them was the worst thing I could ever have endured.
That was until I tried to leave Grimm and go back to my family a year later. They hugged me and kissed me, they asked why I disappeared and what had happened to me. I lied and told them I had ran off and eloped with a boy from my school, which explained Grimm's being with me. They were disappointed but they got over it.
It was the day before Halloween when I returned to them and my little sister just had to have me help her carve the pumpkins like I used to do. I mostly just sat there as she hacked and sliced at the flesh of the gourd. When she was done, she turned it to show me and asked “How does it look?”
I smiled. “Why did you make it's smile so big? It's frightening that way. Wouldn't you rather a happy jack-o-lantern?” I questioned.
She shook her head and started to gather the tools she'd used. “No, sissy. It's scarier that way.” She explained, slicing her palm with the knife.
I watched the blood drip onto the tile floor of the kitchen and down the arm of my eight year old sister and the next thing I knew... I held her, pale from blood loss and dead in my arms, her blood staining my lips crimson.
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I felt a hand on my shoulder, snapping me out of my horrid memory. I turned to look at the owner of the appendage.
“I thought we agreed not to think about the past, Roka.” Grimm said softly, his voice soothing. He sat next to me and put his arm around my shoulders, holding me against him.
“I wasn't.” I lied. I always lied when I thought about what I'd done.
He smirked and looked out at the rose bushes, dead for the coming winter.
Grimm always liked to plant a few different color roses wherever we moved. I'd find the red ones on his pillow if I woke after him. The pink ones he liked to float on the surface of bath water if he was feeling romantic.
“Your mouth says you weren't, the red-stained tear tracks down your face tell me otherwise.” He spoke calmly. He wasn't upset, he could never be upset. He was the kindest man I had ever known, kinder than most human men anyway.
I sighed. “I was thinking about the jack-o-lantern.” I told him, nudging said creation with the toe of my squeaky clean Converse. “My sister, remember? That's the reason I carve them that way every year.” I explained.
He stayed silent for a long moment, leaning forward and picking up the cause of my sadness. “My brother and I weren't allowed to celebrate All Hallow's Eve. My mother was Pagan, but my father was Catholic and we couldn't celebrate her holidays.” He told me.
I didn't know what to say, there was so little about his past that he shared with me that I felt touched that he told me that much.
He stood and looked down at me. “We all have our traditions, things we do that honor our past. We don't have to be ashamed of them.” He told me seriously. “If there is something you do to remember those you loved, don't hesitate to tell me again. We made that rule so that we would never be saddened. This is a happy memory, I hope.”
I nodded. “Not the fact that I killed my family, but the happier times before that when I'd carve jack-o-lanterns with my little sister.”
He grinned. “Then come with me, my love. We will house this proudly on the front porch for all to see.”
I sighed, “Well, honey, I think they look happier with the bigger smiles.” I picked up the pumpkin I had been torturously murdering for the past half hour and turned it to face him.
He paused on his trip down the front steps, holding his trusty maglite (truth be told, it was the 311th one he'd owned since MagLites were invented) and a bundle of decorations. “It looks just as frightening as the ones you make every year.”
I sighed wearily and set it down in front of me. “You're right. I'll put this one on the back porch where only we can see it.” I muttered, cleaning up the stray bits of pumpkin innards and seeds from the wooden floor.
He started on his journey to the front yard to finish decorating before the sun started to rise and we had to retreat inside again. “Why can't you just make them normal jack-o-lanterns like everyone else?”
A very good question to be asked. It was one answer I knew, but I couldn't bring myself to explain it. “I just like the way they look this way.” I muttered, taking my failed attempt at art and headed inside to put my one jack-o-lantern on the back porch.
I dropped into one of the deck chairs and stared out at the flower garden that was the back yard of our Victorian-style home on the outskirts of Havre, Montana. It had been forty years since Grimm and I had moved into this lovely home, we'd have to leave soon since neither of us looked a day over 25.
It was a shame, really. Grimm loved this house more than all the others we'd lived in. I supposed that it reminded him of his mortal life. I never asked because that was one thing we never spoke of, it was an unwritten rule between us: Never speak of the past.
I still thought about mine, though. It'd been 132 years, 216 days since Grimm found me, a newly sired vampire starving on the streets of Drain, Oregon. I hadn't gotten my fangs yet when he'd found me. My sire had caught me one night while I was walking home from chorus practice and left me for dead.
I shook myself, no sense in dwelling on that painful memory. Being left like an abandoned infant, craving the blood of every person who walked by the alley where I hid, unable to break their skin or even stand to catch them was the worst thing I could ever have endured.
That was until I tried to leave Grimm and go back to my family a year later. They hugged me and kissed me, they asked why I disappeared and what had happened to me. I lied and told them I had ran off and eloped with a boy from my school, which explained Grimm's being with me. They were disappointed but they got over it.
It was the day before Halloween when I returned to them and my little sister just had to have me help her carve the pumpkins like I used to do. I mostly just sat there as she hacked and sliced at the flesh of the gourd. When she was done, she turned it to show me and asked “How does it look?”
I smiled. “Why did you make it's smile so big? It's frightening that way. Wouldn't you rather a happy jack-o-lantern?” I questioned.
She shook her head and started to gather the tools she'd used. “No, sissy. It's scarier that way.” She explained, slicing her palm with the knife.
I watched the blood drip onto the tile floor of the kitchen and down the arm of my eight year old sister and the next thing I knew... I held her, pale from blood loss and dead in my arms, her blood staining my lips crimson.
---------------------------------------
I felt a hand on my shoulder, snapping me out of my horrid memory. I turned to look at the owner of the appendage.
“I thought we agreed not to think about the past, Roka.” Grimm said softly, his voice soothing. He sat next to me and put his arm around my shoulders, holding me against him.
“I wasn't.” I lied. I always lied when I thought about what I'd done.
He smirked and looked out at the rose bushes, dead for the coming winter.
Grimm always liked to plant a few different color roses wherever we moved. I'd find the red ones on his pillow if I woke after him. The pink ones he liked to float on the surface of bath water if he was feeling romantic.
“Your mouth says you weren't, the red-stained tear tracks down your face tell me otherwise.” He spoke calmly. He wasn't upset, he could never be upset. He was the kindest man I had ever known, kinder than most human men anyway.
I sighed. “I was thinking about the jack-o-lantern.” I told him, nudging said creation with the toe of my squeaky clean Converse. “My sister, remember? That's the reason I carve them that way every year.” I explained.
He stayed silent for a long moment, leaning forward and picking up the cause of my sadness. “My brother and I weren't allowed to celebrate All Hallow's Eve. My mother was Pagan, but my father was Catholic and we couldn't celebrate her holidays.” He told me.
I didn't know what to say, there was so little about his past that he shared with me that I felt touched that he told me that much.
He stood and looked down at me. “We all have our traditions, things we do that honor our past. We don't have to be ashamed of them.” He told me seriously. “If there is something you do to remember those you loved, don't hesitate to tell me again. We made that rule so that we would never be saddened. This is a happy memory, I hope.”
I nodded. “Not the fact that I killed my family, but the happier times before that when I'd carve jack-o-lanterns with my little sister.”
He grinned. “Then come with me, my love. We will house this proudly on the front porch for all to see.”