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  It was slender and pointed at one end. Not a snake. No. Not a snake. Too big to be a snake.

  It swung against the side of the window. Then appeared to sway from side to side.

  Then it curled onto the window ledge.

  And I recognized it. I knew what it was.

  I didn’t believe it. But I saw it clearly now.

  A pumpkin vine.

  A single vine sliding over the window ledge into my room.

  Yes. Stretching silently toward me.

  And as I gaped, frozen in horror, unable to speak, unable to make a sound, I saw a second one. Yes. A second vine. Fatter. Thicker.

  It rose up beside the first vine. Coiled around it. The vines curled together. Like shoelaces being tied.

  Then they came apart. Thrashing. Whipping each other. Pushing … pushing into my room.

  Pale and gleaming in the moonlight, they slithered over the window ledge — reaching for my bed … reaching for ME.

  I opened my mouth to call for help. But no sound came out.

  Besides, my parents’ room was at the far end of the hall. They wouldn’t hear me.

  And they wouldn’t believe me. I knew what would happen if I ran down to their room and dragged them back. The vines would be gone.

  And Dad would frown at me. And accuse me of making up another story because I didn’t want to be on this farm.

  No way Mom or Dad would believe this. Who would?

  I gripped the edge of the quilt so tightly, my hands ached. Sitting up straight as a board, every muscle tense, I watched the two vines thrash and twist and crawl into my room.

  The curtains fluttered harder, as if trying to get away from the intruders. The moonlight made them glow like they were electric.

  I forced myself out of bed. The floorboards were cold beneath my bare feet. My whole body shook and shuddered.

  It’s like a horror movie. Only it’s real. And it’s happening to ME.

  Okay. I knew I had to do something. I was all alone here. No one to help me. Devin O’Bannon Versus the Creeping Vine Creatures.

  Go, Devin! Go, Devin!

  I took a deep breath and held it.

  Then I dove forward. Dove to the window. I dodged around the two vines curling through the air. Dodged around them, my heart doing flip-flops in my chest.

  Still holding my breath, I lurched to the window. I raised both hands to the top of the frame — and I slammed it shut as hard as I could.

  Slammed it down onto the vines. Slammed it. Slammed it on them.

  They groaned. A sick, ugly sound. Like a burp from deep in a fat belly.

  I heard them groan as the wooden window frame sliced right through them. Slissssh.

  Yes!

  It sliced through the vines. Cut them. Cut them off.

  The vine ends thudded to my bedroom floor. A foot long. No. Maybe longer. They dropped heavily to the floor and didn’t move.

  Finally, I let out a long whoosh of air and breathed again. I stared down at the thick lumps at my feet. And I took breath after breath.

  A hard tapping on the window glass made me raise my eyes.

  And to my horror, I saw the two cut vines, dark liquid trickling from their open ends. The vines, cut off at the ends, oozed a thick liquid. Like blood.

  I gasped as they bumped up against the glass. Battered the glass, then pulled back — and batted the window again. Again.

  They won’t stop until they break in.

  “Noooo!” I let out a scream. I dove to the window.

  “Go away! Now! Go away!” I shrieked. I pounded the window glass with both fists. “Go away! Go! Go!”

  I stood there in a terrified panic, pounding and screaming at the thrashing vines on the other side of the window. “Get away from here! Get away!”

  I didn’t stop screaming until a crash behind me made me nearly jump out of my skin. I wheeled around. “No! Go away!” I cried.

  It took me a few seconds to realize the crash had been my bedroom door swinging open. My dad burst in, tying the belt of his bathrobe as he entered.

  He squinted through the darkness at me. “Devin? What’s going on? I heard you screaming. Why are you at the window?”

  “Dad, it — it’s the vines!” I stammered. “Come here. Quick. Look.” I pointed frantically out the window. “The vines —”

  He followed my gaze. Of course, the window was empty now. The glass reflected the pale white moonlight.

  Nothing there.

  “Vines?” Dad asked, narrowing his eyes at me. “Devin, were you having another nightmare?”

  “No, Dad,” I started. “I haven’t been asleep. The vines were crawling into my room. I was so frightened. I —”

  Dad gazed down at the floor beneath the window. He clicked on the ceiling light. Then he moved quickly to the window, his bare feet thudding on the floor.

  He bent down and picked up the two stubs of vine. The ends I had sliced off. He held them up and examined them.

  “See?” I cried. “Proof, Dad. The vines were climbing into my window. See? I’m telling the truth.”

  Dad turned to me, holding a vine stub in each hand. “How did these get here, Devin?”

  “I cut them off. I cut them with the window.”

  “But how did they get in your room? Are your sisters playing one of their tricks on you?”

  “No, Dad. No trick. Don’t you believe me? There’s proof. The two vines, they were moving, climbing in through the window.”

  “But, Devin,” Dad said. “Come here.”

  I walked over to the window. He put his hands on my shoulders. “Look out there.” He turned me to the window. “Look down on the grass. It’s nearly as bright as day in the moonlight. Do you see any vines?”

  I squinted down into the backyard. No vines.

  I saw a shovel lying in the grass. Near the garage, one of the twins’ bikes lay on its side. And I saw the cat….

  Zeus sitting up straight on his haunches, his face tilted toward my window. The black cat, surrounded by a pool of silver moonlight, green eyes glowing. Watching the window. Watching me stare down at him.

  “Dad,” I whispered, “there’s something weird about that cat.”

  Dad pressed his face against the glass and peered down. “Yes, you’re right. That cat never sleeps. It’s a very weird cat.”

  “Dad, you don’t believe that the soul of a dead person can rise up and take the shape of something else … I mean, like a cat, for instance? You don’t believe that a human can inhabit a cat?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Where do you come up with these crazy stories, Devin? Really. Sometimes I think you’re from another planet.”

  He dropped the two vine stubs onto the window ledge. Then he led me back to my bed.

  “So I guess you don’t believe me about the vines trying to climb through my window?”

  “Of course not,” he said. He pulled down the quilt and waited for me to climb under it. “Next thing, you’ll say that a bunch of pumpkins rolled across the field, bounced up, and jumped on you.”

  “Funny,” I muttered.

  “Go to sleep, okay?” He tucked the quilt under my chin. Then he patted my cheeks the way he always does. “Everything will be fine, Devin. We’re doing great. Try to enjoy it.”

  Enjoy it?

  He shut off the light and made his way out of my room.

  I’m on my own, I realized.

  I’m the only one who knows there’s something terribly frightening about this farm.

  I’m the only one who can do something about it.

  I had to talk to Haywood. He was the only other person who would believe what was happening here. Maybe he could help.

  Haywood knew about the Grave-Master. And he was afraid of Zeus. So he probably figured out that Zeus held the angry spirit inside him. The black cat was the Grave-Master.

  Zeus was behind all the terrifying things that were happening. The cat was always there, watching everything.

  He cont
rolled the angry energy of the pumpkin field. He controlled the vines, the pumpkins, everything.

  And what did he want? To scare us away so the dead could sleep in peace?

  Did that mean he had something horrifying planned for tomorrow — Halloween?

  I heard a soft thump. Then another.

  I sat up. I gazed at the windowsill. Empty.

  I lowered my eyes to the floor. And uttered a soft cry.

  The two vine stubs. As I stared in disbelief, they were inching their way toward my bed.

  Inching their way, like big worms. Moving silently and steadily across the room toward me.

  “Noooo!” An angry wail burst from my throat.

  I shoved the quilt aside and leaped to the floor. Without thinking I ran up to the crawling vine stubs.

  And I began jumping up and down on them with my bare feet.

  “Die! Die! Die!” I shrieked at the top of my lungs.

  The vines squished and splattered under my feet. They felt hot and wet on my soles.

  “Die! Die! Die!”

  I screamed and stomped on them. Stomped on them until they were a pulpy mush that stuck to the soles of my feet.

  Gasping for breath, I gazed down at the green-yellow mess on my bedroom floor.

  I bent over, spread my hands over my knees, and struggled to catch my breath.

  I had defeated them for today.

  But what about tomorrow?

  “Haywood, I’ve got to talk to you.” I cornered him by the cash register shed.

  Mom was setting up her table of pumpkin pies. The twins were arguing about where they should stand to greet people when the farm opened. Dad was inspecting the field, making sure there were enough pumpkins for people to pick.

  It was a cloudy morning. The ground was crunchy and hard from a heavy frost the night before. I could see my breath steam in front of me.

  “It’s getting serious,” I told Haywood. “I really need help.”

  He glanced around, his eyes following my dad. “I can’t talk right now. I’m doing the cash register today. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

  “I begged my dad to let me work the cash register,” I said. “I really don’t want to be in the field today. The vines …”

  “Devin — come give me a hand!” Dad shouted. I saw him waving me over to him.

  I took a deep breath. I thought about those vines last night. How could I not think about them?

  “Devin — get a move on!” Dad shouted.

  “Coming!” I started to jog into the field. I jumped over a thick vine. My legs brushed fat leaves out of my way as I ran.

  Something caught my eye at the edge of the field. The black cat. Zeus watching, as always.

  Watching … and waiting?

  I felt a shiver run down my back. That cat was evil. Would I ever be able to prove it?

  “Dad, are you sure I can’t work in the shed today?” I asked.

  “I’m sure,” he said. “It’s Haywood’s turn. Help with those pumpkins, will you? Pull them out from under the leaves so people can see them.”

  “Uh … okay,” I muttered.

  “It’s Halloween, in case you forgot,” Dad said. “Our big day. I need you to be a big help today, Devin.”

  “No problem,” I muttered, my eyes on the cat.

  Dad hurried to another row of pumpkins. I bent down and grabbed a pumpkin half hidden by thick leaves. The pumpkin felt cold, as if it had been left in the freezer overnight.

  I shivered again as a blast of cold air shook the leaves all around.

  And I heard a whisper. A soft whisper. Not the wind. Definitely not the wind.

  I stood up and listened. The fat green leaves trembled and shook. And whispered.

  Whispered my name.

  I wasn’t imagining it. I heard my name so clearly. Whispered under the slapping and clapping of the leaves on the vines.

  “Devvvvvvvvvin … Devvvvvvin …”

  “Who’s whispering?” I cried. “Who is here?”

  “Devvvvvvvvvin … Devvvvvvin …”

  Breathy voices all around me. Surrounding me. Whispered voices so clear, carried on the wind, rising over the clap of the leaves.

  “Dad — do you hear that?” I shouted. “Do you hear the whispering? Dad?”

  He was too far away. He didn’t turn around.

  And I stood there, frozen in terror. Surrounded by the long, ugly vines and the slapping leaves and the cold, cold pumpkins. And listened …

  “Devvvvvvvvvin … Devvvvvvin …”

  Cars pulled into the parking lot. Families piled out, eager to find their last-minute pumpkins.

  I had no choice. I had to ignore the whispers and help our customers. We had so many customers, I barely had time to breathe.

  I glimpsed Mom’s table. She had sold all the little pumpkins with painted faces. And all the pumpkin pies were gone. She had only a few jars of pumpkin butter left.

  The twins were having a great time, talking to everyone who arrived, greeting them and making them laugh.

  Dad was guiding families along the vines, leading them to the best pumpkins that were left.

  Everyone was having a good time. Except me. No way I could relax. Every muscle in my body was tensed.

  I was waiting to see what would happen next. The whispers had stopped. Did that mean the angry vines and pumpkins were getting ready to spring their next horror?

  As I walked through the field, carrying pumpkins for customers, I thought of the dead people down below my feet. I was sure they could hear or feel the footsteps of all the people walking over their graves.

  And I knew it had to make them even angrier.

  The vines sprouted from the old corpses down there. The dead sent their anger up through the vines … into the cold, cold pumpkins I was carrying.

  “Can you help me take this to my car?” It was a young woman in a red down coat and a wool cap with earflaps. She pointed to a large pumpkin half hidden by leaves.

  “No problem,” I said. I hoisted the pumpkin off the ground in both hands and twisted it free from the vine. It weighed a ton. I’m only twelve and I’m not the most athletic guy around.

  But it was my job. So I wrapped my hands around the big thing and …

  … And to my shock, the hard, cold rind suddenly changed. I mean, it turned soft. As I held it, the whole thing turned soft as mashed potatoes.

  And my hands plunged right into the pumpkin.

  Yes. They sank right into the middle of the soft, pulpy pumpkin.

  The woman uttered a cry. “What did you do? Why did you do that to my pumpkin?”

  “I — I didn’t —” I started.

  Both of my hands were buried in the pumpkin. I tried to slide them out. But they wouldn’t budge.

  “Hey, I’m stuck!” I cried.

  The woman’s face was twisted in confusion. “Are you crazy? Why are you doing that?”

  “No. I — I’m really stuck,” I stammered. “I can’t get my hands out. This pumpkin — it’s like glue!”

  She shook her head. Her earflaps flopped around. “You’re joking, right?”

  My dad came hurrying over. “What’s the problem here?” His eyes stopped on the pumpkin in my hands. “Put that pumpkin down, Devin,” he said. “Why did you crush it like that?”

  He slid the pumpkin off me. It left thick orange glop up and down the sleeves of my denim jacket.

  He turned to the woman. “Do you see another pumpkin you would like?”

  The woman pointed to another big pumpkin. “I guess that one.”

  “Devin will be happy to carry it for you,” Dad said. He motioned me toward the pumpkin.

  My sleeves smelled horrible. The pumpkin goo was wet and sticky.

  I ignored it and bent down. I twisted the pumpkin off the vine. Then I raised it to my chest.

  “Ohhhh.” I uttered a groan as the pumpkin turned soft and my hands sank right into its middle.

  Dad’s face turned red and his eyes start
ed to blink a lot, which is what he does when he’s very angry. “Devin.” He said my name through clenched teeth. “I think your workday is over. Go to the house.”

  “Dad, I —” I started to argue. But no way I could convince him this pumpkin thing wasn’t my fault.

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  The woman looked very embarrassed. My dad’s face was still red as a tomato. I turned and trudged out of the pumpkin field.

  My jacket was covered in pumpkin goo. And as I walked, head down, the whispers started up again. Whispers up and down the field …

  “Devvvvvin … Devvvvvvin …”

  My whole body shuddered. In my whole life, I’d never felt so frightened. Or so alone.

  I saw Haywood ringing the cash register, handing a man some change. I ran over to the shed. My head was ringing with the soft whispers.

  I barged right up to him. “You have to help me. They’re out to get me.”

  He squinted at me. “Who? Who’s out to get you?”

  “I — I don’t know,” I stammered. “The pumpkins. The vines. Everything. Can you help me? You know all about this farm. Haywood, is there anything you can do?”

  He glanced down. I saw what he was gazing at. Zeus. The black cat, watching us from the front of the shed.

  “No. I don’t think so,” Haywood said, eyes on the cat. “I don’t think I can help you, Devin. Sorry.”

  “You have to,” I insisted. I grabbed the front of his parka. I held on to it tight. “You’ve got to help me. Meet me after dinner. So we can talk.”

  He still kept his gaze on the black cat. “I … don’t think so,” he said.

  “You have to come,” I insisted, gripping his coat. “After dinner. Come to the farmhouse. I’ll meet you in the back. Please.”

  The whispers grew louder. I thought I saw pumpkins rolling in the field. Rolling toward me.

  “Devvvvvin … Devvvvvvin …” The whispers rang in my ears.

  I couldn’t eat my dinner. Spaghetti and meatballs. The meatballs looked like little round pumpkins to me. And the spaghetti was the crawling, curling vines.

  When Mrs. Barnes brought out a pumpkin pie for dessert, I nearly puked my guts out all over the dinner table.