Wanted Page 8

  “Hold still,” Dolly said. “I’m painting you cool red lips.”

  “Stop right there,” Dad said. He grabbed Dolly’s wrist and pulled her hand away from Dale. “Don’t paint each other. You already have funny faces!”

  “Ha-ha,” Dolly said. “You’re so funny.” She pulled her hand free and smeared a red stripe on Dad’s forehead.

  He laughed. He thinks everything the twins do is hilarious. “Paint the pumpkins,” he told them. “Be serious. I mean it. This is work. Not play.”

  He headed back to the house.

  The girls placed pumpkins in their laps and concentrated on painting them. Dale moved her brush in circles, making big black eyes on her pumpkin. Dolly painted the whole front of her pumpkin white. Then she started to add red eyes on the white background.

  “Nice work,” I said. “You two are good face painters.”

  “Can I paint your face?” Dolly asked. She poked her brush at me.

  I scooted away. “You heard what Dad said. We have to be serious. This is work.”

  “Look. I’m almost finished with mine, and you haven’t even started,” Dale said.

  “Okay, okay.” I picked up a small yellowish pumpkin and smoothed the dirt off it with my hand. “I’m going to make all my pumpkins look just like you two,” I said.

  Dolly held hers up in front of me. “This one already looks like you, Devin,” she said. “See? It’s yellow and wrinkled and gross?”

  “Let’s see who can paint the funniest one,” I said.

  I had the little pumpkin in one hand. I reached for a paintbrush — then stopped.

  “Hey!” I let out a cry when I heard the sound. Like a low groan. Coming from the pumpkin!

  Suddenly, the hard pumpkin skin turned soft. Soft as human skin!

  “Devin, what’s your problem?” The twins were staring at me.

  “It … it’s the pumpkin,” I stammered. “It feels soft — like a human face. And I heard it burp or something! Look. It’s ALIVE!”

  The girls just stared at me.

  I heard it again. A soft groan.

  With a startled gasp, I jumped to my feet. I dropped the pumpkin. I bumped the table. It toppled over — and all the paint jars went tumbling to the ground.

  Red, black, and white paint spread in wide puddles at our feet.

  The girls jumped up and danced over the spilled paint. “You ruined everything!” Dale shouted angrily.

  “We were having fun,” Dolly said. “You spoiled it.”

  “What’s going on here?” Dad appeared, jogging across the backyard toward us. “What happened to the paint?” Of course, he had his eyes on me.

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” I said. “But … the pumpkin … I picked up a pumpkin and its skin got soft and it made weird noises and it felt like a human face, not like a pumpkin.”

  The words all burst out in a whoosh. I didn’t take a breath.

  “Which pumpkin?” Dad asked.

  I pointed. The pumpkin sat on the ground at the edge of the puddle of red paint.

  Dad bent down and picked up the pumpkin. He tapped it with a finger. He squeezed it. “It’s hard, Devin. It feels like a pumpkin.”

  “But, Dad —”

  He squeezed it again. “Not making any sounds, is it?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m really sorry. But —”

  “Devin, come here,” Dad said softly. He put a hand around the back of my neck and guided me gently around to the other side of the shed. “Devin, let’s have a talk.”

  “You mean our usual man-to-man talk where you tell me I’m acting like a jerk?”

  “Yes,” he said. “That talk.”

  “I’m totally sorry about the paint,” I said. “But the pumpkin really did feel weird. And —”

  “Devin, I know you didn’t want to do this farm thing. I know you’re unhappy about it. But your bad attitude is going to spoil it for everyone else. I need you to pitch in and help out. The girls need you to look after them and guide them. Not scare them and ruin their projects.”

  “I know, but —”

  “Do you think you can just shape up? It’s only for such a short time.”

  “Sure, Dad,” I said. “No problem. I’m going to try a lot harder. I promise.” I raised my right hand like I was swearing an oath.

  I was being sincere. I really did feel bad. I didn’t want to be the one to mess up all the time.

  If I see something weird, I’m going to ignore it.

  I’m going to be a happy camper for the rest of the time here.

  I followed Dad back around to the side of the shed. Mrs. Barnes had helped the girls set the table back up with fresh paint jars.

  The three of us started to paint faces on the little pumpkins again. The twins were really good at it. They painted some crazy, goofy faces. I painted angry, scary faces, mostly black-and-white.

  As we painted, the girls started singing their jack-o’-lantern song again:

  “Jack Jack Jack-o’-lantern

  Jack-o’-lantern come ALIVE!”

  I hate that song.

  I begged them to stop. Guess what? That made them sing the thing even louder.

  I was so happy when Mom came out and took the girls away. She was going to drive them into town to do some shopping.

  I counted about twelve pumpkins to go. I put my serious face on and got into it. I wanted to see how many different expressions I could paint.

  I’ve always liked Art class. Our Art teacher says I’m a little bit talented. I can draw really well. In fifth grade, I did a few watercolors that are now hanging in the hall at school.

  I had my head down, concentrating on a really sad white face, when it suddenly grew dark around me.

  A shadow fell over me. A heavy shadow.

  I looked up — and saw a boy standing over me. A boy in jeans and a white T-shirt — and a big, round pumpkin on his shoulders instead of a head!

  “Huh?” I let out a gasp.

  I gaped up at the pumpkin head. How was it attached to the boy’s shoulders?

  I suddenly knew I was in a horror movie. Invasion of the Pumpkin Heads!

  But then the pumpkin began to slide down. I realized the boy was holding it in both hands. Holding it in front of his face.

  Whew. I really am starting to go crazy on this farm.

  He was pale and very skinny. His jeans sort of hung on him. He had straight brown hair that fell over his forehead. Dark eyes, a serious expression, even though he was giving me a lopsided smile.

  I set down the pumpkin I was painting and jumped up. “Hi,” I said. “You … startled me.”

  “Sorry.” He had a soft voice, whispery, like he had a sore throat. He pointed to the big pumpkin he’d been carrying.

  “This pumpkin … it’s too perfect. So I picked it. I’m going to give it to my mom.”

  I blinked. “Your mom?”

  He nodded. He brushed the long hair off his forehead, but it flopped right back down over his dark eyes.

  “I’m Haywood Barnes,” he said. “You know. Mrs. Barnes’s son.”

  “Oh, hi,” I said. “I … didn’t know. I’m Devin O’Bannon.”

  “I know,” he replied. He gave me that same lopsided smile. One side of his mouth moved up higher than the other side.

  “My mom talked to your dad. I’m going to help out with the pumpkins and everything. You know. Help carry them and pick them, and help with the customers when they come.”

  “Nice,” I said. “Hey, I’m stoked to have some help. I don’t really know anything about this farm stuff.”

  He dropped down beside me on the bench. We chatted for a while. I told him a little about my family and why we were here on the pumpkin farm this Halloween.

  He kept rubbing the knees of his jeans as we talked. I noticed that his hands were long and very pale.

  He told me about all the weird pumpkin recipes his mom had. It made him laugh. He said she could make anything out of pumpkin meat. But it al
l tasted exactly the same.

  We talked about roasted pumpkin seeds. I confessed I’d never tried them.

  “It’s the best,” he said. “Better than popcorn. Really. You just drop them in oil and cook them on the stove. The best!”

  In front of us, two large blackbirds had a fight over a long green insect. They were really going at it. It made us both laugh.

  I liked this guy. He was fun to talk to. It was great to have someone about my age to hang with.

  Zeus crept out of the tall grass. The cat spotted the blackbirds. He arched his back. I could see his fur stand up. He lowered his head and started to stalk them, moving in slow motion.

  The birds saw him. Squawking and flapping, they took off and flew away before the cat made his move.

  Haywood snickered. “Lots of drama on this farm.”

  “Where do you live?” I asked.

  He pointed toward the fields. “Off that way. Not far.”

  “Your mom lives with us in the farmhouse,” I said.

  “Yeah. And I live with my dad and a bunch of other people.”

  I saw my dad heading into the garage. “Did you meet my dad? There he is.” I pointed.

  Haywood jumped up. “I’ll go say hi. Catch you later.” He took off running.

  I picked up the pumpkin I was painting. Only a few more to go. Dad would be happy.

  I leaned forward to get a paintbrush — and glimpsed the pile of pumpkins my two sisters had painted. “Whoa. Wait a minute. No way!”

  I stared at the faces painted on the pumpkins. Ugly monster faces. Some had evil red eyes. Green gobs of drool dripping from jagged-toothed mouths. Some had painted cracks down the middle of their faces. Fangs. One eye gouged out. Demon horns poking up from the top. One pumpkin appeared to have orange vomit pouring from its nostrils and open mouth.

  My sisters didn’t paint these ugly faces!

  I jumped to my feet. I fumbled through the pumpkins, picking up each one, studying every face. All of them hideous. All of them disgusting. Totally gross.

  I swore I would ignore anything weird that happened. But this was too weird. And this time I had proof.

  I gathered them up. I stuffed as many of the ugly pumpkins as I could in my arms.

  Holding them against my chest, I went running to the garage.

  “Dad! Dad!” I screamed breathlessly. “Dad! Look at these! I told you something weird was happening on this farm! Dad — I’ve got proof!”

  “Dad! I’ve got proof! Come look at this. Something is very wrong here! Dad!”

  He was bent over a workbench, examining a pair of hedge clippers. I didn’t see Haywood. I guessed he had gone home.

  Dad turned as I came screaming into the garage. “Devin? What’s up this time?”

  “I’ve got proof!” I cried. “I told you something is weird here. Look at these pumpkins, Dad. Look at them.”

  I tried to hand them over to him. But they fell out of my arms and tumbled to the garage floor.

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  Shaking his head, Dad dropped down on his knees and began gathering them up.

  “See?” I cried. “Look at them.”

  “What about them?” he demanded.

  “Dale and Dolly didn’t paint those,” I said.

  He raised pumpkin after pumpkin and studied the painted faces. “Why not?” he asked.

  “Huh?” I squatted down beside him.

  He turned two pumpkins toward me. Cute smiley faces.

  He set those down and picked up two more. Cross-eyed faces with goofy red tongues hanging out of grinning mouths.

  “But — but —” I sputtered.

  “These are cute,” Dad said. “Your sisters did a good job.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “What were you yelling about?”

  “Well …”

  Dad shook his head and frowned. “Devin, you promised me. You promised me you would try harder. And now you come running in here screaming about these cute little pumpkins?”

  “But, Dad — they weren’t cute. They —”

  Dad tossed a smiley-face pumpkin into my hands. “I’m warning you, boy,” he said.

  He only calls me boy when he is angry.

  “One more crazy stunt, and you’ll be grounded for a month after we get home. And no cell-phone privileges for a month. I mean it.”

  “No phone? Dad, that’s like cutting off my oxygen!”

  I thought that would make him laugh, but it didn’t. He climbed to his feet, picked up the hedge clippers, and stomped out of the garage.

  I didn’t move. I was still squatting down next to the cute little pumpkins. My brain was doing flip-flops.

  If I could only figure out why all this weird stuff was happening to me.

  I knew I had to be careful. Dad would be watching my every move now. Waiting for me to mess up.

  He’s not a very strict parent. And he’s not mean at all. But once you get on his bad side, look out!

  I suddenly had the feeling I wasn’t alone. The back of my neck tingled. I felt someone was watching me.

  Haywood?

  No.

  I turned and saw the big black cat hunched in the garage doorway. Staring at me. Not moving a whisker. The cat just stared with those cold green eyes.

  “Zeus, what’s your problem?” I called.

  The cat didn’t move.

  I felt something bump against my knee.

  Then several soft thuds.

  I glanced down — and let out a shocked cry.

  The little pumpkins — they were bouncing up and down. Bouncing like tennis balls on the concrete floor.

  Thud thud thud thud.

  “No way!” I cried, jumping to my feet.

  The pumpkins all bounced together. Jumped in a circle around me. Their painted faces all grinned up at me.

  As I stared, the faces turned ugly. The eyes darkened to red. The painted mouths opened and closed, making an eerie bub bub bub sound. One pumpkin began to vomit loudly. Thick orange goo poured from its open mouth. And then, all the pumpkins were vomiting, puking up yellow-orange lumps.

  “Sick!” I screamed. “This is totally sick!”

  My words made them start to laugh. Cold laughter. They circled me, faster and faster, their ugly laughter ringing in my head.

  Trembling in fear, I covered my ears, burst through the circle, and ran for the house.

  The day before Halloween, a gray, foggy Saturday, we opened the farm early. We knew it would be our busiest day.

  Sure enough, cars and vans and SUVs began pulling into the parking lot. Families piled out, with lots of little kids, eager to explore the long, leafy fields and pick their own pumpkins.

  My job was to sit in the shed near the entrance and work the cash register. It cost a five-dollar admission fee for each family. I collected the money and passed out tickets from an orange ticket roll Dad had bought from a movie theater in town.

  Then when people made their pumpkin choices, they came back to my little wooden shed, and I rang up the sale.

  I was happy to be in my little shed. The pumpkins definitely creeped me out. And I was grateful I didn’t have to work in the fields.

  Besides, it was a gray day with dark clouds hanging overhead. It looked like it might rain at any moment. I’d stay nice and dry under the flat shed roof.

  Mom had a little stand near the entrance shed. That’s where we had the pumpkins with the painted faces. She also had jars of pumpkin butter for sale, made by Mrs. Barnes. And a few pumpkin pies fresh from the oven.

  The smell of the pies kept floating over to me, making me hungry. But I knew I wasn’t allowed to leave the shed until someone came to take my place.

  Dale and Dolly were the most excited people on the farm. Big surprise, right? They both wore orange skirts and black T-shirts with grinning jack-o’-lanterns on the front.

  Dad told them they were the Official O’Bannon Farm Greeters. They stood side by side at the edge of the field and shouted, “Hi! How are you today?” to every
one who passed by them.

  They loved the job and didn’t get tired of it. And everyone who saw them thought they were the cutest, most adorable things.

  A lot of people stopped to talk to them. “Are you really twins?” a little girl asked. That made my sisters laugh. I mean, what else would they be?

  Some people even stopped to have their picture taken with the girls.

  That made me groan. I knew that after all the fuss and attention, Dolly and Dale would be impossible to live with.

  They are going to think they are STARS!

  Dad and Haywood worked the field. They guided people down the long vines, making a path through the thick, fat leaves. They helped people decide which pumpkins to pick.

  Sometimes they had to cut the pumpkins off the vines. Then they helped carry the pumpkins to my booth, where I rang them up on the cash register.

  Some families bought a lot of pumpkins. Some bought just one. They all seemed to love the idea of walking through the field and picking their own.

  By late afternoon, the cash register was bulging with money. And the cars kept pulling in.

  Maybe this was a good idea, I thought. Maybe Dad was smart, after all.

  If only the rain would hold off. The sky was nearly as dark as night. And I felt a few cold raindrops blow onto my face through the open front of the shed.

  A mom and dad with a tiny little boy stepped up in front of me. The dad set a big, weird-shaped pumpkin down on the counter. “One side is flat,” he said. “Do I get a discount for that?”

  I gazed at the pumpkin. It looked perfectly fine to me.

  Dad said not to argue with the customers. “How about one dollar off?” I said.

  That seemed to make him happy. The man pulled out his wallet and paid. Then the three of them headed to their car.

  Why did he pick a pumpkin with a flat side? I wondered. I mean, it was his choice.

  I didn’t have long to think about it.

  I slid the man’s money into the cash register and was about to close the drawer — when I heard a shrill shout.

  “Help! Help us!”

  I recognized Dolly’s voice.

  “Someone! Help us! The pumpkins are alive!”

  “They’re alive!” Dale cried, screaming in fright.