The Pumpkin Man (A dark Halloween novella)

by Luis Samways

  That comment didn't sit well with Dan. To many, it would seem a harmless enough comment. But to him, he knew exactly what his brother was up to. He knew exactly what he was playing at. He knew that Dean was trying to get a rise out of him. And who knows, maybe it was working. But for the time being at least, he was keeping his composure.

  "Come on, buddy, you're making a scene. Remember, you promised me that you wouldn't make a scene.”

  Dean began cackling, much like a witch would on top of a broom. But there was no black sky shining down on him, nor was there a full moon. Instead, there was just his brother, making an absolute tit out of himself, as usual.

  It was about then and there that Dan decided enough was enough. He turned around and grabbed his coat, angrily shoving his arms into place and flicking the collar up once the coat was on. His pumpkin head wearing brother just stood there, giving him the middle finger.

  "Fine, be like that. I'll be outside. When they finally have enough of you and kick you out, I'll take you home."

  Dean continued to wag his middle finger right in his brother's face.

  "Sure. You do just that. I'll be in here, having fun. You remember how to do that, right? Or did the meds wash your sense of humour away as well?"

  Dan's fists were clenched at his sides. But he decided not to act on his urge to punch his brother straight in the face. Instead, he barged past him and left the sea of gawking faces behind him. Walking through the front door, he gave the place one last look and exited.

  Outside, on the terraced street, he stood there in the cold, waiting for his brother to emerge. He knew that it wouldn't be long. No matter what happened, he could always rely on fate to step in. The thing is, most people only tolerated Dean because he was usually with Dan. Take Dan out of the equation and people's tolerance usually eroded.

  "See you in 10 minutes, you stupid prick," Dan muttered, sitting on somebody's front wall, lighting a cigarette and blowing plumes of smoke into the air as he waited for his pompous pumpkin-headed brother to show.

  Chapter Twelve

  "Two young adults, one male, one female, both suffering from gratuitous knife wounds, similar to what one would see after a frenzied attack. I can see that some of the knife strikes reached deep enough in their tissue to hit bone and ligaments. The killer then proceeded to disembowel both the male and female. So far, I cannot be sure whether or not the attack was committed randomly or if it was premeditated," the medical examiner said to Detective Inspector Hunt as they loomed over both victims in their third murder site in a row that night.

  However, now they were joined by Ashton Black. Deputy Ian had stopped jangling with the keys in his pocket. Instead, he was beginning to show interest in the murder scene. Detective Inspector Hunt thought that it made sense. Seeing three murder scenes in one night was one sure-fire way to shake the cobwebs out of a rookie.

  "Believe me, Doc, I'm pretty sure that all of these murders are random," DI Hunt said as he gave the dead female at his feet a glance. Her eyes were still open. Which meant that she'd seen the knife coming.

  He couldn't help but shudder at the thought of such a thing occurring to him. He wouldn't really consider himself brave, but he always thought that he was brave enough to fend off any attacker that would try and harm him. But tonight, the realisation of what some people were capable of was starting to settle in. And, in turn, it was starting to make him question whether or not he'd be able to fight anybody off at all.

  Something happens to a man when he sees what other men are truly capable of. You can go through life pretending that everything is okay and everyone means well. But once you really start to delve into the intricacies of a killer's mind, then and only then do you really see the true meaning of life and death.

  "Well, I've already seen Tricia's reports from the barn and Ronson has clued me in on what happened at the other cul-de-sac. I know that both those murders share the same sort of M.O., all the victims were disembowelled. But I wouldn't rule out the possibility that this isn't random. I mean, all you have to do is look at the locations of the murders. They all take place in one long, large stretch. You've got the barn down the road. Then you’ve got the cul-de-sac in the middle of our straight line. And then you've got this place, right here. The question is, are any of these people linked?"

  Hunt nodded.

  "They’re some valid questions, Doc. You ever thought about becoming a detective?"

  The medical examiner nodded.

  "I am a detective, Mr Hunt. The difference between you and I is simple; you investigate murderers, whilst I investigate murder weapons. They are one and the same."

  Hunt found himself smiling. The guy had a point. Sometimes in his line of work, it was easy to forget just how many people were involved in an investigation. Usually, detectives pin the entire case on their shoulders, thinking that the world is expecting miracles just from one man and one man only. But there are many men and women involved in a homicide operation. But conditioning states that all detectives feel some sort of burden. And burdened is most definitely what Detective Inspector Hunt was feeling at that very moment.

  "You seem a little nervous, Detective hunt."

  "No more than usual, Doc. I'm just a little taken aback by how vicious these murder scenes are. I’ve never seen anything like this before. Devon and Cornwall don’t usually see serial killers on their doorstep. So, you can only imagine how the public are going to react when we break the news."

  Ashton raised his eyebrows.

  "What do you mean, break the news? We are doing no such thing! This will remain under wraps until further notice. We've got the flying squad coming in. They'll sort this out."

  Hunt shrugged.

  "I wasn't really thinking about the case in general, Ashton. I was thinking about the public's safety. We have a duty towards them. And a lot of them are out and about tonight. So, spreading the word would probably be a good idea, don't you think? Even if it's just alerting door staff at bars and pubs of the possibility that their patrons could come across some geezer wearing a pumpkin on his bloody head whilst brandishing a knife. Don't you think that would be the wise thing to do?"

  Deputy Ian was about to say something when Ashton interrupted him.

  "Look, I know you're feeling the pressure, here, Inspector. But there's nothing I can do to alleviate that pressure. The only thing I'd suggest is knuckling down and growing some balls. Yes, Devon and Cornwall hasn't seen a serial killer in a long time. But, you seem to be forgetting that we’re not dealing with just a serial killer here. We are dealing with an absolute maniac. Serial killers tend to kill in long form. And do you know what I mean by that? I mean that they kill bit by bit, slowly-slowly, catchy-monkey. This is no serial killer. This is a spree killer.

  “Spree killers are unpredictable. They take hostages. And they shoot police officers. So, it goes without saying that alerting the public to the fact that there's a terrorist roaming the streets of this rural patch in idyllic Devon will probably work against us. You’ll cause absolute pandemonium. And pandemonium will cause a blanket effect, an effect that will most likely lure our spree killer into taking more lives out of desperation. So, please, reconsider your position on informing the press."

  Hunt's radio crackled on his chest. All four men looked at each other for a second or two before the detective reached for his radio and pressed down on the receiver button.

  "Detective Inspector Hunt," he said, his heart thumping in his ears.

  "Yeah, Detective Hunt, my name is police Constable Haynes. I've got some news regarding that suspect of yours," a voice through the radio said.

  "Our suspect? How the heck do you know about that?" Hunt replied.

  "Nothing remains a secret in law enforcement, my friend. Besides, it was bound to get out at some point."

  "Does the news know?"

  "The news is the least of your problems, Mr Hunt. I thought I'd inform you that one of my bobbies was called to a disturbance at a house party with some tee
nagers. Something about a guy in a pumpkin costume causing a scene and having a tiff with his older brother. A girl at the party felt threatened by this bloke and decided to call the cops. Usually, we’re a little hands off on Halloween when it comes to certain calls. Especially ones involving teenagers. We like to focus our resources on getting the bad guys. You know, the real bad guys. Well, the bobby in question that received the call recognised that there was some talk about a pumpkin man on the police radio.

  “So he asked the operator to clarify the guys description. The operator got back to him a couple of minutes later after phoning the girl at the party and she confirmed that this particular pumpkin man was indeed wearing a pumpkin on his head and, get this, he actually brought a knife to the party. Not a prop knife, but a real knife. A knife that the teenagers at this get-together were starting to feel uncomfortable about.

  “Apparently the family has some sort of history with mental issues, both his younger brother and father ended up in an institution one time or another. But, not this guy. Not the guy with the pumpkin head or the knife. So I thought, how many of these guys could there really be? And then I thought of you. So I thought I'd give you a heads up that maybe you'd want to get some of your blokes down to this party as soon as possible."

  Detective Inspector Hunt could hardly comprehend what he was hearing. How could this pumpkin guy show up at a party? And how on earth could there be more than one of these blokes running around town?

  "Tell me the address. We'll be there as soon as possible."

  "You better. Apparently, he's kicking up a right fuss. Bring the guys with guns. I have a feeling you’re going to need them."

  Chapter Thirteen

  "So, you’ve finally decided to show up then! What the hell took you so long?" Dan said, finishing his third cigarette in a row.

  His brother Dean just stood there, swaying from side to side.

  "You going to answer me, or what?"

  Dean stumbled forward, resting against the wall that Dan had been sitting on for all of this time.

  "Hey, give me a break. It's been a tough day. I've been running ragged around town. Hectic, I tell you!"

  "You must be drunk! You don't even have a job, Dean! How the hell could you have been running around ragged?"

  "You have no idea what I get up to. I'm a busy man, Dan. And I'd appreciate it if you stop back-chatting me, okay? You don't even know what I'm capable of..."

  "Well, judging by the state of you, I wouldn't say that at the minute you're capable of much. Look, you want me to ring a taxi? Save us walking all the way home?"

  Dean shook his head, or more precisely, he shook the overgrown hollowed-out pumpkin head on his head.

  "Nah. Let's just walk home ourselves. I could do with the fresh air. I'm feeling a little too lit."

  "Whatever you say. But we should get going, it's getting late. And I've got work in the morning, unlike some people around here."

  "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Mr I work five days a week. How big of you. How original. I've never seen or met anybody that works as hard as you!"

  Dan couldn't help himself. He was smiling now. Even though his brother was an arsehole pretty much 24/7, he couldn't help but feel some sort of connection with him. The two of them knew each other like the back of their hands. And sometimes, hands get dirty. So forgiveness was usually required on certain occasions.

  "Why don’t you take that stupid thing off your head? A little bit of air will be good for you. Especially after how much you've drank tonight."

  "I'm okay. Besides, it's still Halloween. Well, technically it's 4 o'clock in the morning, but in my book, it’s still Halloween."

  The two brothers began walking down the street, holding onto each other for support. Dan hadn't quite realised yet, but he was pretty drunk as well. Drunk enough that he actually felt like he needed his brother to prop him up from time to time. There was something about the cold British air and a cobblestone path that made being drunk seem entirely impossible.

  "You hear much from dad lately?" Dan said, reaching into his jacket and producing yet another cigarette.

  "As far as I'm concerned, dad can go fuck himself. He's a right let down. He’s been out for four years now and I've only seen him twice. And you know when he shows up? On his birthday. The fucker only wants to see us when he needs something from us."

  Dan looked at his brother who still had that stupid pumpkin head firmly attached to his shoulders. It was a strange sight… A man who looked so stupid spouting such intricate observations regarding their biological father. But no matter how stupid Dean looked, unfortunately, he was more than likely right about their old man.

  Dan didn't bother replying, though. He knew it was a waste of time. Whenever Dean got like this, it was best to keep quiet. His brother certainly had a way with words, and those words of his became even more dagger like whenever the conversation swayed toward their father.

  "You still seeing that Mandy chick?" Dean said, changing the conversation, much to Dan's delight.

  "Yeah. She's a pretty cool girl."

  Dean stopped dead in the road and turned toward his brother.

  "She's got a right nice set of tits on her. Congrats on that. I'm impressed."

  Dan punched his brother on the arm. He noticed that Dean was still carrying that knife of his.

  "When will you put that away? You’re gonna take somebody's eye out with that!"

  Dean raised the knife a little in the air, until it caught the light emanating from the moon.

  "Isn't that the idea?"

  The two of them continued walking for a few minutes. It was silent outside. The hustle and bustle of the evening's events had soon washed away like waves at hightide. You wouldn't have thought that it was Halloween. Sure, a few hours ago you couldn't mistake it for anything else. But now, now it seemed like any other cold and gloomy night in England.

  "Fuck, I don't think I can take the cold any more. We should move to Spain,” Dean said, adjusting the pumpkin on his head.

  "I think you're rather drunk. So, why don't we leave the moving plans until some other time. Maybe some time when you're not so bladdered?"

  "Good idea."

  Turning the corner, the darkness morphed into a bright light. At first, the two of them were stunned by how bright the light was. But then everything started to come into focus. Soon enough, they realised what they were staring at. Around 10 feet from them, a police cordon glared back in their direction. And behind that cordon, 9 or 10 police cars flashed their blues and twos directly at them.

  “Jesus, somebody’s in trouble!" Dean said, laughing to himself as he took a step forward. Dan didn't know why, but suddenly he had a really bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was a rumbling feeling. A feeling of not being in control. And as he watched his brother take another step towards the light, he reached out for his shoulder instinctively.

  "Dean, don’t move!"

  But he didn't listen. He took another step forward. And then a voice came thundering out of nowhere, crackling through the sky like thunder.

  "This is the police, remain still. We are armed. We have reason to believe that you’re suspected of murder. If you take one more step forward, we will have no choice but to shoot!"

  The voice on the bullhorn rattled the air, shaking Dan's nerves even more.

  He could hardly see a thing. The place was absolutely drenched in blue light. A light so blue, it saturated everything else around it. Even his brother with his stupid orange pumpkin head looked bluer than the Blue Man Group on Broadway.

  "What the f…?" He heard Dean say, but everything happened so fast.

  Before Dan could grab his brother, he heard a loud crack in the air. And then another. Followed by a final crack, a crack so loud, it ripped past his ear and made his eardrum ping loudly, sending shockwaves through his head.

  Dan knew exactly what those cracks were. And he knew exactly why they were so loud.

  Turning his head, he saw his brother crumpled
on the ground, the knife in his hand, glistening off the blue light. It clanged as it rattled on the floor. And then a flurry of footsteps approached the two of them. But no one was paying attention to him. No one was aiming their weapons at him. They were all firmly pointed at his brother.

  "I see a knife!" Someone shouted.

  "Suspect down, I repeat, suspect is down. Send in the paramedics!"

  What happened next was all just a blur as Dan stood there watching his brother being stretchered off into the back of an ambulance. He could see that they were attempting to revive him. But, he knew that his brother was gone.

  As a female officer approached him, Dan found himself staring at the knife on the ground. He could see blood spatter on the blade. Blood splatter belonging to Dean.