Legend of the Pumpkin Thief

by Charles Day

  Nick tried hard to avoid going into another daydream. So, instead of allowing his mind to carry him away to an imaginary place, he decided to grab one of his detective novels to escape reality. He also needed a big booster shot of confidence, and figured starting a new detective novel would do him good. He’d picked up a few books last week while browsing Barnes & Noble and had been saving his favorite author for a special occasion.

  He pulled the hanging cord to turn on his closet light. And then reached up to grab his box, placed it on the floor, and quickly found the novel he was looking for: Jack of Hearts, by Christopher Jones, a true young adult crime novel. He put his box back on his closet shelf, turned off the light, then went back to bed.

  Nick sat down and smelled the crisp, untouched pages of a new Jack Barrington Jr., Young Detective novel. And with the turn of a few pages, Nick felt good again. So good, that he decided to continue his own investigations.

  He had to find out more about that Jeffery Beamer guy’s sudden move. Most families who moved gave everyone—especially the school their own child attended—a few months’ notice before they packed their bags and left town. The Beamer situation didn’t make sense to Nick. He guessed the detective in him forced him to think that way.

  He opened his laptop to run a Google search. Let’s see what comes up when I type in his name. Maybe find out what happened to him, something to give me peace of mind.

  Nick typed the name, then hit search. A few seconds later, sixty-five entries came up. He scrolled past an elderly Jeffery Beamer, an author, some great chef, until he came to a two-year-old news article from some Pennsylvania town he’d never heard of.

  According to the article, a teenager named Jeffery Beamer froze to death in a pumpkin patch owned by Sam Tucker, an ancient farmer and owner of Tucker’s Pumpkin Farm. Mr. Tucker stumbled upon the poor kid early one morning while on his way to feed the chickens. “There he was, frozen like a Popsicle. Scared me out of my overalls, I tell ya,” Mr. Tucker had said.

  Beamer’s family had commented, as well. They said he’d gone out by himself, early the night before, to walk to the local shopping center to buy comics or a new video game. They also recall him saying he needed fresh air and some exercise before he walked on out the door.

  Nick became more intrigued as he read further. The article went on to state that when Mr. Tucker had found the body the next morning, sprawled out on top of a pile of pumpkins, the young man had this look of desperate fear on his face.

  Nick shut his laptop, his pulse racing. What the hell is that all about? Family packs up and leaves without notice, and a few days after they settle into their new home, the kid’s found dead, of all places, on top of a bunch of pumpkins. And probably scared to death.

  A cold breeze ran through the room, and Nick felt chilled. He knew his window was shut when he woke up that morning, and he hadn’t opened it today. Something caught his attention. A shadow swept across the far wall. That freaked him out. He needed to leave his room, get out of his house. But he knew that, outside, Lou and his evil friends waited.

  Samantha came home, closed the door, then walked straight to the kitchen for her afternoon glass of chocolate milk. She opened the fridge, reached for the half-gallon of whole milk and the bottle of syrup, then closed the fridge with her foot. All she needed now was a spoon, and she picked that up on the way to the table. She sat down to start changing her glass of milk to a dark, chocolaty substance.

  The phone rang.

  She looked at the number: her friend Mika. She wiped off her chocolate mustache with her sleeve as she answered.

  “Hey, Mika.”

  “Hey, girlfriend. I have some great news for ya. But you got to promise you didn’t hear it from me.”

  “Yeah, promise, promise, now let me hear.”

  “Okay, here goes. I found out that Lou, Ralph, Norm, and Byron are going out tonight in Kiss costumes. Can you believe it? I bet your parents were big fans of that really old rock group.” Mika laughed.

  “Yeah, I guess.” Samantha didn’t know, and she didn’t care. All she wanted was to find out what they were wearing so she could help her brother. “And what do Kiss whatever look like?”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right, how would you know? Surprised me, too. Anyway, they were a big, heavy metal band of the eighties or nineties, not too sure. A rock group that dressed up like crazy devil clowns, from what my friend told me. My friend knows Byron’s younger sister, who caught her brother putting on these crazy boots and painting a star on his left eye. Weird, I tell ya, real weird.”

  Mika gave Samantha all the details she could.

  Her friend had been a big help. Samantha needed to go tell her brother. This was good.

  Nick was still in his room when Samantha ran up the stairs. He knew she would have stormed in on him—if not for the deadbolt he had installed last Christmas, when he’d caught her rummaging through his stuff.

  Samantha banged hard on his wooden door.

  “Hold on, hold on,” Nick said. He jumped off the bed, then went to unlock the door.

  Sam stood in the hallway, her arms folded.

  “Not now, sis, I’m not in a good mood, and I certainly don’t want to be annoyed by the likes of you, so … “ Nick stopped when he saw how upset she looked.

  She barged past him and into his room. “Shut the door, Nick, we need to talk, detective to detective,” she said, her pigtails bouncing wildly as she kept turning her head, as if someone else were in the room, perhaps under the bed or in the closet, waiting, ready to jump out and attack.

  “What is it, Sam? You sound like you’re in trouble. What’s with all the dramatics?”

  “What? Oh, no, no drama here, bro! I have some info, the scoop, if you like. Guess what Lou’s doing tonight?”

  “Bro? Where do you pick up that language? Wait. Let me guess. From your friends? Please, it’s so not you.” Nick held back from laughing. It really was just too funny to hear that word come out of her mouth. “Anyway, what do you have for me on Lou?”

  “I know from a friend who knows a friend, who is friends with Byron’s little sister.”

  “Yeah, and?”

  “And, I found out that Lou and his cronies are all dressing up like some Kiss band from the eighties. You ever hear of them?”

  “No, can’t say I have. Wait. Yeah, I remember seeing a cassette in Dad’s collection. Kiss, right. So I need to be looking out for a bunch of face-painted kids who look like evil clowns with guitars and drumsticks. Okay. Sure thing.”

  Nick thanked his sister for the important information. She tried to convince him that she was a better detective, and he kind of let her believe she was, this time around, because inside, he knew she cared, cared enough to go out of her way to offer a clue, some information that would help protect him from the bully.

  They discussed how to win the confrontation until a knock on the door interrupted their conversation.

  Dad peeked in. “You kids coming down for dinner?” He opened the door all the way to get a better view, and then looked strangely at his two kids. “Whoa, are we hanging out together, all buddy-buddy? I thought you two were sworn enemies.”

  Nick smiled back as he grabbed hold of his sister. “Nope, she’s good people, Dad. She probably just helped me solve a crime about to go down tonight.” Mrs. Needlewhitter, the eighty-seven-year-old, hunched over, half-blind woman who lived down the road, the one with the terror dog, Baxter. The thief with all pumpkins. She was still out there.

  Nick needed to solve that crime. He felt an elbow nudge his bruised side. “Ouch!”

  “Let’s go, snot-face,” Samantha said, as she walked out.

  Dad looked at Nick and told him to stop daydreaming and come downstairs for dinner. “And hurry up. You know how Mom gets when it’s time to eat.”

  He smiled at his father. “Yeah, no problem. I’ll be right down.”

  Nick shut the door after they walked out. Then he ope
ned his closet, put his book away, and prepared his bag of detective tools for later.

  He suddenly felt much better. He decided to put on a new costume since he knew Lou most likely had seen him. to avoid detection by Lou and the boys, the Kiss characters who would be roaming the streets. He needed to get to the end of the block and finally solve this case.

  One thing he worried about more than Lou … Baxter. He needed to be really careful with that bad hound.

  He grabbed the can of Mace he’d stolen from Mom’s purse earlier, figuring that should do the trick, and finished packing before quickly closing his closet door. Then he went downstairs to eat what could very well be his last meal—if he didn’t have the right plan.

  Mrs. Needlewhitter finished an early dinner with Baxter in order to get a head start on Halloween. She wanted to make sure her property would not endure the usual pranks and trickery. The sun had just started to disappear, and the dark crept in like a thief.

  She watched Baxter finish his three large scoops of crunchy nuggets in a few large bites, and then lick the bowl. After he finished, she herded him to the living room, cursing and swearing that if any kid came near her home and tossed just one egg, one foreign projectile in her yard, she’d pull the trigger on her dead husband’s Winchester rifle. “Just let ‘em try, Baxter, and I’ll send them straight to heaven.”

  Mrs. Needlewhitter set Baxter on guard at the bay window. Satisfied he’d keep the front of her home protected, she went to search for the bullets. They had to be somewhere. She opened drawers, tossed old papers and other used items onto the floor, but found nothing.

  “Darn bullets! I know he stored them somewhere in these drawers ’round here. Now where could they be?” She cursed as she opened drawers, moving from the living room to her bedroom.

  “Baxter boy, come to Mommy, I need you to sniff out those bullets your father hid in here. Baxter, get over here at once!”

  Mrs. Needlewhitter went to see why her dog wasn’t answering her call. She found him sprawled on the couch. He seemed to be debating whether he should move from his cozy position and obey her command, or let dinner digest. Well, she didn’t like that at all.

  “Baxter, get in here … now. Or I’m going to leave you out front to patrol the property for the whole night. Your choice, Baxter. Find Daddy’s bullets or you’re on doggie patrol.”

  When he finally inched off the couch, one large paw at a time, Mrs. Needlewhitter knew he’d made the wiser choice. His tail wagged back and forth like a wiper blade in a downpour as he walked by. He was ready to locate those bullets. It had been a while since she felt those chills go up the back of her old, achy spine, but she admitted to herself that it felt like old times again when Baxter started sniffing around. “Good boy. Now, find me those bullets, Baxter, find me those darn bullets.”

  Samantha finished her dinner early, then asked if she could be excused so she could go to her room and listen to some tunes on her iPod. When Mom and Dad nodded in sync, she disappeared in a heartbeat. Nick finished a few minutes later and was about to get up, when his father spoke.

  “Nick, I heard what happened today. You’re going to be okay out there for Halloween tonight, right?”

  “Yeah, sure, Dad, I will. I’m going to meet a few people I know. We’ll do a few tricks, get a few treats, and then I’ll be home.” Nick hoped he gained his father’s confidence.

  “Okay. If you need anything, let me know. And I want you home by ten, no excuses.”

  “Dad, I’m going to be thirteen soon, a teenager. Can’t I stay out till eleven? It’s a Friday. No school on a—”

  “I don’t care if you’re an adult. As long as you’re under my roof, I want you home when I tell you to be home!”

  Nick didn’t want to start a fight. He’d had enough of that today. Just as he stood, the phone rang.

  Nick looked at his father. “Probably for you. I’m going.”

  “You’re up already. At least bring us the phone,” Mom said, still seated as well. She stared at him, her arm out, expecting he’d get the phone and place it in her outstretched hand.

  Nick could tell she wouldn’t accept anything less. He obeyed, but handed her the phone without looking to see who was calling. He was too busy preparing his mind for his trip down to Mrs. Needlewhitter’s house.

  “Hello? Yes, hold on.” His mother held out the phone. “Nick, it’s for you. Jenny.”

  Nick stopped walking toward the door, then turned to look at his mom. He was nervous, but glad Jenny called. This was a good sign.

  He took the phone, then hurried into the hallway. “Jenny. Hey. What’s up?”

  “Hey. Nothing much. I got your number from the phone book.”

  “Sweet. If you’re calling about going to Lou’s party, sorry, but I’m sure you know I’m no longer invited. And I don’t want a confrontation again, because I so want to kick his butt.”

  Jenny giggled like she had in the cafeteria. Nick liked that giggle. She even sounded cute over the phone.

  “No, I totally understand, but I called to see how you were feeling. I saw him kick you hard in the ribs. You okay?”

  Nick liked the fact that she seemed concerned. Another good sign. “Yeah, I’ll live.”

  “If you’re feeling up to it, I was wondering if you still wanted to hang out tonight? Do some trick-or-treating? I could meet up with you.”

  Jenny didn’t say another word. Nick guessed she was waiting for his response, probably embarrassed that she even got up the guts to call him.

  “Yeah, sure. Where do you want to meet?” That’s when he realized he’d spoken before thinking. He had a mystery to solve, and a bully to avoid out on the street, and those would not be safe adventures for a young, pretty lady such as Jenny.

  Jenny’s voice sounded so good when he heard it. “I’ll meet you in about an hour, at the end of your street. I’ll be with Maria, okay?”

  “Can we do the one that crosses with Irving Drive?”

  “Yep, fine with me. See you an about an hour. Bye.”

  Jenny hung up before Nick had a chance to say, “Okay, goodbye.”

  He threw on his jacket, then grabbed a Darth Vader mask his parents had purchased for him a few years ago. The old mask had been collecting dust at the bottom of the entry hall closet, under some boxes. He was surprised it hadn’t been crushed by all the boxes on top of it. He stuffed it in his detective backpack that would double as a Halloween candy collector.

  Out the door he went, without a minute to waste.

  Four houses down from Nick’s, the bully of Chesterville argued with his drunken father.

  “You’re not going out looking like some clown. You look like a real jerk with all the face paint. You getting all girly on me, boy?” his father yelled, as he pulled his belt out through the loops of his blue jeans and started wrapping a small length of the leather around his clutched fist.

  Lou knew he was bigger, but also knew his father was much stronger. As a member of the local ironworkers union, he lifted his share of heavy metal and steel beams. His hands were rock hard, rough, and Lou knew what a direct slap from them felt like. He wasn’t into doing a round with the drunkard right now. But looking at his father wrap his belt around his hand for a better grip, well, it made him worry some.

  Mother was out, probably grocery shopping. Seemed she’d been out more since Lou’s father had been hanging around more at home and less at local bar he frequented almost every night. Guess he’s running out of money, or his tab at the bar was getting to high. Had Mother been home right now, she never would have let his father get this far with the disciplinary actions. He listened to her. When she yelled at him, he retreated like a cowardly dog with its tail between its legs.

  Lou guessed she also might have gone over to her friend’s house to avoid her husband coming home drunk. And since tonight was Halloween, he’d probably had an extra few slugs at the pub earlier, using the holiday as an excuse.

 
; “Get over here, boy,” Lou’s father grumbled as he pulled the belt around his large fist. “You wise-mouthing off to your dad?” He slurred his words as he stumbled around the living room.

  He was seriously drunk. Lou felt good. He stood a fighting chance, unlike many other nights, against his father. Lou knew he could easily wrestle him to the floor if that belt of his went swinging in all directions. So he ignored him, slipped on his Kiss gloves, and then told his father he was leaving. “And I may decide to stay out all night, so don’t bother waiting up for me.”

  As Lou turned to walk away, he saw his father raise his hand to strike at him and send the belt down hard on his leather jacket. Lou swung around, grabbed hold of his father, then pushed him away with all his strength, sending the old man back onto the sofa. His father quickly stood up and stumbled toward him again, belt still held firmly in his shaky hand.

  “Stay back, Pops. I don’t want to hurt ya. I’m not your little boy anymore. Come closer with your drunk self, and I’m knocking your butt out.”

  “What did you just say, you punk?” His father came for him again.

  Lou made a quick decision. Instead of keeping his promise to himself and knocking his father to the floor, which Lou would have loved to do right about now, especially for all the times his father had beaten him when he was younger, Lou ran out the door, looking back just once to see that his father didn’t follow.

  A loud crash, a yell of “What the, ouch!!” and the sudden disappearance of light in the living room confirmed that Dad had stumbled over the furniture and taken one of the table lamps out in the process.

  Lou quickly ran up the street, past a few costumed kids with their Halloween bags. He reached for his cell phone, then made a few calls.