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robinkristy-blog · 6 years

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Autumn Love

Proudly hoisted high up by a country road in a vast field is a stuffed and clumsy figure of hay, clad in blue plaid, worn denim jeans, and a straw hat that has been stapled to the warm orange pumpkin head with it’s blue buttoned eyes, nose, and white buttoned teeth. It’s a strong gusty mid morning but the pumpkin man doesn’t seem to mind. He only appears to be staring across the lone road to the other field of pumpkins where a straw figure is stuffed with an ample,floppy bosom, dressed out in a simple but pretty green dress of long sleeves and a flowery hat that often falls over the Pumpkin’s yellow eyes (with it’s red buttoned mouth comically shaped in a round O).

Yip, yip. The black lab puppy is darting down this quiet country road, feeling the warm, cracked pavement under it’s padded paws. A lady trails after him, full of happiness, on the puppy’s leash.

“Slow down, Pal, you silly pup, now tell me who is walking who?” Ally squeals. Pal is such an energetic breed that wants to always be on the move and expecting life, consequently his 30 year old mother, to smile and keep up with him. Pal knows that his life is short; yet so full of excitement and adventure. The lab stops and jumps on his heels twice, playing growling games at the pumpkin person in the blue plaid.

“Mr. Wally sure has nice plump pumpkins, now don’t he? All dressed up and standing as gentry on both sides of the road.” She glances around. “ What an idea!”

Ally laughs and shouts out to Pal to come chase her as she turned her step and jogs back home to a not quite solitary life that she would soon discover it had not been contented, instead only appeared to be sleeping and soon would awaken. It desired, ravenously, to play with Ally and Pal.

She slowed to a frisky gait as she entered her dusty driveway that housed her baby blue Dodge Ram pickup, combing back her brown curly hair from her sweaty face with her ringless hand. Pal’s pink rough tongue hung from between his heathy gums, and sparkling brown eyes showed maybe a hint of a puppy’s nap.

Ally walked up to her cloistered porch and unleashed him there as they entered together into the tall, but modest, steepled white, pretty two storied house.

It was once that half a hour later she was sitting at a square bemoth kitchen table and browsing on her laptop for warm, robust Autumn recipes. She fancied that she would bake hermit cookies, chocked full of raisins, nuts, and spices, with a succulent (juicy) herbed roasted chicken paired with puréed Yukon potatoes and braised honey carrots for dinner. Godfrey, all she ever thought about was her stomach. No matter what time of day or night it was her hands were in the pantry, the fridge, and working at the stove. Truthfully, busy hands were gratifying to the ninth degrees. She sat a few minutes longer there at the table, thinking and playing with the gourds of the season that lay in a gold plated bowl that was endacted with wisdom of this century old home.

The early evening was chilly outside, but inside the warmth from the kitchen’s wood stove spread out in blanket’s of hot embers even unto the second floor. Ally lay stretching her limber and slight body on her posted bed, she had changed into flannel pj’s already because she is planning to spend this evening just lolling about, pouring over a mystery novel. She sighs as she let’s herself be cradled by the gentle quilt and pillows. Days are certainly boisterous and only becoming shorter everyday. Perhaps dazzlingly extravagant arrays of temporary lighted arrays of stories about rural life.

Ally rolls off the bed as a sloth would, only with more grace, grabs the paperback and opens to eye the book marked spot. Almost at the middle (pg. number 249), she momentarily stands there still and list in the mystery of the story that was narrated in first person of a retired professor… Creak thump, thump, thump and then Pal is yipping away down at the bottom of the stairs.

Startled, Ally drops the novel onto the woven rug and swears under her breath harsh words. As she crosses to the bedroom’s open doorway and sticks her head out to look at what could’ve made the thumping noises. No, she didn’t hear the creak of the hallway’s floor, yet she did see that the window that had been raised to allow fresh air had indeed fallen back into place. It shouldn’t have, she thinks, but what is there to think of it? Ally strode out and down the stairs where Pal lays chewing on his dolly. The blond head is stuck in the pup’s strong bite looks downright perplexing gruesome. She tsks, stoops down to rub his black belly. He likes that.

The dry red leaves were blown up against the picturesque window of the living room and the wind howled fiercely that it was angry and needed someone to quiet it’s rage. A dainty ceramic clock ticked under a glassen dome placed immaculately on a iron table between the shelves of the rose papered walls.

Flick. A turn of the page. Ally is enraptured in the book as she lays splayed out on the massive couch, and has her bare feet dangling out over the arm rest.

When the time is ticking, rolling, inching, and when creaking whispers emerge from the kitchen creeps into the living room:

“She’s a pretty lady rightly so, but no, she’s not as fair as mine.”

Chitter, chitter. Swoosh, swoosh. The pumpkin man sweeps across the tiled floor, dropping a black plaid kerchief from it’s denim pocket; raises his prickly, irritating hands to his engorged head. Grinning with real malice that reveals shockingly sharp pearls that are dripping acrid black bubbling fluid and it’s gravitating down, stinging his hay feet.

“Your curly tresses will look wonderful on Sally’s crown, yes, under her petalled cap.”

“Just don’t see me and as still as you can girl, as you hold that strange object in your bare hands. You will be alright.”

Ally perks her head up straight away.

“Who is there? Mr Wally, is that you?”

The pumpkin man’s black boiling fluid ceases to drip out from it’s evil hollowed mouth as he evicts a sweet and low warbling that shows him an image of the red-haired young man who made him and his love. Forever standing across the great divide from each other!

“OK, you are frightening me, so Mr. Wally is that you or not? Speak now!” Ally throws the book on the couch, disgusted, and becoming a little more fearful. Country people just don’t lock their door’s until it’s lights out. It’s called entitled freedom, for Christ sakes!

Now Ally is fuming mad as she lunges arms and knees first; she’s headed straight to the kitchen and is going to get down to some serious business. If Mr. Wally, the red headed young neighbor from ten clicks up the road could’ve seen her now then he would’ve grabbed hold tight of his base ball cap and chased a metaphorical ball clear all the way back to his house! Jeeper’s, Ally sure could get piping hot sometimes.

The pumpkin man gleaned a glimpse of this man from Ally’s consciousness and was able to intone a voice; to show Ally she could not capture the true identity. He did not want to scare her, no! He only just wanted her hair to cover his pumpkin lady’s smooth and bald head. But, he knew Ally probably wouldn’t cooperate. All she saw was a sudden and true view of Mr. Wally standing in the kitchen holding a machete drenched in pumpkin juice. He grabbed her by the neck with so much brute strength; it was a wonder her neck did not break. Unlike the chicken bones discarded from her supper.

The mordant pumpkin man in pudency spoke to Ally: “I am sorry, it will grow back, I promise.” Breathless and gasping for more sounds; finding nothing more to say, the machete rose and fell in one long arch across her exquisite and feminine cranium (the blood spilled into Pal’s water bowl) he left not one inch of hair remaining on her poor skull.

In the next morning’s early day light, a fog rolled heavily through Wallace road. A line figure that might have been an attractive woman at one point in life now was hoisted up on the field’s edge of sight from a country road. Her head hung listless; was covered with a petalled cap (how thoughtful indeed).

And where was the Autumn’s Prince and Princess? Up that same road with a driveway parking a dusty baby blue Dodge Ram, in a century old steepled, modest country home. One evening Mr. Wally dropped by to give her freshly baked bread. (He did not see her up in the field as he sped on by, no moon shone that night.)

Before he could turn the front door’s knob he peered into the window with intense shyness. He dropped the loaves and the pumpkin man’s head came into sudden view and he spied Mr. Wally, who must be looking for his own lady love. Mr. Wally refused to believe what he was seeing.

The pumpkin lady was at the stove stirring a pot of chicken soup and he could swear those was Ally’s precious curls on it’s orange, bulging head. It turned to him, the eye’s were possessed and seemed to see things way behind him, even all around him. Things that weren’t supposed to be seen and who did not want to be shown!

Then Pal was barking ( it might even have been happily, for he was only just a pup); with a black kerchief tied around his furry neck. The young family of three lived happily ever after, while Mr. Wally spent his time across the road from Ally; and always he stared with dead, blank eye’s.

#my writing #long reads #horror #creativewriters #creepy

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