Raymond, Carver

When Raymond saw the pumpkin at the farmer's market, he had to have it.

"I'll take this one," he said.

"Pretty unusual pumpkin, ain't it?" said the farmer. "Should be easy to carve; looks like the grin is already there."

It wasn't an easy pumpkin to carve. Raymond found strong resistance to his knife. But when he was finished, he had, he thought, a work of Jack O'Lantern art. "I am," he told himself, "the Michelangelo of pumpkin carvers."

The pumpkin was the centrepiece of Raymond's Hallowe'en party. One guest said, "Man, that pumpkin has real personality." Later, one of the women said, "Ray, am I imagining it, or is the pumpkin's grin changing? It started out happy, but now the mouth is turning down. It's starting to look angry."

"Probably melting from the candle," said Raymond. "Let me get you another drink."

The next morning, a little hungover, Raymond was cleaning up, emptying glasses and ashtrays, getting ready to drop the pumpkin in the trash, when he heard a voice: "Wait a minute--you don't want to do that."

Raymond looked around. Was one of his guests still there, stretched out on a couch? Or under a couch? "Hey," he said, "who's that?"

"It's me, Raymond." The voice, he realized was as close as the pumpkin he was holding. He looked down and saw the Jack O'Lantern's twisted grin. "That's right," it said. "It's me, Raymond. Why don't you set me back on the table, and we can talk."

Raymond thought, "I have really got to cut back on those late night vodka stingers. I almost believed the pumpkin was talking to me." But he did set the pumpkin on the table and turned to make coffee.

"Hey, don't turn your back on me," the voice said. "We've got things to discuss, Raymond. Huh--Raymond. Raymond, carver. Pretty funny."

Raymond felt himself shivering, put the coffee back and poured himself some brandy.

"I guess you've carved a lot of pumpkins, haven't you, Raymond? How do you think it would feel if someone sliced off the top of your head, scooped out your skull, and cut funny designs on your face? Would you feel good about that?"

Raymond, clutching another glass of brandy, slid down on a chair and thought, "Okay, I've heard of people hallucinating. Stay calm. I'll just finish this drink, throw the pumpkin in the garbage, and go back to bed."

"What was that you said, Raymond? Didn't know you were talking out loud, did you? And throw me in the garbage? Oh, I don't think so."

Raymond was suddenly aware of tendrils growing from the pumpkin's sides, almost like arms. Arms that were now reaching for yesterday's carving knife.

"Drink some more brandy, Raymond," said the voice, "and just relax."